I thought watching my husband with other men would make me jealous.It didn't.It made me curious how far I could push it.

Watching me with someone else was supposed to be a one-time thing.A stranger. A boundary tested. A fantasy cracked open and quietly put away.Except it didn't stay contained.I liked the way it felt to be touched while my husband watched. The way his attention sharpened instead of pulling back. The way the room felt charged and full instead of private and safe. I liked knowing he could see everything — every reaction, every loss of control — and that it only made him ...

College party busted. Two friends cuffed in the back of a cruiser. One dangerously hot cop. This is turning into one weekend they won't forget.

They thought I was asleep.But I heard them—low groans, the wet slap of skin, the whispered filth that made my whole body tense under the covers.I should've stayed quiet. But I didn't. I watched. I shoved my hand down my boxers.And when they caught me… they didn't stop.One of them pinned me down. The other got behind me. And when they both slid in—deep, slow, unrelenting—I understood exactly what it meant to be owned....

He's Nineteen. Built like a Greek god. And my son's best friend.He's also crashing on our couch for the summer.I told myself it was innocent.That I was just being friendly.That a man my age wouldn't possibly get worked up over a nineteen year old..But when he leans over my shoulder, shirtless and smirking,when he eats a juicy peach and then wipes the juice from his chest without breaking eye contact,when he asks if I've ever thought

Brent runs the locker room like he runs everything else—with control.So when his new roommate Mason turns out to be soft, jumpy, and eager to please, it doesn't take long for Brent to test his limits.A few rules. A few punishments.You'd think Mason would get sick of being treated like a little lap dog, but instead he's begging for more.

Watching was the beginning.Sharing was a test.Now the rules are clear.Evan is at his best when he's guided, restrained, and placed exactly where he belongs—obedient, exposed, and aching for what comes next. The choices aren't his anymore. The men are chosen carefully. Nothing is accidental.This time, it isn't about experimenting.It's about what Evan becomes when he's being used exactly the way he was meant to be.

He's nineteen, reckless, and convinced no one can tame him. But when his professor catches his defiance, the rules of the classroom change. Every smirk, every challenge will be punished—until the boy learns exactly who's in control.

Available: One soul. Poorly maintained. All serious offers considered. (Unseelie preferred.)After a lifetime of being treated like a pariah, Declan's a fae on a mission: Take down Faerie's oppressive power structure from the inside. But first, he needs a soulbond. Too bad every potential match in Faerie has rejected him. Well, he'll just have to get creative. And he's always had a soft spot for humans.Antonio, a tattooed gearhead with a record, has a missio...

The novel "Red Rowans" is set in India and explores themes such as love, duty, honor, and the clash of cultures between British colonizers and the Indian populace. It likely depicts the lives of characters from both communities, highlighting their interactions, conflicts, and shared humanity amidst the backdrop of colonial rule.Flora Annie Steel's writing style is characterized by its vivid descriptions, nuanced characterizations, and its exploration of moral and ethical dilemmas within th...

In "Red Rowans," Flora Annie Webster Steel intricately weaves a narrative set in the backdrop of rural India, exploring themes of cultural clash and personal resilience. The novel is characterized by its rich descriptive prose and keen psychological insight, capturing the complexity of human emotions amidst the rigid societal structures of the time. Steel'Äôs ability to meld the Indian landscape with the characters'Äô interior lives enhances the story's depth, inviting readers to engage wi...

Love took up the Harp of Life and .... smote the Chord of Self. "Am I really like yon?" A small brown hand pointed peremptorily to a finished drawing on a sketcher's easel hard by, and a pair of blue eyes frowned somewhat imperiously at a young man, who, with one knee on the ground, was busily searching in the long grass for a missing brush, while palette and colours lay beside him ready to be packed up. The frown, however, was lost on the back of his head, for he gave a decisive denial, w...