"I do have something in mind, actually." The words were certain and very clear. Celine leaned back against the couch, her smirk softening into something darker, quieter. "Well then," She said, voice smooth enough to make my spine tingle, "Come show me." My breath caught before I could even think. The room seemed to hum around us-the low buzz of the liquor, the faint rustle of the robe against my skin, her eyes following me as she'd already decided what was going to happen next. Something in my chest fluttered-or maybe it flipped. The words weren't loud, but they pulled at me anyway like a command wrapped in velvet. I hesitated, barely. Then the hesitation melted away, the same way the liquor did earlier. My body moved before my mind caught up, slow and deliberate 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴, drawn to her like gravity wasn't a choice. 𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓 Monét was never one to follow rules, that word seemed unknown to her knowledge. Monét was a troublemaker, it ran in her blood-well half of her blood. Her father being the chief of the police, the rule follower, yet he made an exception for his daughter always running to her rescue when needed. Monét was also the type to get what she wants, so when she sees this older lawyer-you can guess what she wants. And she intends to get it, stopping at nothing. She wouldn't let anything stop her, not age, not her issues, not her father, not a judge. Nothing would stop her from getting what she wanted.

Adrien Vitale is one of the most powerful people in the world. Daughter of a business man, she will stop at nothing to inherit her father's corporation. To every woman she has ever slept with, she is ruthless, ambitious and cutthroat, with no intention of ever settling down. Except when her father gives her an ultimatum, she needs to either present herself as a family woman, or risk losing her inheritance. Ever since Muse Gardner's grandmother died, she has been scraping together a living in New York City, only one step away from the streets. For the past month, she has been a waitress at one of the most high-end restaurants in New York City. But after the accident of the century―involving a pot of fondue, a hot-shot CEO and a ruined tuxedo―she's left with a bad reputation and no job prospects. Until Adrien Vitale, a filthy-rich CEO, makes her a deal: Pretend to be the billionaire's wife, for more money than Muse has ever imagined. There's just one problem. With a fake proposal, a fake wedding and a fake wife, it might just be impossible to tell what's true anymore. Can a relationship built on lies ever be real?

When working at a failing high end restaurant in New York, Mariah Breaux knows every corner about scraping by. But when an unknown event is thrown at the restaurant by a notorious mafia, and she is asked to cater for their upcoming event for a large sum of money who is she to decline? Little did she know the event was to welcome the families new leader of the mafia, their daughter, Nova Casper.

Medusa takes the job because it pays well and the requirements are simple. One house, two kids, one woman to answer to. Bianca is all three things she was warned about and none of the things she expected. Cold in a way that feels practiced, distant in a way that feels like a choice. She runs the house like she runs everything else, on her own terms, with no room for anything she didn't ask for. But what happens when the person who has never let herself be wanted becomes the only one you can't stop wanting? And what happens when the girl who was never supposed to matter starts feeling like the only thing that does? There's no good ending to those questions. There's only what happens next.

When Priscilla walks into Sloane's office, she's just another patient-guarded, broken, slow to trust. Sloane, a dominant and calculating therapist, is used to control. She knows how to push, how to read people, how to get what she wants. But Priscilla is different. What begins as therapy twists into something deeper-an electric pull neither of them can ignore. Sloane tells herself it's about healing, but her control is precise, obsessive... seductive. And Priscilla, under Sloane's careful influence, begins to lose sight of where her pain ends and Sloane begins. Because Sloane isn't just hiding secrets. She's using them. And the most dangerous thing about her is how far she'll go to keep Priscilla close. [ wlw romance between a therapist and her patient. Hold on tight, this a messy-dark romance ]

"𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙚. 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙬, 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Born into fame. Forced into the spotlight. When her mother's fashion empire falls into scandal, 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤 is automatically involved, and her image is on the line. 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞 is a cold, powerful attorney, hired to silence the scandal and control London. But some entanglements blur the line between control and desire. And not all of them are meant to be undone.

"I've never been with a woman before." I was an echo chamber to her words as I made my admission shyly, looking away as my face grew hot with embarrassment. I wasn't lying. I never had been with a woman before. Especially not an older, well respected and successful woman. Vivian Black took me by my chin, forcing me to look her in the eyes, "Let me change that." I watched and allowed her to trace circles into my hip, "What about the men I told you about? She let out a small laugh, her lips now on my neck and her hand in between my legs, "I'll make you forget all about them."

Just as Annabeth's hands reached to grab the back of her jacket, Sonya pivoted smoothly, one arm coiling around Annabeth's waist like a whip. There was a sharp gasp-Annabeth's-and then her spine slammed against the edge of the bar, the breath knocked clean from her chest. Sonya's forearm pressed hard across her collarbone, pinning her in place with infuriating ease. "If you wanted my attention, sugar, all you had to do was ask," Sonya murmured, her voice sultry and rough, lips inches from Annabeth's. "Get off me," Annabeth snarled, squirming beneath her hold. Sonya arched a brow, leaning in even closer until her body molded against the younger woman's-thigh to thigh, hip to hip. "You're feistier than the girls next door," she whispered against the shell of Annabeth's ear, her breath hot. "Careful now, Anna. I've always had a thing for resistance." Annabeth jerked against her, face twisting in rage. "Let. Me. Go. You stink of whiskey and whores," she spat, kicking against Sonya's shin. Sonya didn't flinch. "Say please," she drawled, her voice silk and steel, utterly unbothered. "Manners go a long way in this town." "Never," Annabeth hissed.