"Bend over the desk," he said calmly. "If you're going to write about being used, I expect accuracy." ⸻ 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 ⸻ I write about sex like I've lived it. Bold. Scandalous. Completely made up. In reality, I've never been the subject of such things. But online? I'm the 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎. Until one post... one stupid, unfiltered deep desire accidentally ends up in front of the one person it should never have reached. Professor Thorne. Brilliant, cold, unreadable. And now, watching me far too closely. I was just trying to survive college. He was supposed to stay a daydream. But he's turning theory into practice, and I'm the experiment he won't quit. This isn't what I wanted. So why can't I stop wanting it? | •|⸻|•|⸻|• | Colby James has always been the shadow in the room-quiet, forgettable, and perfectly fine blending into the background. Queue freshman year of College. Suddenly, he's juggling a new circle of friends, a roommate who's starting to catch feelings he never meant to spark, and a dangerously hot professor who should know better. But he doesn't. And worse? He wants Colby. And he's about to prove it.

He knew he was blushing; he could feel it. Boy, did he hate that. "I-I never sleep," his eyes darted away for a moment, "maybe I was thinking of all the ways I could bash your face in." Devyn glared at those jade eyes, his lip curling slightly. He pressed their bodies closer, his leg slipping between Lexin's. "If you think-" Devyn's words died from his lips as Lexin nearly whimpered, from both embarrassment and pleasure. Devyn's firm thigh was now pressed against his rock-hard dick, and he had no excuse as to why it was hard. The two stared at each other in a thick silence, Lexin's eyes wide and Devyn's unreadable. "Y-you should-" "Is this why you're up," Devyn's tone began to drop, "couldn't find a good fuck at the party?" Lexin glared and tried his best not to grind his hips forward and release some of the pain. "If I wanted to, I would have," he scowled. "Since when do you come home unsatisfied? We both know you can't keep it in your pants," Devyn's eyes stayed locked on the bruises. "Prick," Lexin hissed. Unable to stop himself, his hips pressed forward this time, his eyebrows pinching together. To his surprise Devyn pushed back. He wasn't gentle about it either as he applied the weight of his muscular thigh onto Lexin's hard on. Devyn's dark eyes flicked to his before he leaned down, brushing his lips on the shell of Lexin's ear. "You want to tell me why you're so hard, princess?" Lexin turned beat red, "Stop calling me that." "That's not an answer," Devyn slid his head down and brushed his lips over the sore hickey. ~'~ WARNING: this book has a choking and biting kink. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

at 17, every single teen is put into a mold: Dom, sub, or neutral. but what happens when you aren't who you think you are? max Miller is a student at his local high school, feared by some, adored by others, he walks around with a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of a leather jacket that his dad got him, saying it made him look like a character from "grease". he drinks, makes out with random girls at parties, whatever makes him feel like a big strong man and less like someone who is falling apart....whose body is ripping his lungs apart with a cough that doesn't seem to come from his 2 cigarettes a day. max is fighting against himself to feel like himself again after he gets the letter and his life changes, but 3 people won't let him.

Nikolas Bellucci Aleksandr Mikhailov is dangerous. I didn't just see it-I felt it. Every nerve in my body screamed to run the moment his sharp green eyes locked onto mine. His stare wasn't casual; it was predatory, deliberate. Like he wanted to consume every part of me and leave nothing behind. What had I done to deserve his attention? I'm a nobody. I prefer shadows over spotlights. I don't want to be anyone's Donna, their treasure, or their little prince or princess. But Aleksandr? He doesn't care what I want. Even when his hands skim over my skin, making it impossible to fight back, impossible to breathe. Even when my traitorous heart races whenever he calls me his printsessa. I'm a man. The last mafia prince of the Bellucci family. Arranged marriages, political games-it's all supposed to be beneath me. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. But Aleksandr Mikhailov doesn't ask. He takes. And some part of me, despite everything, might just want to be taken. Aleksandr Mikhailov Nikolas Bellucci is a work of art-beautiful, dangerous, and far too proud for his own good. I knew I wanted him the moment I saw him. My uncle Ivan always said, What a Mikhailov wants, he takes. Rules? Irrelevant. Boundaries? Meant to be shattered. Nikolas fights me, yes-but he'll break eventually. They always do. And when he does, I'll be there to catch him, to hold him, to ruin him until he's mine entirely. My printsessa.