[COMPLETED] After one drunken Friday night, Vesper wakes up and finds herself on a bed, in a room, in an apartment that she neither owns nor recognizes. She discovers that the man who owns the place is the same man who she threw a dollar at, insulted, and slapped because she thought he was a pervert hobo who hovers around bars to make a pass at drunken girls. It turns out that "Pervert-Hobo Guy" owns three apartments, a Porsche, seven hit songs, three Grammy awards, and a broken heart paired with a damaged soul. And don't forget to add these things--a raging libido, a skilled mouth, dexterous fingers, and a certain something that may or may not have caused Vesper's eyes to go wide. ~*~*~*~*~ "Your m-mother... is... outside," Vesper mumbled breathlessly. His familiar scent wafted through her nostrils--something woodsy, something citrusy--something that screamed sex on legs. His intoxicating scent befuddled her mind and she cursed herself for being so weak. Her eyes widened at the feel of his something that's definitely not his belt buckle pressing against the small of her stomach. He wickedly grinned. "That's the point. She's outside so she can't see us." He nipped at Vesper's jaw and suckled on that sensitive spot on her neck. He moved towards her lips again and tasted her mouth from corner to corner. "Sweet. So, so, sweet," he said in between kisses. Vesper was horrified at the fact that her body was betraying her. She's a person with a very strong personality, but one touch of Andray's soft lips and she's pliant. Feeling herself losing control, she responded to his kisses with equal fervor, mouth still closed. She gasped in surprise when she felt his hands move to the middle of her legs and cupped her there. His tongue took the opportunity and delved into her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers. ~*~*~*~*~ This story is intended for mature audiences only. It contains strong language and explicit scenes. Read at your own discretion. You have been warned.

"Here, look this photo. It's one of my favorites. I caught you at all the right angles. You look so hot...but then again you're always hot when you're with me. I wanted you to see - how much the camera loves you. You must let me do this again..."

GRAPHIC and EXPLICIT! Tori's been in love with Jayden since she was twelve years old, but he's pulled away at every turn. Doubts, insecurities, and certain, ahem, preferences have been convincing him that she's the kind of girl to totter about on pedestals, and definitely not the lady for him. Except she really isn't the lady for anyone else, and he can't seem to keep his hands off her, or his belt buckled to his pants. This story does contain some Graphic content, I won't tell you its ALL Graphic, but there are a few risky bits in it. You have been warned, that is as much as I can do without armed guards and electric fences ...

"Guns and sex... that's what you are." • • • Rya Wilkins is a top trained agent, working under the orders of the president of USA. Her job involves brutal interrogations, dangerous undercover CIA work, and killing people who pose a threat to their nation. - And a threat like that just so happens to come in the form of a lethal and dangerously handsome Italian agent, who managed to break into the CIA and steal confidential information. It is now Rya's job to retrieve that information and stop the goddamn mischievous, sexy, son of a-I'm-going-to-make-your-body-explode-in-more-ways-than-one agent and bring him into custody. But there's a thin line between hatred and love - and that line turns out to be Rya's thong.

"You want me to be a genius or do you want me to fuck you?" • • • The Alexandrettia is the finest school in the state, known for producing the smartest, and most talented kids in America. 21 year old keen painter Mia Hanson managed to get a spot. She worked her whole life to get inside, to see the hallowed halls her biggest idols once walked through. But those very same halls gets vandalized one wild night, and the person responsible gets sentenced to do community service, working as a janitor to clean up his mess. With his brooding eyes, filthy mouth and body covered up in ink, Eli the type of guy you run away from; The type who only lives for the trouble; The type you just know packs a brain the size of a peanut. But when one of Fermat's biggest unsolved mathematical problems gets solved by an unknown source, rumors start as to who and where this genius might be... Well: Three guesses who?