Married young to a guy hand-picked by her father, Becky Petre is a model woman. She has two sons and has served sixteen years of selfless duty in a passionless marriage. Craving a man's loving touch yet committed to her marital vows, Becky is trying to woo her coldly distant husband. But she knows of just one man who can teach her the sexual mysteries of love. The illegitimate son of an English countess and an Arab sheik, Damien Devington was educated to enjoy both Western civilization and Eastern pleasure. Scorned by society and challenged by Prim Becky's request, he undertakes her education in the art of sensuous enjoyment. But as the teachings become a temptation neither can refuse, Becky is forced to choose between commitment and a daring, forbidden desire . . .
Damien would not be blackmailed by any woman, no matter how strong her need for sexual fulfillment.
He leaned against the library door, narrowing his eyes to see the woman standing in front of the half-circle bay of floor-to-ceiling windows. Wispy tendrils of fog connected her to the opening curtains, the former a monolith of black wool and the latter sentry columns of yellow silk.
Rebecca Petre.
He didn't identify her, who was dressed head to toe in a hat and shapeless black cloak and had her back to him. But he wouldn't know her if she was nude and facing him, arms and legs spread wide in shameless invitation.
He was the Bastard Sheikh, the illegitimate child of an English countess and an Arab sheikh. She was the wife of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and her father was the Prime Minister of England.
She and him did not interact except behind closed doors and between silky beds.
Damien remembered the black-haired woman whose bed he had departed barely an hour before. The Marchioness of Clairdon had met him at the ballum rancum, a whore's ball, where he had danced nude among the other prostitutes. She had used him to fuel her desire for sexual titillation, and for a few hours, he had transformed into the animal she thought he was, thrusting, grinding, and pounding into her body in search of that perfect release where there was no past, no future, no Arabia, and no England-only blinding oblivion.
Perhaps he would accept this lady as well, if she hadn't purposefully pushed her way into his house via coercion and extortion.
With muscles clenched in quiet hostility, he pulled away from the cold press of mahogany and padded over the Persian carpet that covered the library floor. "What do you want, Mrs. Becky Petre, that you invade my home and threaten my citizenship?"
His voice, a raspy purr of English polish covering Arab brutality, bounced off the three sash windows and chased the curving brass curtain pole that rimmed the twelve-foot-high bay ceiling.
He could feel the woman's anxiety, practically smell it through the moist fog.
Damien wanted her to be terrified.
He wanted her to understand how vulnerable she was, alone in the Bastard Sheikh's den, with neither her husband nor father to defend her.
He wanted her to understand in the most basic and fundamental way imaginable that his body was his to gift and that he would not be coerced into having sex.
Damien halted beneath the burning chandelier, waiting for her to turn and face the repercussions of her decisions.
Burning gas hissed and bubbled through the frigid quiet.
"Come now, Mrs. Petre, you were not so reticent with my servant," he gently teased, knowing what she desired, daring her to say the forbidden words, familiar ones, I want to diddle an Arab; I want to rut with a bastard. "What could a woman like you possibly want from a man like me?"
Slowly, slowly, the figure turned, a black swirl of wool framed by glittering yellow silk draperies. The dark veil covering her face did not conceal her horror at seeing him.
Damien's lips twisted in derision.
He understood what she was thinking. What every Englishwoman thought upon first seeing him.
Half-Arab men do not have sun-kissed wheat-colored hair.
Half-Arab men do not wear fitted attire like English gentlemen.
A man who is partly Arab.-
"I want you to teach me how to give a man pleasure."
The woman's voice was muffled by the veil, but her words were clear.
They were not the words he was expecting.
Damien's heart stopped pounding in his chest for a single, timeless second. Erotic pictures rushed before his eyes... of a lady... naked... taking him... in every way a woman can take a man... for both his and her pleasure.
He felt a burning sensation in his crotch. Against his will, he could feel his skin growing and hardening, recalling pictures that would never exist, exiled as he was in this cold, passionless land where women used him for their own needs-or scorned him for his.
His nerves twitched with wrath.
Becky Petre, for invading his house for selfish reasons under the premise of learning how to pleasure a guy.
At himself, who, at the age of thirty-eight, still craved what she had to offer, although knowing it was a lie: Englishwomen were not interested in learning what satisfied a bastard sheik.
Damien deliberately and aggressively reduced the gap between himself and the woman who hid behind a shroud of respectability.
To her credit, she did not flee from his rage.
To his credit, he was fine with simply pulling down her veil.
She could easily see his Arabian ancestry up close, free of the sheer black cloth that obscured her view. His complexion was brown and sunburned, and his hair was sun-kissed.
Now she'd know that his English gentleman persona was simply that: a veneer. He had learnt to be a man in a nation where women are valued half as much as men-a woman might be sold, raped, or killed for daring considerably less than this lady did now.
Becky Petre should be terrified.
"Now, tell me again what you want," he said softly.
She was unconcerned with the stench of whiskey, perfume, perspiration, and sex that he gave out.
"I want you to teach me how to give a man pleasure," she said gently, leaning her head back so she could meet his eyes.
She didn't stand taller than five feet three inches, and she had a long way to gaze up.
Mrs. Becky Petre had extraordinarily white skin, the kind of white that on an Arabian auction block indicated a woman's bondage. She wasn't young. Damien estimated her to be in her early forties. Faint creases extended from the corners of delicate hazel eyes. The face pulled up to his was rounder than oval, the nose more pug than aquiline, and her lips were too thin. Her pupils were dilated, yet her expression was devoid of the anxiety that she must be experiencing.
Ela'na. Damn. Why didn't she reveal it?
Aria, a young omega of the Silver Moon pack, has always dreamed of being chosen as the mate of Liam, the pack's powerful alpha. But on the sacred night of the mating ceremony, Liam publicly rejects Aria, shattering her heart and dreams. Devastated, she flees into the forest, only to be saved from certain death by Ethan, the alluring alpha of the rival Golden River pack. As Aria takes refuge in the Golden River pack, she discovers that Ethan is her second chance mate, a gift from the moon goddess herself. Embracing her new path, Aria trains to become a formidable warrior and a true Luna. But as she navigates the complexities of her new life, a shocking betrayal threatens to destroy both packs, forcing Aria to confront her past and unlock the hidden strength within her. Can Aria rise above the pain of rejection and become the leader she was destined to be? Will her love for Ethan, her second chance mate, give her the courage to protect her new pack and forge a brighter future?
Charlee was left at the altar and became a laughingstock. She tried to keep her head high, but ultimately lost it when she received a sex tape of her fiance and her half-sister. Devastated, she ended up spending a wild night with a hot stranger. It was supposed to be one-time thing, but he kept popping up, helping her with projects and revenge, all while flirting with her constantly. Charlee soon realized that it was nice having him around, until her ex suddenly appeared at her door, begging for another chance. Her tycoon lover asked, “Who will you choose? Think carefully before you answer.”
"I'm going to tell you what I have in mind," he murmured. "First you're going to strip down until you're completely naked," he whispered against her ear. "Then I'm going to tie you up so you're completely powerless and subject to my every whim." "Mmm, sounds good so far," she murmured. "Then I'm going to insert a plug to prepare you for me. After that I'm going to spank that sweet ass of yours until it's rosy with my marks." She shivered uncontrollably, her mind exploding with the images he evoked. She let out a small whimper as he sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth. God, she could cum with just his words. She was already aching with need. Her nipples tingled and hardened to painful points. Her clit pulsed and twitched between her legs until she clamped her thighs together to alleviate the burn. "And then I'm going to f**k your mouth. But I won't cum. Not yet. When I'm close, I'll flog you again until your ass is burning and you're on fire with the need for relief. And then I'm going to f**k that ass. I'm going to take you hard and rough, to the very limits of what you can withstand. I won't be gentle. Not tonight. I'm going to take you as roughly as you can stand. And then I'm going to cum all over your ass. Are you ready to be completely and utterly dominated?"
Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."
"Sign the divorce papers and get out!" Leanna got married to pay a debt, but she was betrayed by her husband and shunned by her in-laws. Seeing that her efforts were in vain, she agreed to divorce and claimed her half of the properties. With her purse plump from the settlement, Leanna enjoyed her newfound freedom. The constant harassment from her ex's mistress never fazed her. She took back her identities as top hacker, champion racer, medical professor, and renowned jewelry designer. Then someone discovered her secret. Matthew smiled. "Will you have me as your next husband?"
For ten years, Daniela showered her ex-husband with unwavering devotion, only to discover she was just his biggest joke. Feeling humiliated yet determined, she finally divorced him. Three months later, Daniela returned in grand style. She was now the hidden CEO of a leading brand, a sought-after designer, and a wealthy mining mogul—her success unveiled at her triumphant comeback. Her ex-husband’s entire family rushed over, desperate to beg for forgiveness and plead for another chance. Yet Daniela, now cherished by the famed Mr. Phillips, regarded them with icy disdain. "I’m out of your league."
To the public, she was the CEO's executive secretary. Behind closed doors, she was the wife he never officially acknowledged. Jenessa was elated when she learned that she was pregnant. But that joy was replaced with dread as her husband, Ryan, showered his affections on his first love. With a heavy heart, she chose to set him free and leave. When they met again, Ryan's attention was caught by Jenessa's protruding belly. "Whose child are you carrying?!" he demanded. But she only scoffed. "It's none of your business, my dear ex-husband!"