"He's never going to go for you," a voice came out of the dark in front of me. "Not while you're a virgin." I squinted, and when I looked closer, I saw there was another bedroom at the end of the hall with the door wide open, and though I couldn't quite make out the figure, I could see there was someone sitting in an armchair, smoking a cigarette. Or a cigar maybe. I took a step forward. Surely he wasn't talking to me, but there didn't seem to be anyone else around. "Excuse me?" "Weston never goes for virgins. It's one of his rules." Heat rushed up my neck and flooded my cheeks. "Uh..." "You're offended." **** When I met Donovan Kincaid, I knew he was rich. I didn't know he was filthy. Truth be told, I was only trying to get his best friend to notice me. I knew poor scholarship girls like me didn't stand a chance against guys like Weston King and Donovan Kincaid, but I was in love with his world, of parties and s*x and power. I knew what I wanted-I knew who I wanted-until one night, their world tried to bite me back and Donovan saved me. He saved me, and then Weston finally noticed me, and I finally learned what it was to be in their world. And then what it was like to lose it. Ten years later, I've found my way back. Back to their world. Back to him. This time, I'm ready. I've been down this road before, and I know all the dirty, filthy ways Donovan will try and wreck me. But it's hard to resist. Especially when I know how much I'll like it.
0.5 DIRTY FILTHYR RICH BOYS
One
No one on earth could kiss like Weston King.
When his face lowered toward mine, my breath caught in the back of my throat. When his mouth met mine, electricity sparked. When his tongue slipped between my lips, I found heaven. My toes literally curled, just like the trite expression suggested. My heart pounded against my ribcage. Goose bumps stood up along my skin. Butterflies flitted in circles in my belly. Every cell, every fiber of my being felt his invasion. His kiss turned a body of flesh and blood and bone into something bigger. Something combustible. Something charged. Something aflame.
At least that's what I imagined his kisses were like.
My only evidence was based on observation, and, of that, I had plenty.
The girl he'd chosen to hook up with tonight definitely looked about to burst into flames with the way she was wriggling and writhing against him. Nichette? Was that her name? Or Nikita? It had been hard to hear her over the din of the party when she'd introduced herself to him an hour ago, and he'd only said it once or twice since then. It was something unusual and a bit pretentious and it blurred together with all the other unusual pretentious names of his previous hook-ups.
A guy I recognized from my economics class stumbled past, laughing with his buddies, and I pressed tighter to the wall, clutching my red Solo cup so it wouldn't spill. Though I didn't really care for whatever craft beer was on keg this week, it was one of my favorite things about the parties at The Keep. The main attraction was always craft beers and liquor. Most of the other rich Harvard students liked to draw crowds to their soirees with prescription drugs and recipes so experimental the FDA hadn't even had time to disapprove them yet.
The boys at The Keep kept things simple, and-except for a fair amount of underage drinking-legal. "For those who might not want a blot on their past," I'd heard Brett Larrabee, the self-designated house manager, state on more than one occasion, usually when he was trying to convince a guy to suck his dick with his "one day I'm going to be a senator" pick-up routine. I had to give him credit-it usually worked.
My other favorite thing about the parties at The Keep was Weston King. It was actually the only reason I ever went to any of the shindigs. I was absolutely intrigued with him for no good reason other than that he was hot, charming and wealthy. He was my addiction. My obsession. My crush.
Gotta love hormones.
I'd noticed Weston on the first day of Intro to Business Ethics. I'd taken a seat in the front of the classroom (because I was that kind of girl), and he'd walked in late (because he was that kind of guy), smirking at something on his cell phone. The grin was still on his face as he tucked his phone in his back pocket, the glimmer still in his blue eyes. Ice blue eyes. The class was in a lecture hall, so it took him several seconds to cross the room, and I couldn't stop staring. I watched him the entire way. Watched him brush his hand through the dark blond hair that swooped over his forehead. Watched him give a wink to the teacher's assistant who was glaring at him for being tardy. This guy was confident. Cocky. Exactly like all the preppy rich kids who made it into Harvard because of significant monetary donations and a family name. He was the kid I wanted to hate, and I'd arrived in Cambridge with my scholarship and my father's lifetime savings wiped out planning to do exactly that.
But then his gaze crossed mine, and I don't even think he actually saw me, but I saw him and what I saw was fascinating. It was ease and charm and privilege and it made me buzz. Made me breathe. Made me blush with thoughts too dirty for an ethics class. It definitely made me forget every intention I had of hating his kind.
Instead, I wanted to know more.
It wasn't hard to find out about him. His father was Nash King, co-owner of King-Kincaid Financial, one of the world's largest investment firms, and without even having to ask, people talked about him. I soon discovered he was a freshman, like me, and that he lived with a bunch of guys in a four-story brownstone ten minutes off campus that had been passed among a few wealthy families for so long, no one remembered why they called it The Keep. The house was famous for the parties they threw every weekend. And though it was now late October and Weston had never once spoken to me or looked at me directly or even indicated that he knew I was alive, I'd come to every one.
Every time, I spent the evening in a corner watching him pressed up against some girl. Always a different corner. Always a different girl. I'd tried to identify if he had a type, but I hadn't found a pattern. This one was a redhead. Last week was a blonde. The week before, the girl had almost exactly the same shade of brown hair as I did, but she was curvy. This redhead was as rail thin as I was, but she'd obviously purchased a set of breasts. Another time he'd been with a girl even flatter than I was. No pattern. No type. It led me to believe that all I'd have to do was get the courage to talk to him and then maybe...
But then what?
I wasn't delusional. I knew I had nothing special to offer. There was no trap that would set off the minute Weston's cock was inside me. He'd fuck me and be done. And then my obsession with him would be even more pathetic because I wouldn't just be a girl with a crush-I'd be a psycho who couldn't move on.
Still, I dreamt that I'd be different. That one day, he'd notice me and there'd be that spark and it would be the forever kind of spark and when he found out I'd been saving myself for someone just like him he'd want to work to earn me and he would. And it would be sweet and romantic and we'd live happily ever after.
For a business major, I'd always had a wild imagination. I was well aware.
"Hey, sexy!" One of the guys who lived in the house-I truly had no idea how many did-pulled a girl in a thigh-length sweater and printed leggings in for a hug, blocking my view. "Long time since I've seen you. Want to join in the next round?"
I circled around the pool table that the boys kept in place of a dining room table, squinting around people until I caught sight of Weston and his catch of the night. When I spotted them again, it was just in time.
Our lips stayed locked as we grinded and humped, a tight ball of tension growing deep in my belly. I’d never been so intimate with someone during a first kiss let alone the first night we’d met. Never felt so close to orgasm with all of my clothes still on. Never been on the verge of begging for sex from a near stranger—The sound of a throat clearing brought me tumbling out of ecstasy. Dylan broke his mouth from mine and peered around me. “Yes?” The driver. Oh my God, I’d forgotten about our driver. **** British ad exec Dylan Locke isn't looking for love. He isn't looking for fate. He's definitely not looking for Audrey Lind. She's pretty, far too young, and overly romantic--in short, exhausting. But when the girl, young enough to be his daughter, literally lands in his lap and asks for his expertise, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested. But Audrey isn't looking for love either--she's looking for lessons, and she's certain Dylan knows everything she needs to learn. If he agrees to play the teacher can he keep his heart? Of course he can. Then again, he might be lying.
Are You Sure You Want To Delete This Contact? He hesitated. Maybe he was overreacting. Just because his parents hadn’t worked out… “Christ, Brad, divorced?” Stu said into the phone. Until now, Stu hadn’t said much and his sudden outburst drew Micah’s attention. “I knew that chick was just after your money.” Stu paused. “Look, I’m real sorry to hear that. I’ll get Pam to spin it to the press however you want me to. It’s funny, I was just saying to another client that relationships in Hollywood are tough.” Stu gave a knowing wink and Micah’s mind was made up. He looked back at his phone. Are You Sure You Want To Delete This Contact? Micah pushed Yes. And Maddie from the party was erased from his phone. Erased from his life. *** On the night of her graduation from film school, straight-laced Maddie Bauers fell completely out of character for an oh-my-god make-out session with a perfect stranger. Complete with the big O. Seven years later, that romantic interlude is still fresh in her mind. That stranger is now a rich and famous actor. And she’s one very distracted camera assistant working on his latest production. She might consider another tryst…if he even remembers her.
He’ll get what he wants—even if I’m already taken. Holt Sebastian is royalty in our world. As CEO of the Sebastian News Corp, he’s the man with all the power. The man who decides if I’ll always just be a local television anchor or if I’ll be the rising star of my own show. I make it my mission to be noticed. Make him see my potential. But soon, it's clear he's the one in charge. His possessiveness is brutal. His eyes own everything they touch. I feel his gaze on me when he's in the room. The heat of them as they rake down my body, taking me in, marking me as his. He doesn’t just want me on the screen—he wants me in his bed. And Holt Sebastian gets what he wants. No one will stop him, no one will get in his way. No one can protect me from his desire. Not even the man who promised nothing would come between us and his ambition—my husband.
I hated how he said my name, like he had all the power because he knew that bit of information about me. Hated it and loved it. I also hated how his eyes drew up my body, long and slow. Sensually touching my every curve, my every angle. Hated and loved it. Hated that I loved it. I sat on the chair that was still behind me, not trusting my legs to keep me steady for much longer. “What exactly is this deal you have? And who are you?” “I,” he paused, “am JC.” I’d never heard of him. “JC…?” “Just JC.” He said it like it answered everything. Two short syllables to put me in my place. “As in Jesus Christ?” JC chuckled as well, his expression brash and sexy. “I’ve been called that. But usually only when my face is pressed between a woman’s thighs.” Ew. Also, hot. —— The only reward Gwen Anders got from her rough childhood was a thick skin and hard heart. She’s content with her daily grind managing a top NYC nightclub—Eighty-Eighth Floor. So hers isn’t a happily ever after. She doesn’t believe in those anyway. Then she meets J.C. The rich, smooth talking playboy is the sexiest thing that Gwen has ever encountered, but she’s not interested in a night-in-shining latex. But when a family tragedy pushes her to the brink, it’s J.C. who’s there to teach her a new method of survival, one based on following primal urges and desires. His no-strings-attached lessons require her to abandon her constant need for control. Her carefully built walls are obliterated. Gwen discovers there’s a beautiful world outside her prison. Freedom is exhilarating—and terrifying. When she starts to feel something for J.C., she fears for her heart. Especially as she realizes that he has secrets of his own. Secrets that don't want to set him free.
“I don’t need your money.” She stuck out her chin. Insistent. “I do fine.” “‘Fine,’ but you’re getting kicked out of your hotel room—” “Fine doesn’t mean I can spare the money for an impromptu trip to NYC and a fancy hotel room. Regular people don’t have gobs of cash lying around.” The comment about regular people hit me in the gut. Because I’d always been the regular one, and she’d never been anything close to “regular.” But I understood what she was saying. She wasn’t desperate. She could take care of herself. She just couldn’t take care of this, and to make matters worse, the reason she’d splurged on this was because she’d put all of her hope in me saying I’d help her out, and I refused. ___ We were supposed to run away after graduation. When she didn’t show at our meeting place, I got brave and went after her. It was a mistake. I left bloodied and bruised. I had no choice but to walk away. Years passed. I traveled, settled halfway around the world, made enough money that I didn’t have to look back. But I never got over her. Then, out of the blue, she calls. And, what she asks for, the favor that she wants? I never thought I'd be willing to take a life. But the truth is, and always has been: I'd do anything for her.
How (not) to get over your crush: compare him to every man on your dating app... Chloe is on the wrong side of her quarter-life crisis. Dead-end job, lease ending, and single af. It’s made all the harder by knowing exactly who the perfect man for her is: her super hot, incredibly kind, and extremely taken friend Austin. What’s a girl to do but drown her troubles in pinot and let her bestie open her an account on a dating app? If there are other perfect men out there, she’s determined to find them. Her ensuing series of boyfriends spark several revelations for Chloe: Never date a man with step-mommy issues. Always ask about criminal records on the first date. Swimsuits were never intended to be made from leather. Maybe perfection is as overrated as her new app.
"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?"
Corinne devoted three years of her life to her boyfriend, only for it to all go to waste. He saw her as nothing more than a country bumpkin and left her at the altar to be with his true love. After getting jilted, Corinne reclaimed her identity as the granddaughter of the town’s richest man, inherited a billion-dollar fortune, and ultimately rose to the top. But her success attracted the envy of others, and people constantly tried to bring her down. As she dealt with these troublemakers one by one, Mr. Hopkins, notorious for his ruthlessness, stood by and cheered her on. “Way to go, honey!”
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!"
"Ahh!" She was in a moaning mess. She did not want to feel anything for this man. She hated him. His hands began to move all over her body. She gasped when he pulled down the back chain of her dress. The chain stopped at her lower waist, so when he zipped it off, her upper back and waist were exposed. "D-Don't touch m-ummm!" His fingers rolled around her bare back, and she pressed her head against the pillow. His touches were giving her goosebumps all over her body. With a deep angry voice, he whispered in her ear, "I am going to make you forget his touches, kisses, and everything. Every time you touch another man, you will only think of me." - - - Ava Adler was a nerdy omega. People bullied her because they thought she was ugly and unattractive. But Ava secretly loved the bad boy, Ian Dawson. He was the future Alpha of the Mystic Shadow Pack. However, he doesn't give a damn about rules and laws, as he only likes to play around with girls. Ava was unaware of Ian's arrogance until her fate intertwined with his. He neglected her and hurt her deeply. What would happen when Ava turned out to be a beautiful girl who could win over any boy, and Ian looked back and regretted his decisions? What if she had a secret identity that she had yet to discover? What if the tables turned and Ian begged her not to leave him?
Blinded in a crash, Cary was rejected by every socialite—except Evelina, who married him without hesitation. Three years later, he regained his sight and ended their marriage. "We’ve already lost so many years. I won’t let her waste another one on me." Evelina signed the divorce papers without a word. Everyone mocked her fall—until they discovered that the miracle doctor, jewelry mogul, stock genius, top hacker, and the President's true daughter… were all her. When Cary came crawling back, a ruthless tycoon had him kicked out. "She's my wife now. Get lost."
Elin spent twenty years deeply loving her husband, finally marrying him just as she'd always dreamed. But reality shattered her illusions—he wasn't the man she believed. Instead, he callously destroyed her family, crushing her heart beyond repair. At her lowest point, Ruben, equally betrayed that night, approached her steadily. "Marry me, Elin. I'll help you take revenge." Yet, after their wedding, she quickly discovered he was dangerously unpredictable. "I made a mistake. Let's divorce..." Ruben slid his arm possessively around her waist, whispering a chilling promise, "Only in death."