When a dragon terrorizes a peaceful mountain village, a grizzled mercenary named Iden answers the call. With his sights set on the beast's treasure hoard, he begins his arduous climb to the misty peak, but what he finds in the dragon's lair turns his world upside-down.
A Winter's Universe Story Ripped from today's headlines! Well, cribbed. At first, I thought it would be that old standby - Davey v. Goliath. Move over Batman, Winter Jennings is taking on Big Pharma. Yes ... but. Everything started with a patent for a neuron blocker that showed some early promise in treating PTSD. Then things began turning dark. Oh, did I mention intracranial meningioma? Clitorides: Awards -- 2018.
A Tara Story Part of the Keltria universe
Serpin lay along the branch enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. The smell of the storm was still fresh in the air. Looking down she spied the strange little craft. The smell caught her attention, curiosity got the better of her and she had to go look. Her mother had often warned her that her curiosity would get her into trouble one day. Serpin's life was about to change.
When Emily swerves to avoid a tiny creature, her mercy triggers a collision that binds her and a furious stranger in a single, haunting meter of ruined metal.
Every morning on the packed 7:42 a.m. train, 24-year-old Sophia catches the 45-year-old married stranger staring. What begins as innocent skirt teases and upskirt flashes quickly spirals into no-panties flashes, whispered commands, public grinding, train-toilet blowjobs, park-bench creampies, remote vibrators, alley piss play, full anal, footjobs, cum facials, and pregnancy-risk marathons. A slow-burn, addictive public-risk thrill ride that will own your commute.
Midnight Midnight veils London in shadow. She waits at Embankment, coat parted, lace stockings bare above, slick beneath skirt. He emerges—tall, eyes devouring. Fingers trace blouse, nipples hardening. Mouth devours hers, deep. Kneels, tongue laps slick folds, circles clit slowly. She shudders, comes biting cries. Lifts her, thrusts deep—rolling, filling. They grind against rail until she clenches, he spills hot. Vanishes. She smiles, marked. Midnight
Isabela arrives in Rio for the first time, meeting Thiago in Ipanema. Their taxi ride teases with his hand high on her thigh. Inside his apartment, he pins her to the wall, fingers plunging deep with wet sounds, tasting her arousal. He fucks her hard against the plaster—sharp slaps of skin, slick squelches, her cries echoing—until they both shatter. In bed, slow rolling thrusts build softer, deeper climaxes, bodies slick and trembling in the salt-scented dawn.
A nameless road unspools forever under Elias Moreau’s tyres. Naked, half-hard, he drives toward Isolde—pale, raven-haired, eternally waiting, sex glistening in headlights. Each encounter is slow, deep, wordless release on warm tar, yet she recedes again. No end, only endless want, her scent on the wind, the next curve calling him forward.