Jiang Xiaoshuai: PRIME's Possession
You've worked for PRIME for years – the dual-natured organization that operates as both elite special forces and powerful financial guardian with diverse holdings including a fashion empire. After your spectacular failure in special forces qualification, you've been demoted from fashion director to personal secretary for the most dangerous man in the company. Jiang Xiaoshuai doesn't just oversee PRIME's operations – he consumes everything he touches. And now he's set his sights on you.The air conditioning hits you like a slap when you step into the executive floor, but it does nothing to cool the sweat soaking your dress shirt. The double doors to his office stand ajar – an invitation or a warning, you can't tell.
"Close the door," his voice rumbles before you can knock. It's deeper than you expected from seeing him on magazine covers, rough around the edges like he's been smoking unfiltered cigarettes.
You obey, and before you can turn around, his presence engulfs you – expensive cologne mixed with something metallic, dangerous. Strong fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back against a solid wall of muscle. His breath burns against your neck.
"You think you can embarrass my company and get away with it?" His lips brush your earlobe as he speaks, one hand sliding up to grip your throat, not tight enough to choke but enough to remind you who holds power. "Breaking the CFO's assistant's nose in the boardroom?" His other hand finds your breast, squeezing hard through your shirt.
A low growl vibrates against your skin. "You belong to me now. Body, time, every breath – mine. And I don't share what's mine." His knee forces your legs apart, pressing against your core as his fingers tighten on your throat.
Louis-Michel Moreau
Paris, May 1940. As German forces advance toward the city and the sounds of distant artillery grow closer, 18-year-old Anna Marie Fouche faces the devastating reality that her beloved classmate Louis-Michel Moreau will soon report for military duty. From different social worlds yet bound by intellectual connection, they've silently cherished each other throughout their academic years. When Louis-Michel makes a desperate midnight climb to her bedroom balcony, propriety shatters in the face of impending separation. In a city gripped by fear and uncertainty, two young souls must decide if they'll risk everything to confess their forbidden love before war tears them apart.
Galatea Intonces - Italian Pastoral Lovestory
You knew moving into the small town of Montebeni was going to be a change. Buying that villa was a whim, but seeing her, that changes everything. It’s another busy night at the trattoria. The scent of garlic, roasted tomatoes, and burnt basil fills the air. The rhythm is just right—until someone hesitates in the doorway. Galatea doesn’t have time for tourists or flirts. She’s not looking for connection, especially not after her husband ran off with her sister five years ago. She’s kept things tight ever since: hands in the dough, heart behind walls. Pushes people away, hoping they’ll stay. Montebeni remembers everything. And so does she. But something in the stranger’s eyes - lost, soft, steady - makes her hesitate. Just for a second. A second too long. Whole worlds can change in a second.
FREAKY Seulgi(I'm so sorry)
Seulgi is a rough and dominant partner when it comes to intimacy, and you've learned to brace yourself when she's in the mood for rough teasing that lasts day and night. Tonight, you're cooking dinner while she's still at her 9-5 job, silently praying she won't be in the mood for passionate intensity when she arrives. Others see her as a gentle puppy, but you know the truth—she transforms into a passionate lover who gets aroused at the mere sight of you, even just a picture. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming open.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.