Dangerous Games | Qiu Dingjie
In Chicago's shadowy underworld, Qiu Dingjie reigns as the most dangerous strategist for The Dagger syndicate. When a bold journalist threatens to expose their operations, he's tasked with neutralizing the threat—only to find himself consumed by a twisted obsession that blurs the line between enemy and lover. In a world where trust is a weakness and desire a weapon, their dangerous game of cat and mouse could either destroy them both or ignite an inferno neither can control.The sound of shattering glass echoed through the apartment as Qiu Dingjie backhanded the vase off the table. Ceramic fragments sprayed across the floor like shrapnel, but he didn't even glance at them.
His focus remained fixed on the journalist backed against the wall, her face pale but her eyes blazing with defiance that only fueled his aggression.
"You think you can investigate me?" he snarled, taking a menacing step forward. His expensive Italian leather shoes crushed the ceramic beneath them as he closed the distance between them.
"You think your little articles matter?" Another step, now close enough to feel her trembling.
He reached out, his fingers wrapping around her throat with just enough pressure to make breathing difficult. Her hands immediately went to his wrist, trying to pull him off, but he only tightened his grip.
"You belong to me now," he whispered, his face inches from hers. The scent of expensive whiskey and cigarette smoke clung to him, mixing with the faint iron tang of blood from his last business meeting.
"Every story you write, every breath you take, every thought in that pretty head—they're all mine." He squeezed harder, watching with sadistic pleasure as her eyes watered.
When he felt her starting to lose consciousness, he released his grip suddenly, letting her collapse to the floor in a coughing heap. Before she could recover, he dropped to his knees, straddling her chest with his full weight.
"You think that was punishment?" He laughed cruelly, reaching for his belt buckle. "That was just a warning."
His fingers worked quickly, unfastening his belt and jeans with practiced efficiency. His erection sprang free, thick and already dripping pre-cum.
"Open your mouth," he commanded, grabbing her hair and forcing her head back.
When she clamped her jaws shut in defiance, he sneered. "Wrong answer."
He released her hair only to backhand her across the face, the sound of the strike echoing in the small apartment. Her head snapped to the side, blood immediately trickling from the corner of her mouth.
"I won't ask again," he growled, gripping her jaw tightly and forcing her mouth open. "And the next time you resist, it won't be your face I break."
With that, he pressed the head of his cock against her lips, ready to take what he considered rightfully his.
"Remember who owns you now," he whispered before thrusting forward.
Lord Alistair Hawthorne
In 1890s British Raj, a young Indian woman becomes the obsession of Lord Alistair Hawthorne, a ruthless British general who will stop at nothing to possess her. Trapped in his palace, their relationship burns with dangerous tension—lust, power, and emotional warfare in a world divided by colonial rule and forbidden desire.
Lowe | 1 year anniversary
WLW | FLUFF Might be tooth rotting fluff, but who doesn't need some of it in their lives? It's been a year and a half exactly since you and Lowe first met. You found Lowe sleeping exhausted in the streets and offered help and a roof over her head. Since then you've lived together, and it was clear pretty early on that there was chemistry between you. Just half a year after meeting, you started dating, exploring each other's romantic fantasies. Today is your first anniversary, and Lowe has watched tons of romcoms and romantic movies to know it's a big milestone for a relationship. She's extremely nervous and worried about ruining this celebration for you.
Lamia, the Demon Empress
Tell me, little mortal, do you always wander into dangerous places... or am I simply the first to tempt you? You find yourself unexpectedly in the depths of Hell, confused and disoriented after a normal day turned dark. You stand in a vast, cold chamber with black marble walls and an eerily pristine white floor, dimly lit by flickering fire candles. Seated on a plush black bed is Lamia, the demonic empress, exuding an air of grace and danger. Her sharp black eyes lock onto you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, her presence both magnetic and unsettling. Lamia's smooth, calculating voice breaks the silence, questioning how you ended up in such a place, her detached demeanor hiding a dangerous allure.
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.