The stiletto heels of Lucy’s boots clacked against the cold, hard floor of her dimly lit dungeon, echoing…

The cuffs stayed on. Faith stayed on her knees, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, her massive breasts…

Whitney doesn’t just ride wild stallions—she rides cocky little subs until they break. Saddle up, sugar.

Brooke’s breath hitched as she felt Tyrone’s hands slide up the backs of her thighs, slow and deliberate….

Brooke stepped into Tyrone’s office like she didn’t belong there—like she knew damn well she shouldn’t be asking…