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Daisy Rose

Big Bad Wolves

Wild abandon is only the beginning of the relationships in these 6 steamy standalone stories.

In Pet Cat-Girl, Jason finds his hands full when he is given the case of a young cat-shifter caught in the middle of her shift with cat ears, a long fluffy tail, and the mind of cat. They think he's going to make her better but the Alpha Werewolf has so much more in mind for her.

In Improper Thoughts, werewolf Nigel knows it's wrong to fall for his nephew's mate, an innocent rabbit shifter who looks so perfect in her cute little sundress. His wolf sees prey and wants to lick and bite her neck with his fangs, leave his mark on her and make her his own. Maybe his nephew can learn to share.

In Bad Work Etiquette, Selena is a naive Shifter who is tricked into a live of servitude with a Snake shifter who intends to ruin her completely. He submits her to perverse humiliation under the hands of strangers in public places and she is helpless to resist when she learns of the pleasures that await.

In The Good Submissive, Genevieve's get-rich-quick scheme spirals out of control when she falls for an older client. Not only does he take control of her expenses, he seizes her body and heart along the way, showering her with gifts as he shows her all the things a younger, less experienced lover can't.

In Bad BDSM Etiquette, Kristine surrenders to a Dom who takes advantage of her inexperience and ignores her aftercare, leaving her in a state of disorientation. Thankfully, her new werewolf boss saves her, and his possessive instincts kick in when he sees his lovely assistant pliant and soft, willing to do whatever he tells her.

Anya is a Lost Little Wolf who strays too far from home and is quickly swept away by a pack of Werewolves who have been looking for a female packmate. The strong, powerful shifters show her just what they're capable of. She never stood a chance.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

“Miss Kristine?” he asks.

“Yes?” she asks, not really looking up. She rubs a hand on the back of her neck uncomfortably before looking up. It appears she's looking for something, digging into the office supplies cabinet. She huffs and goes on her hands and knees, presenting a completely tantalizing scene for him. He licks his lips and tells himself that he's not a teenager. He is in control of his body.

“It's Sunday,” he tells her, frowning at the waif of a thing rummaging through the knives and scissors before pulling back with a particularly sharp pair. She seems to remember he's there only after she has turned back around and her eyes widen.

While it's not his first time seeing her, thanks to her cv, it's the first time she has seen him in person. And it appears she likes what she sees, her eyes widening and a pink blush coloring her cheeks. She's wearing a blouse that's buttoned all the way to her throat. She fiddles uncomfortably with the cuffs under his scrutiny. He tries to soften his gaze.

She tilts her head like she doesn't get what he's trying to say, so he tries again.

“People don't usually work on Sundays,” he says.

“Oh.” Her lips purse and he wants to suck and lick at them until they're kiss swollen and red.

He takes a careful inhale and frowns again. She smells off too. Nothing terrible, but just… off.

“Should I leave?” she asks carefully, testing the words in her mouth like they're foreign to her. She's holding the pair of scissors in front of her like some sort of weapon.

This isn't going the way he expected. He's usually very good with charming women. “I'm not telling you to leave,” he blows out a breath.

Her shoulders slump and she relaxes. Her hands are shaking and there are rings of purplish-grey bruises around her wrists, fading tot brown at the edges. It's even more pronounced because of her pale skin.

His throat goes dry. “Are you alright?” he asks. There is a confusing array of scents coming from the young woman in front of him. She looks young for her age. Eighteen. Jesus.

“I'm fine,” she says, again in that disinterested tone. She catches the way he is staring at her wrists and joins him, staring at them in confusion, like she can't quite remember how she got them in the first place. After a moment, she folds her cuffs up higher to hide the bruises.

Making an executive decision, he steps all the way up in front of her and tips her head up, fingers pinching her chin. Her eyes are a lovely brown shade, but that's not what he's looking at. Her pupils are dilated and her vision keeps skipping over him. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks.

She leans into his touch and closes her eyes instead of focusing on his fingers.

“Where were you before you came here?” he asks, beginning to put together the dots.

Her brows furrow together. It would be endearing if it wasn't so worrying. “Home, I think?” she whispers. “But I needed to… something,” she whispers. “Oh, I needed to take this off,” she hooks her finger in her collar of her blouse and yanks it down a little. A button springs loose and flies across the room.

He ignores it. There's a collar around her throat, confirming his suspicions. Fucking hell. “Who put that collar on you, darling?” he asks, trying to soften his tone.

“Someone— someone at the club, I think,” she whispers.
595 páginas impresas
Propietario de los derechos de autor
Boruma Publishing
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