My Life in a Contract Marriage: Rescued by a Hot Billionaire
Beauty was the Ashford family law, and Freya Sinclair was beauty come to life—until an accident stole that title from her. Sold to the Ashfords for a bag of chips, Freya was forced into a marriage with their heir, Alexander Ashford, on her 18th birthday. Unloved and unwanted because of a scar, she endured years of rejection. Determined to reclaim her life, Freya takes a stand, only to be cast out by the family that never wanted her. Homeless and disowned, she crosses paths with Sylus Thorn, a world-renowned fashion designer and enigmatic billionaire. Just when Freya believes she can start over, Alexander comes back to claim the wife he once discarded. “Do you have anything to say regarding your stepsisters’ affair with your husband?” Just when I thought I had no choice but to respond, a strong hand gripped my arm, pulling me out of the crowd. Startled, I looked up to see a tall, muscular man guiding me away with ease, his presence shielding me from the cameras and the reporters’ relentless questions. We reached a black car parked at the edge of the lot, and relief flooded through me. “Mr. Thorn,” I whispered, recognizing his familiar face. “Get in,” Sylus commanded, his voice calm but firm. Without hesitation, I climbed into the car, my heart racing from more than just the escape. Will Freya save her marriage to Alexander, or will she be swept off her feet by the mysterious Sylus Thorn? Join the MLCM Readers https://discord.gg/gEq2mCr574
Good Girl, Mama
"Words, mama," he said softly, his voice firm but tender. "Use your words."
I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning. "Yes, Sylus," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips. "I want you to touch me."
The weight of his hand on my jaw sent a shiver racing down my spine, every nerve in my body attuned to the warmth of his touch. His thumb brushed my cheekbone in lazy, deliberate strokes, as if he was memorizing the feel of me.
"Say it again," he murmured, his voice low and rough, a caress in itself.
"Yes," I whispered, breathless, my gaze locked on his. "I want you to touch me."
A flicker of something dangerous lit up his eyes—hunger, maybe even need—and then his lips were on mine again. This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His kiss was fierce, consuming, leaving no room for doubt.