Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Wed, 10 Aug 2022 01:20:16 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Paying Her Dues (Price of Love #4) Read Online Dani Wyatt http://www.ilovenovels.com/paying-her-dues-price-of-love-4-read-online-dani-wyatt Wed, 10 Aug 2022 01:09:52 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/paying-her-dues-price-of-love-4-read-online-dani-wyatt Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Romance Authors: Dani Wyatt Series: Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >39

Read Online Books/Novels:	Paying Her Dues (Price of Love #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Dani Wyatt
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B0B1JJK3T9
Book Information:
It’s my eighteenth birthday and you know what I got from my parents? Nothing. Crickets. They totally forgot. They are so focused on making sure I earn first chair in the local symphony, I can’t even tell them the conductor promises I’ll do well in my audition, if I give him a private performance playing his instrument instead of my violin. So, I take my birthday celebration into my own hands and tip back a few too many lime-a-ritas with my best friend. Enter an SOS call to his father for a ride home and well…let’s just say I leave my inhibitions back at the bar. What’s worse is my best friend’s father is also my father’s best friend and the source of every naughty fantasy I’ve ever had. He’s older and wiser. He’s tattoos and rough edges and everything I shouldn’t want. But, I do. So, so much. Turns out, he’s been doing some wanting of his own and before I can blow out my candles, I’m up against the wall in my birthday suit and he’s giving me a gift that rocks my world. He’s taking what he wants, and this is turning into the best birthday ever. Only, when our secret is exposed, will it destroy our families…or us? Author’s Note: This innocent virtuoso is going to find out just how possessive an older man can be. These two throw caution to the wind and before you know it, it’s a crescendo of over-the-top love that ends with a standing ovation. Age-gap, safe, with a happy ending just like you expect from Dani.
Books in Series:	Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt
Books by Author:	Dani Wyatt

CHAPTER 1

Jess

Today should be different. Bigger, somehow. A day upon which I launch myself into the abyss of adulthood.

But, it’s not.

It’s my 18th birthday but also, Tuesday means two hours of violin lessons, forty-five minutes in the car, and a whole night of orchestra practice. The car ride to the hall with my parents isn’t over yet, and I’m already dizzy with tiredness.

And I’m hungry. So hungry.

I’m also hot, and North Carolina humidity makes leather seats squeaky, sticky, and uncomfortable. Right now I’m in the backseat of my parents’ Range Rover, feeling slightly carsick; Dad is driving, Mom is shotgun-driving. I watch her foot push on an imaginary brake as she nervously rubs the pad of her thumb over her perfectly manicured nails.

My stomach makes a rude gurgling sound and I suck in my belly. “Mom. Do we have anything to eat?”

Without turning to face me, she plucks a Ziploc bag out of her purse and tosses it back to me.

Celery. Again. For crying out loud. “Anything with any flavor? Or anything with nutritional value?”

“Eat your celery, young lady. And put those ear buds in. That lesson was a disaster. You’ve got a long way to go.”

I swallow a groan. The reason the lesson didn’t go so well is that my stupid fingers were bleeding because she made me practice for four hours and sixteen minutes yesterday, which I told her was a Very Bad Idea. But did she listen? Oh no she did not. As freaking usual.

I press my thumb against the pad of my first finger. Hardly more than a papercut, but super painful. From my backpack I grab a Band-Aid and some antibiotic cream. My mom turns slightly and her eyes flash.

“Make sure that isn’t the numbing kind! We can’t have your fingers numb for practice.”

Correction. We can’t have our fingers any way at all because they are my fingers. I dab the antibiotic cream on and wrap it with a Band-Aid pre-treated with an analgesic agent. I am all about the little rebellions these days, even if they come in the form of basic first aid.

“It’s not the numbing kind. See?”

I hold the tube up for her and she squints. She’s way too vain for glasses and she has to keep her face pinched up like that half the time. It makes my heart hurt.

She used to be lovely and soft and wonderful. She used to remember my birthdays and let me eat like a normal girl. But slowly she’s hardened and now she’s got so many brittle edges that I hardly recognize her anymore.

She is all about control. And my dad, he’s all about making my mom happy. But my dad is softer and kinder, less obsessed with my music, and never focused on my weight. And yet not strong enough to stand up to my mom, either.

I guess it’s tricky for them in some ways. I have a talent, a real talent, or so I’ve been told since I was barely five. And since I was five, my mom has treated my music like her own personal obsession.

At first cradling it, fostering it, but then slowly controlling it, judging it, managing it. And so now, she really is more my manager than my mom. I don’t think I need a manager, and I sure do miss my mom.

Her obsession with my music got so intense that my parents held me back a year in seventh grade to give me the best chance possible at a stellar music career. But it also means I had to repeat seventh grade, which was miserable. And now it means I’m a year older than all my friends, but not in a cool kind of way.

More in an ugly-duckling-never-a-swan kind of way. That’s how it feels, anyway.

I shove a piece of celery in my mouth, and as I chew, I indulge in a soon-to-be-realized fantasy. The one good thing about orchestra practices is that there are no parents allowed in the building.

It’s the top orchestra in the area, and at some point, somewhere along the line, the orchestra founders realized that we young musicians feel much more comfortable without our parents hovering around us constantly, constantly, constantly. So for four hours twice a week, we’re free.

And so even though it’s hard and tiring work, it’s a little slice of something better than this.

Next to me, in an actual freaking car seat, sits my violin, strapped in with its own seatbelt. It’s the most expensive thing in our house, except for our house itself. And I love my violin. With all my heart. But sometimes I wish I could just scoop her up in my arms and…

…. Run.

But that’s not an option. Because I have no money. And no car. And no control. All I’ve got are my music, my private thoughts, and my little rebellions.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >39

Advertisement
Buying Her Time (Price of Love #3) Read Online Dani Wyatt http://www.ilovenovels.com/buying-her-time-price-of-love-3-read-online-dani-wyatt Tue, 24 May 2022 09:11:36 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/buying-her-time-price-of-love-3-read-online-dani-wyatt Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Insta-Love, Kink, Romance Authors: Dani Wyatt Series: Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >33

Read Online Books/Novels:	Buying Her Time (Price of Love #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Dani Wyatt
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09XGSHZPZ
Book Information:
Nothing in my life prepared me for falling in love. That as$-over-tea kettle, what-day-of-the-week-is-it, mind-in-the-gutter sort of love. Especially when I find out, my son is in love with the same woman. He just finished his first year as starting quarterback in the NFL; I’m on a few yearly revenue lists that have made me a gold digger’s dream. Love was the last thing on my mind or his… Until Isabel. Her combination of curves, brains, and talent should be illegal. But there’s a problem. We both met her through The Girlfriend Experience. A top-dollar, no “benefits,” all-business service that caters to guys like us. But Isabel has another non-negotiable stipulation. Absolutely no falling in love. Too late. This sweet, platinum-haired morsel with a creamy center and a razor-sharp wit is about to find out just how high the bidding will go to secure her into our world. No one comes between my son and I; our bond is ironclad. But that doesn’t mean we can’t share. Welcome to your new life, Isabel. Papa and Daddy are waiting. Author’s Note: It’s on! Two on one and all the freak flags are flying. When these two realize the woman of their dreams is the same girl, it’s time to compromise. Or is it? Who says three’s a crowd? Settle in, close the curtains, and let’s do this. Safe, no cheating, all the things you expect from Dani but sooooo EXTRA.
Books in Series:	Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt
Books by Author:	Dani Wyatt

CHAPTER 1

Isabel

Am I the only one that gets high anxiety over a mani-pedi?

I chew on my bottom lip as I look over the rack of shiny little bottles, then finally settle on a deep shimmery purple, the color of juicy blackberries. Clutching the glass bottle in my palm, I make my way back to the massaging foot-soak chairs, take off my foamy complimentary flip-flops, and totter awkwardly up the rubbery steps.

On the massage chair next to mine sits my best friend, Elana. We met at orientation, both of us in different programs, at Cranbrook Academy of Art graduate program. She’s perched elegantly and comfortably, multi-tasking with a brilliantly-pink hibiscus lemonade in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

She’s good at this, all this pampering and self-care. With her easy confidence, olive skin, and fierce winged eyeliner, she’s got a very Gen-Z Cleopatra thing going on. If Cleopatra wore floral leggings and thumbhole-hoodies, that is.

Not me.

I’m feeling as awkward as always here at our weekly Friday afternoon appointment at Nailed It. A glance across at the wall of mirrors facing us is enough to reinforce the reason why. Elana is lean and lithe, statuesque and gorgeous, whereas I’m just…well, me. I suck in my tummy a little, lift my chin to give myself some sharper angles, but who am I kidding? It makes no difference. No matter what I do or what I eat, I’m just me.

Curvy and creamy and soft.

Although, I will say, going platinum-blonde last year when I got accepted into the graduate program at Cranbrook was a good move. It suits me way better than I ever imagined and I’m not even mad when I have to order the Oribi Bright Blonde shampoo and conditioner at $46 a bottle.

Every week we have a mani-pedi date, but it never gets less awkward for me. I never feel beautiful looking at myself here. And it feels so strange, having the ladies who work here massage my feet, buff my nails, and thread my brows.

All this for the sake of the clients. All this for the sake of the men.

But it’s not what you’re thinking. I promise.

I manage to get up the steps without slipping—for once—and get somewhat comfortable in the massage chair. But right now it’s set on some diabolical vibrate sequence, which makes me feel like I am riding over really bad washboard roads like back in Wheeling where I grew up.

Elana takes a sip of her hibiscus lemonade, puckering her luscious Angelina-Jolie lips.

“That’ll look good with your dress.” She lifts a perfectly-bladed eyebrow, glancing at the purple bottle.

I nod with a happy grin, starting to relax finally, and punch the button to stop the chair from jostling me around. I hold the bottle up to the light, admiring its plummy undertones. Picking out the color is the one thing I do like about all this nail salon pampering. Because I might not be very good at enjoying paraffin dips and cuticle oil treatments, but I am definitely good with color. I’m not going to art school for nothing.

“Tonight’s dress is crimson velvet. So I thought this would really pop,” I say as I set the bottle down for the young woman who will be tending to my toes.

“Mmmhmm,” Elana hums into her straw with another pucker. “I’ll tell you what else those guys would like to pop…”

I let out a groan. “You know that is not why I am doing this.”

She makes a sassy little sound, never looking away from her Tik-Tok feed. On the screen, I watch a poodle in a tutu do a twirl in time with a Dua Lipa song. “It’s all fun and games until someone pulls their dick out.”

I swallow hard, choking back a snort. “I’m serious. It’s not why I’m doing this. I’m putting myself through grad school, not getting myself knocked up before I can get my degree. I’m already in deep with my student loans.”

“Pshaw. Who said anything about getting knocked up?”

I let out a grumble of indignant protest, but deep down in my caramel center, I do know what she means. Because by some unbelievable accident of the universe, I have not just one but two gorgeous men buying my time lately.

And both of them are responsible for an uptick in my need to purchase new panties—because they are destroying them in record numbers.

The older one is named Hale—a little less than twice my age, businessman, salt and pepper in the temples, strong and confident. Thick, not fat by any means, just like a solid wall of man. His face is hard, angled, but so beautiful I want to reach out and touch him to be sure he’s real. He’s also a protector. He calls me “Baby,” and says he’d do anything for me. He’s my date for the event tonight. The only information I was given was it is formal dress for a charity and to wear my hair down.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >33

Advertisement
Earning Her Keep (Price of Love #2) Read Online Dani Wyatt http://www.ilovenovels.com/earning-her-keep-price-of-love-2-read-online-dani-wyatt Mon, 18 Apr 2022 20:42:28 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/earning-her-keep-price-of-love-2-read-online-dani-wyatt Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Romance, Virgin Authors: Dani Wyatt Series: Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >38

Read Online Books/Novels:	(Price of Love #2) Earning Her Keep
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Dani Wyatt
Language:	English
Book Information:
I’m standing in the rain carrying everything I own in a black trash bag. I have no idea where to go. In my pocket is a wet wad of money–enough for a cup of coffee and a bus ride, as long as I don’t want to go too far. Then fate lends a hand. If I pretend to be a girl named Emily, I can get exactly what I need right now. A job, a place to live, and no interference from the outside world. What could be more perfect? My new boss. That’s what. Dane Philipe. I’m not supposed to even look at him. Not supposed to speak to him. But, before I know it, I’m naked in his Roman bathtub, and then I’m using his pillow for… well, you get the picture. Little do I know that he’s been stalking me since the day I arrived. Watching. Waiting. Obsessing. When he takes what he wants without asking, I learn what earning my keep really means. But the past is hard to escape. When mine comes looking for me, will my deception put an end to what’s just getting started? Or will Dane give me the chance at a life I’ve never had before?
Books in Series:	Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt
Books by Author:	Dani Wyatt

CHAPTER 1

Primrose

I stare out into the icy drizzle through the cracked glass in the back door, a death grip on the black garbage bag in my hand, willing my feet to move.

If I stay, I’m trapped. Because today I turn eighteen. And today my foster mother plans to hand me off to Tony, who runs all the girls.

But if I go?

If I turn the doorknob and step out into the storm? Then what?

I have no idea. But It’s a risk I know I have to take.

I tug at the zipper on the closest thing I have to a winter coat, then stuff my mittens and my tattered old rainbow beanie into my equally tattered messenger bag. I take one last breath through my dry lips, slowly unfasten the two deadbolts, and step outside.

Tiny spears of icy slush prickle my cheeks. The Chicago cold is arctic, but I barely feel it. My heart is pounding, my thoughts are swirling. Everything feels dream-like, surreal. And yet my senses are heightened and crystal-clear.

The thick scent of another Virginia Slims Menthol lit from the one before drifts into the outside air as I listen for any sound of my foster mother behind me. The jingle of her rows of cheap bangles. The click-click-click of her horrible kitten heels. But I hear nothing except the yammer of reality shows coming from her brand new 60” flatscreen in the front living room.

So far, so good.

I take six steps toward the trash bins on the icy, broken concrete. It’s as far as I’ve been allowed to go by myself ever before. Even this feels impossible. Overwhelming. The sound of traffic down the alley is almost too much; the spray of tires through puddles, the sharp smell of exhaust. It is the sound of the world out there, where things are possible. Where I could be free. Where I could find a life, and myself, and maybe even love.

And if not that, then the rest of my dream. A house. A farm. Chickens. A goat. Something simple. A place where I am safe and happy. Maybe a low bar to a normal person, but to me, it would be riches beyond compare.

Stop it. I make myself focus on the here and now. This time, it’s real. This time, it isn’t just a dream.

I take three more steps and pass the trash bins, then four more toward the street.

The trash bag contains all I have in the world. There’s a Polaroid of my biological mom, as well as her copy of Sense and Sensibility. A wad of wrinkled bills I’ve saved – stolen is more accurate, because I do not get paid for the work I’ve done for almost my entire life. I counted them again this morning in the bathroom behind the locked door. Two hundred and seventeen dollars. There’s also a teddy bear that was given to me when I first entered the foster system. It was my first and only gift, courtesy not of my foster mother, but from the State of Illinois, eighteen years ago.

I take another step. One more. Each one feeling like I’ve traveled miles. I listen for the squeak of the door behind me or Judith’s raspy, scalding voice.

Get back here, you sneaky little bitch.

I know it so well that even imagined, it makes me shiver. Nails on a chalkboard times ten.

I glance back over my shoulder. The door is closed. Judith isn’t there. Just rain and distance.

This is it. The time is now.

So I take a deep breath.

And run.

* * *

When I burst through the door of the coffee shop next to the Greyhound station, my winter jacket is soaked through. But I am here. The old map I tore out of the ancient white pages that I found in the basement was accurate, thank goodness.

I see an empty booth near the back, but I don’t go sit down. Not yet. A sign on a pole just inside the door menaces me, teases me. It’s one of those black felty things, with the lines and the letters that you can stick in yourself. But they aren’t evenly spaced; they’re all bunched together in places and crooked in others. The letters swim around in front of my eyes, like lazy fish in a pond. I squint at the sign, trying to make sense of it. I focus on the first word, ignoring the rest.

P L E A S E.

No help at all. Could be Please be seated or Please wait to be seated. Everything after Please is indecipherable right now. In my confusion and embarrassment, I hear Judith’s voice in my head. God, you are stupid. You can’t even read.

Which is untrue. Deeply untrue. I can read, a bit, if the font is right and the setting is calm, and if I can use a lot of inference. “I’m dyslexic, not illiterate,” I used to say softly to Judith, only knowing the truth of that statement from a once older sister who explained my disorder because she had it as well.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >38

Advertisement
Selling Her Virtue (Price of Love #1) Read Online Dani Wyatt http://www.ilovenovels.com/selling-her-virtue-read-online-dani-wyatt Thu, 03 Mar 2022 16:17:18 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/selling-her-virtue-read-online-dani-wyatt Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Kink, Romance Authors: Dani Wyatt Series: Price of Love Series by Dani Wyatt
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >38

Read Online Books/Novels:	Selling Her Virtue
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Dani Wyatt
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09SLVR4M6
Book Information:
Every one of my friends says their first time sucked. If a girl's virtue is such a treasure, why not get something for it besides a sad story? Enter one high-end auction, my stubborn need to win a bet and my virtue is for sale. But, when I see the giant of a man in a tuxedo with the hard-set jaw and the scar through his eyebrow, there's only one cherry picker on my buyers list. Turns out, he's way more than I bargained for. He makes me feel safe and treasured and before you know it, I'm the one begging him to take what he dropped a half-mil to secure. Only, when he shows up the day after the auction sitting at my parents' dinner table, I realize just who the man who claimed my first time really is. Spoiler alert...things are about to get complicated. Author's Note: The last place this brooding, possessive hero wants to be is at a virgin auction. He's about to bail when he spies something he can't live without. Get comfortable and watch these two go from zero to sixty as soon as the auctioneer bangs his gavel. Safe, no cheating, and a HEA of course.
Books by Author:	Dani Wyatt

CHAPTER 1

Lexie

Are deep fried, double battered chicken tenders dipped in honey better than sex?

I wouldn’t know. But gosh, how I wish I did.

I dip a particularly phallic looking one into the little metal dipping bowl of honey, take a shameless, orgasmic, moaning bite, and then look across the table at my friends.

Across from me, my bestie, Emily, is taking on a double bacon cheeseburger with reckless abandon.

Go Em.

On my left is Jules, my college classmate and econ study buddy, tucking into a luscious Cobb salad with extra blue cheese.

On my right sits Gina, my longtime frenemy, poking at an undressed pile of arugula with a sad, anemically-white chicken breast on the side, like the entire plate of food has been sent to personally offend her. Still poking, she leans over and sips her unsweetened tea through the straw, and then adjusts one of her falsies with a slightly bored blink.

She’s always been a master multi-tasker.

I’m not going to let Gina’s perpetual diet and triple-length lashes ruin my Friday night vibe. Because chicken fingers. And honey. And the strawberry shake that the waitress just set down in front of me.

Heaven.

It’s a particularly lovely Dallas night for sitting out on the patio at Dorothy’s Texas Grub Stop. This place has been a favorite for overindulgence and comfort food since I was in middle school.

Today, the summer heat has given way to the crispness of fall. My favorite. And everything is perfect, until midway through my next big bite when Emily’s phone dings on the table. She nearly drops her cheeseburger, in a fumbling rush to pick it up.

I know what she’s hoping. I can almost feel her stomach flippity-flop, then drop. She’s hoping it’s him, Brent, the guy to whom she gave her virginity and then he ghosted her. Not a word for a week.

Asshat with a capital A. If I could get my hands on him, I’d Lorena Bobbitt his butt so fast he wouldn’t even know what had happened.

Emily’s shoulders slump, letting her phone slide into her lap, then she hangs her head over her burger. Her bangs make a curtain across her eyes. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Brent.

“Look,” I say, wiping my face with my napkin as I swallow down the half-chewed bite still in my mouth. “Forget him. It’s over. It sucks. But you deserve so much better than a guy who could do something like that to you.”

She jams a few sweet potato fries into her mouth, a forlorn frown tugging at the corners of her lips. “I can’t believe I let him. I can’t believe I thought…”

Her chin starts to pucker and wobble.

I grab her hand and squeeze. “Stop. Stop it. Enough beating yourself up.”

A big sniffle and a sigh.

Gina pushes her chicken breast around her plate.

“I always thought it would be you, Lexie,” she remarks sounding superior.

“Me who what?” I mumble around a mouthful of deep-fried perfection.

“You who gave it up to some guy who didn’t deserve it,” she finishes, raising her eyebrows in a way that looks like she’s challenging me.

I briefly choke on my chicken finger, before composing myself, finding my inner calm, then swallowing and looking her in the eye.

“Says the girl who gave it away while we were still in high school to, who was it? Oh yes, our cheerleading coach.”

Gina raises a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. “Got me the captainship, didn’t it?”

True. This is the thing about Gina. She speaks uncomfortably on-point truths. I admire that. Her practicality. Her lack of sentimentality.

Though it would be way better if she was less of a bitch about it. But she’s not from here originally. She doesn’t understand the fine art of being Texas sweet while injecting venom.

Still, it doesn’t mean I’m going to let her live it down. But hindsight is, thankfully, 20/20. And I believe in the healing power of humor.

“If I do give it away, at least it won’t be to some guy with a dad bod and a Subaru,” I counter, snapping my tongue in my cheek.

Gina barks out a laugh and snorts. Emily chortles into her burger. But Jules looks totally aghast. If she had pearls, they’d be clutched.

“Speaking of first times…have you girls heard,” Jules offers in a confessional-booth whisper, “about the auction?”

I shoot a glance at Emily, who looks puzzled. And then to Gina, who looks slightly skeptical.

“What auction?” I ask.

Jules leans in and lowers her head. Her Jesus fish necklace swings ominously over her salad.

“The virginity auction.”

All three of us just stare at her, blinking. It feels like Mother Teresa dishing about what she read in Cosmo.

“You’re kidding,” I finally say.

Jules shakes her head so hard her ponytail slaps her cheeks. “I’m not. I heard about it at church.”

“Maybe I need to go to church more often,” Gina mutters.

“But can you imagine?” Jules continues. “I can’t. I’d never. When I lose my virginity, I want it to be meaningful. Sacred. I want to give it to my husband like the gift that it is.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >38

Read Online Books/Novels:

Paying Her Dues (Price of Love #4)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

B0B1JJK3T9

Read Online Books/Novels:

Buying Her Time (Price of Love #3)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

B09XGSHZPZ

Read Online Books/Novels:

(Price of Love #2) Earning Her Keep

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

Read Online Books/Novels:

Selling Her Virtue

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

B09SLVR4M6