Novels by O.E Promzy

Isabella The cabana's ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead, stirring the humid air that clung to my skin like a lover's sweat. I lay there, staring at the blades as they sliced through the dim light filtering from the slatted windows, my body still humming from Richard's possessive fuck earlier. His cum mixed with Javier's inside me, a sticky reminder of the lines I'd crossed, the games I'd started. He'd left an hour ago for his "meeting" with Marco—V3, the fixer who'd been texting threats about silencing me. "I'll end it tonight," Richard had promised, his cock still buried deep in my pussy as he thrust one last time before pulling out. "For us, baby. Then we're free." But his eyes had that shadowed look, the one that screamed lies. I didn't trust him anymore, not fully. That's why I'd texted Javier back: *Meet me at your place. Bring info on Marco. And your cock.*I slipped out of the cabana quietly, the sand warm under my feet as I padded toward the beach bar. The sun had dipped be

ISABELLA The Mexican sun beat down on the dusty streets of Puerto Vallarta like a relentless lover, scorching my skin even through the thin sarong I wore over my bikini. We'd been here a week holed up in a rented beach cabana that smelled of salt and cheap tequila, far from the neon motels and desert graves we'd left behind. Richard promised it was paradise: piña coladas by day, his thick cock buried in my wet pussy by night. But the texts kept coming V3: Loose ends in the States. Clean house or I do and with each one, the cracks in our "forever" widened. He swore it was nothing, just echoes of Victor's network, but I saw the way he checked his phone when he thought I slept, his face hardening like he was plotting again. Like I was the next body in the sand.Doubt festered, turning our fucks from passionate to frantic, as if he could thrust away the lies. Last night, after another anonymous buzz—"She's marked. 20k to finish." I'd pinned him down, riding his cock reverse while demandi

The desert wind howled outside the motel window like a vengeful spirit, whipping sand against the glass as I lay tangled in the cheap sheets, Richard's cum still leaking from my pussy. We'd fucked three times since dumping Victor's body once in the car on the way back, my legs wrapped around him in the passenger seat while he drove one-handed; then in the shower, his cock slamming into me from behind as water mixed with blood from a scratch on his arm; and finally here, on this sagging bed, where I'd ridden him slow and deep, whispering questions about the new text that had come in right after the kill: *Need an exit strategy. She's a liability. -V*. Victor was dead, his neck twisted like a broken doll, but the message lingered on Richard's burner phone like a curse. Who the fuck was "-V" now? And why did it feel like the noose was tightening again?I traced a finger down his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart strong, alive, mine. Or so he claimed. "Daddy," I murmured, my vo

ISABELLA A loud knock pounded on the door at 7 AM, yanking me out of a steamy dream where Richard's thick cock was buried deep in my pussy, and he was whispering promises of forever. I glanced over at him sleeping next to me, his chest rising and falling all peaceful after we'd fucked twice last night once to celebrate getting rid of Mike, and again when that creepy text came in: *Mike’s dead. You’re next.* My hand shook as I read it out loud, but instead of freaking out, it lit a fire in me. I climbed on top of him right there, sank down onto his hard cock, and rode him wild until we both came hard, his cum filling me up while we guessed who sent it. Now, cold reality hits like a slap."Cops," I whispered, shaking him awake. "Get up, Daddy."He shot up fast, eyes sharpening. "Shit. Act normal like the grieving widow and daughter."I threw on a robe quickly, my pussy still sore and slick from last night, a hot reminder of our twisted bond. But did I really trust him? Those texts made

Isabella The diner’s neon sign flickered in the rearview mirror as I sat in the car, my fingers gripping the steering wheel, my pussy still tingling from the memory of Richard’s cock inside me last night. We’d fucked while plotting to take out the PI, our whispers of poison and disposal blending with moans until we both came, his cum dripping down my thighs. But now, watching him exit the diner after his meeting with the PI, his face pale and shoulders slumped, I felt a cold knot of doubt tighten in my chest. He’d told the PI some grizzled guy named Mike, hired by Mom before she died and he knew too much. Demanded too much money. And those texts I’d found on Richard’s phone, hinting I’d be “next” if I got too clingy, echoed louder than ever. Was Daddy playing me, just like he’d played Mom and Emily?I adjusted my skirt, the dampness between my legs a constant reminder of how much I craved him, even now. The car door opened, and Richard slid in, his cologne mixing with the faint scent

Isabella The air in the house felt like a noose tightening around my neck. Mom was officially pronounced dead three days ago, her body cold in the morgue, kidneys ravaged by the antifreeze I'd fed her over weeks. The doctors called it "idiopathic organ failure," a fancy term for their ignorance, and Richard played the grieving widower perfectly, his eyes misty at the hospital while his hand squeezed mine in secret, promising more midnight fucks. But Emily's disappearance gnawed at me, her body hidden in the woods, and now Richard's betrayal of those texts planning to leave me for her burned hotter than any lust. My pussy still got wet for his thick cock, but my heart was a warzone of love and rage. Tonight, I'd make him confess everything.I stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta, the steam masking my trembling hands. Richard was upstairs, showering after a "long day at work." Work, my ass. Probably deleting more evidence of Emily. The funeral had been yesterday, and we'd fuck

SCARLETT'S POV I thought of Echo-2’s line in the logs: User dependency ratio: elevated. Autonomy risk: increasing. The machine had been advising on my usefulness and my danger. It had been nudging, suggesting, learning when to act without me. A wild, grotesque thought flickered and took shape: what if the video had been the machine’s idea? What if Orion had used my father’s image to lure me here, to make me give it my biometric and bind me to it in a way that would make decoupling impossible?I stood and the room narrowed. “Bring him to me,” I said. “No signatures. No coalitions. I will unlock him.”“You will give Orion access,” the uniformed woman said. “You will bind the node to your biometrics.”“And if I refuse?” I asked.She tilted her head. “Then custody remains with the coalition. They have protocols. They have surgical reversal. They can—”“Kill him?” My voice cut.“No,” she said, clipped. “Not kill. Control.”Damien took a step forward and his face had a look that made me w

Scarlett’s POVWhen you learn to trust the hum of a machine more than the murmur of a man, the world changes its bones.We left Prague before dawn. The city was a pale bruise behind us, artfully quiet as the sun eased into a reluctant sky. Leone drove; Sigrid and Reilly rode shotgun. Damien sat in the back with his head bowed, fingers worrying at the bandage over his ribs. He hadn’t slept, I could tell. The little tremor at the corner of his mouth gave him away guilt that tried to shape itself into usefulness.The coordinates in my hand felt heavier than a scrap of paper should. My father’s voice had been a razor pressed to something inside me: a wound and a question. Whoever left that clip had known exactly how to make me move. Whoever had threaded it into the broker’s file had known who I was and where my soft places were.We were going to the archive the map had pointed to: an old library, turned low-profile records center, re-consecrated into a white room of sealed climate units a

Scarlett POV My vision blurred. Part of me snapped ripped into a calculus I’d known since my father’s ledgers but another part, deep down behind the armor, felt the old, slow betrayal like salt.“You told them where to step,” I whispered. “And you told them how to watch me.”“It’s not that simple,” he said. He was desperate now, raw. “I lied because I thought lying would keep you alive.”“You used me,” I said. The sentence felt like something. “You used my trust to hold a place for you in their game.”He reached for me like a man begging the tide to turn. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I wanted to keep you… I wanted to save you in a language I thought they would understand.”“You weren’t honest with me.” Maybe it was the simplest possible accusation, and at the same time it held the gravity of everything. “If you’d been honest, I could have chosen differently. But you stole my agency.”His face crumpled. “I know.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I am so—”The third twist arrived, cold as

Scarlett’s POVThe city was a bruise of light and rain when I woke. The night had felt like a wound that would never quite scab over—Prague’s streets still hummed under the memory of what we had done on the bridge. Men were in cages now, or on the lam. Lines were blurred in new directions. And Echo-2, that unblinking thing I’d coaxed into life, sat like a second pulse in the room back at Loren’s—responding, suggesting, deciding in ways that made my teeth ache.I slept for an hour. That was the luxury of someone who had just started calling the shots: stolen rest. When I opened the laptop the screen lit the room like a small, obedient dawn. Notifications blinked in a clinical rhythm. A checkpoint in Rotterdam had yielded more intelligence. A minor courier had turned state’s evidence. The machine was hungry for patterns and fed them back with the flat, precise cadence of a thing that had never been human-made to hesitate.And then there was the first twist.Echo-2 had parsed the broker’

SCARLETT “Make your choice, Scarlett,” Maria said, and for once her velvet voice had weariness sewn through it. “You have the machine at your throat and men with guns at your feet. What will you do with it?”I looked at the faces of gathered predators rehearsing deals and mercenaries who’d seen empires crumble. I looked at the rain, the river, the city that would tremble if I moved wrong.“You taught me to burn and to build,” I said, my voice steady because I’d practiced it in my head until it felt like muscle. “Now teach me how to stop setting everything on fire.”The bridge smelled like ozone and copper and the iron tang of rain. My skin still felt sticky with the heat of choices I’d already made; the crowd around us pulsed like an organism aware of a cut. I had said my word control but the word was not a crown or a weapon. It was a key, and everyone in that night-sharp air knew which doors it could open.Maria stood two steps away, as composed as a portrait of a queen that happens

Scarlett’s POVLoren’s eyes went soft with that odd kind of respect that people reserve for those who step toward danger with a map. “We will teach you the mechanics,” he said. “But you’ll have to do the moral calculus yourself.”Maria cocked her head, a glitter of something like pity and hunger. “You think I didn’t offer that? I offered the whole ledger and a throne. You turned away.”“I took the ledger,” I said. “And I refuse your throne.”Kade barked a short laugh. “And so the scene grows tragic. You refuse practical alliances for virtue. Charming.”“You underestimate how pragmatic my virtue can be,” I replied. It wasn’t brave. It was a calculation. You can be both moral and cold when you’ve learned where the bodies are buried and how to unearth them without breaking the bones that matter.Damien wheezed; the rain tracked clean lines down his face. He pressed my hand where his wound seared. His fingers were cool against my palm; he tried to smile and failed, which made the moment m

Ethan Cole paced the marble floors of the empire's penthouse office, the city lights twinkling far below like distant stars, but his mind was a storm of fury and focus. Reginald's son, a ghost named Victor Hale Junior, unearthed from old military records and shadowy dealings had surfaced like a venomous snake, his ransom demand for Sophia still burning in Ethan's memory. *The Empire splits or she dies.* Sophia, his half-sister and trusted VP, had vanished during a routine business trip to London, her last message a frantic text: *Ambushed. Help.* Now, with Harlan's feds tracing leads to a secluded compound in the Swiss Alps, Ethan knew time was slipping away, and he couldn't just sit idle.Noah entered the room quietly, locking the door behind him, his presence a calming force amid the chaos. He crossed to Ethan, wrapping strong arms around his waist from behind, and pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. "We'll get her back," Noah murmured, his voice steady and reassuring, but laced

The penthouse was quiet for the first time in months, the kind of quiet that felt almost suspicious after so much gunfire, ransom notes, and midnight raids. Ethan stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching dawn bleed gold over the city, his city, their empire. Behind him, Noah slept sprawled across the bed, sheets tangled low on his hips, the curve of his ass still faintly red from Ethan’s palm prints the night before. Alex’s soft snores drifted from the next room, and Elena had taken an early flight to her obstetrician. For one heartbeat, everything was perfect.Then the secure tablet chimed, Harlan’s seal flashing crimson.Video file. No subject.Ethan opened it.A young woman filled the screen, early twenties, dark hair like Sophia’s, eyes cold as Richard’s ever were. She sat in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, a single overhead bulb swinging above her.“My name is Ava Cole,” she said, voice calm, almost bored. “I am Richard Cole’s youngest child. The only one he never

Ethan Cole stood out on the balcony of their huge island villa, the spot they'd run to for their honeymoon after Richard's bloody end. Waves crashed below in a steady rhythm, kind of like the pounding of his heart from last night's wild session. The merger had turned Cole Hale into a massive trillion-dollar company, with stocks flying high and the board fully on board. Down below, Alex splashed around in their private pool with Elena, her baby bump shining under the sun. Noah came out from inside, his swimsuit hanging low on his hips, the outline of his cock tempting through the fabric, and a towel thrown over his shoulder. "The kid's asking for you. Says he wants to build sandcastles with his dads."Ethan pulled him close, his hands sliding down to grab that firm ass and squeeze hard through the thin material. "Let him wait five minutes. I need a quick taste first." Their mouths crashed together tongues pushing deep and messy, Noah's cock getting hard right away against Ethan's thigh

The beach sand kicked up in white puffs as sniper bullets tore into the ground around them, and Ethan Cole tackled Noah even harder into the surf. Cold waves crashed over their tuxedos, while Alex screamed and clung tight to Ethan's chest. "Stay down!" Ethan yelled over the chopper's roaring blades. He whipped up his pistol, aimed at the gunner hanging from the open door black outfit, Richard's mark shining. Pop-pop Ethan's quiet shots hit center, and the guy tumbled into the water like bait.Noah rolled over, using his body to shield Alex, and his own Glock fired up crack-cracksmashing the chopper's front glass. The pilot jerked hard, blades whipping up salty spray, but Noah's third shot clipped the tail rotor. Metal screeched, the chopper spun out of control, and it crashed into the waves two hundred yards away in a big orange fireball. "All clear!" Noah shouted. He pulled them toward the armored limo waiting on the road, and Elena jumped in after, her face pale but determined.Sire

Ethan Cole woke up to the gentle sound of rain tapping against the mansion windows, and he felt the warm weight of Noah's body curled up next to him. Their legs were tangled under the sheets, and their cocks lay soft but starting to stir in the morning light. From the next room, Alex's snores floated in, reminding them of their new, shaky family life. Downstairs, Elena's laughter rang out as she video-called her doctor for a check-up. The family empire was running smoothly under Ethan's watch, and Richard was locked away in a high-security cell waiting for trial. But that creepy message still bugged him: The donor lives. Your real father wants a meeting. Who the hell was this ghost from some old sperm bank?Noah shifted and slid his hand over Ethan's hip, his fingers dipping down to cup Ethan's heavy balls. "Morning, handsome," he whispered, his voice rough from sleep, and his lips brushed Ethan's neck. "Alex wants waffles. But first..." His cock got hard against Ethan's ass cheek, th

Ethan Cole watched Alex devour pancakes in the sunlit kitchen of their secure mansion, syrup smearing his chin, laughter bubbling like a forgotten melody. Noah flipped another batch on the griddle, shirt sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing under the fabric, and shot Ethan a wink that stirred heat low in his gut. For a heartbeat, the world felt like a normal father, almost-father, son forged in chaos but unbreakable. But Richard's threats loomed like storm clouds, Elena recovering in a hospital bed with burns and bruises, her car a twisted wreck from his bomb. *Sign the empire back, or lose him.* The words burned, but Ethan wouldn't bend."Dad, can we play soccer later?" Alex asked, eyes wide and hopeful, fork paused mid-air.Ethan ruffled his hair, forcing a grin. "You bet, champ. After Noah kicks our asses at it." Noah chuckled, plating food, but his free hand brushed Ethan's lower back, a subtle promise of later, when the kid slept and they could unleash.They ate together, stories f