Novels by O.E Promzy

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

Ethan Cole stared at the photo on his phone, the boy's face a mirror of his own blue eyes sharp and curious, dark hair tousled, a gap-toothed grin that twisted Ethan's heart. Ten years old, hidden by Richard for a decade, and now this message: Your son. Come get him, or I will raise him my way. The penthouse, still reeking of their filthy sex, felt like a cage, but Noah's hand on his shoulder grounded him, warm and steady."Fuck, Noah," Ethan whispered, voice cracking for the first time. "A son. Richard knew all along, and he kept him from me." He tossed the phone aside, pulling Noah close, their naked bodies pressing together, cocks brushing half-hard despite the shock.Noah cupped Ethan's face, thumbs stroking his jaw, and kissed him softly at first, but then deeper, tongues sliding slow and reassuring. "We'll find him, Ethan. Together. But right now, let me make you forget." His hand drifted lower, wrapping around Ethan's thickening cock, stroking lazily, thumb circling the leaking

Ethan Cole's penthouse throbbed with the aftermath of victory, but the air hung heavy with unfinished business. The empire was his board secured, enemies cuffed but that goddamn hidden file from Victor gnawed at him: *The true heir is out there. Blood calls. Noah Bennett, his fake fiancé turned soul-deep lover, sprawled naked on the king-sized bed, chest heaving from their post-rescue fuck. Cum still leaked from his stretched asshole, glistening on the silk sheets, a filthy reminder of how Ethan had pounded him raw just hours ago."Fuck, Ethan," Noah rasped, voice wrecked from screaming Ethan's name. His thick cock lay semi-hard against his thigh, spent but twitching at the sight of Ethan stripping off his blood-streaked shirt. "You wrecked my hole again. Can't even close up."Ethan smirked, his own massive cock swinging heavy between his legs, veins pulsing, already thickening at the view. Noah's ass cheeks were red from slaps, his pink asshole gaping slightly, begging for more abuse

Scarlett’s POVThe rain hadn’t stopped. It fell in relentless sheets, washing away the blood but not the guilt.I stood there, trembling, the flash drive clutched so tightly in my palm that the metal bit into my skin. Around me, the shipyard was eerily silent again the gunfire only an echo swallowed by the storm.Damien was on his knees, blood seeping through his white shirt, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He looked up at me like a man seeing the end of the world in human form.“Scarlett…” His voice cracked. “Please.”I should’ve run. I should’ve left him there to drown in the mess he helped create.But my body moved on instinct betrayal warring with something older, deeper.I knelt beside him, pressing my trembling hand to his wound. “You’re losing too much blood.”He caught my wrist. “Don’t… don’t do this. You shouldn’t care.”A bitter laugh slipped past my lips. “You’re right. I shouldn’t.”But I did. God, I still did.He flinched as I tore part of his shirt to bandage him, h

Scarlett’s POVThe road was slick with rain, glinting like glass beneath the headlights.The time on the note haunted me — 9:00 p.m. — as if every second closer was another heartbeat stolen. I shouldn’t have gone alone, but Damien’s warnings had only made me more certain. If Maria was alive, I needed to see her with my own eyes.The car’s wipers dragged across the windshield in a slow, rhythmic scrape. Every sound felt too loud: the hum of the engine, the whisper of the tires, the pulse in my own throat.The coordinates led to an abandoned shipyard on the city’s edge. Steel cranes towered like rusted skeletons, their shadows slicing across the wet asphalt.I killed the engine and sat for a moment, staring through the fogged glass.No movement.No light.Just the storm, and the ache of my own heartbeat.I stepped out, my boots splashing into a shallow puddle. The air smelled of salt and iron, thick and metallic. Somewhere in the distance, a chain clinked against metal, carried by the w

Damien’s POVThe smell of smoke wouldn’t leave me.No matter how many showers I took, no matter how much rain fell, I could still feel it clinging to my skin that acrid stench of burning metal, soaked wood, and everything that once resembled control.It had been three days since the fire.Three days since Maria vanished into the flames.Three days since Scarlett’s scream still echoed in my head, her voice raw with grief as the building collapsed behind us.And I hadn’t slept. Not properly. Not once.The safehouse was quiet now. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes after war, the kind that feels like mourning. Scarlett hadn’t spoken much since that night. She’d sit by the window for hours, staring into nothing, her face pale, her hands trembling when she thought no one was watching.But I always was. Watching her.Protecting her.Failing her.I’d failed them both.The rain came again that morning, gentle at first, then steady tapping against the window like an impatient heartbeat.

Scarlett’s POVThe night felt alive. The air itself was trembling like the city was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.Rain poured in thick, angry sheets as I sped down the highway, headlights slicing through the dark. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. My heart was a hammer in my chest.I shouldn’t have left Damien.But I couldn’t stay. Not after what I saw.Not after hearing the truth.The flash drive burned a hole in the seat beside me. All the secrets my mother built her empire on. All the lies she’d told to Damien, to me, to herself.I wanted to burn it all.I wanted to make her see that she wasn’t untouchable anymore.Every part of me screamed to turn back, to hide, to breathe but rage had already taken the wheel.She had controlled my life for too long.Manipulated everyone around her, shaping the world to her image like some goddess of ruin.Now it was my turn to pull the strings.I reached the old dock warehouse near midn

Maria’s POVThe night had teeth. Cold wind whispered through the curtains, carrying the scent of rain and smoke from the city below. I stood at the balcony, staring at the glittering skyline, the same view that used to make me feel powerful.Now, it only reminded me of what I was losing.Scarlett and him.Two names that had come to mean ruin in my life.I’d always believed control was an art something earned, shaped, and protected with care. But control was slipping through my fingers like sand.My reflection in the glass looked older than I remembered. The fine lines around my eyes seemed deeper tonight, shadows pooling where charm used to live. I traced the edge of my wine glass, ignoring the phone vibrating on the counter. I already knew who it was.Damien.He’d been distant for days. The kind of distance that wasn’t about space, but choice. The kind that came with another woman’s name written across his silence.Scarlett.My daughter. My mistake. My mirror.The thought made my thr

Scarlett’s POVI drove like the devil himself was behind me.The city lights streaked past, neon and rain blending into a blur. My fingers gripped the wheel so tight they ached, but I couldn’t let go. Not until I saw him. Not until I made him see.Maria had lied.She’d orchestrated everything: the doubt, the betrayal, the space between us.And I had fallen for it. Again.When I reached Damien’s building, the night air hit me like ice. The elevator ride to the penthouse felt endless. My reflection in the mirror panel showed someone wild-eyed and furious, a woman who had lost too much to keep pretending she didn’t care.The doors slid open.The penthouse was dark, except for the faint orange glow spilling from the living room fireplace. Damien sat there, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, whiskey glass dangling loosely from his hand.He didn’t look surprised to see me. Just… tired.“Scarlett.” His voice was low, rough, and my name on his lips still did something to me that I hated. “I

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

ISABELLA The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and regret, a sterile cage where Mom lay hooked to machines that beeped like accusing heartbeats. It was day ten of her "mysterious illness," and the doctors were scratching their heads, ordering more tests while whispering about possible environmental toxins. I stood by her bedside, holding her hand cold and clammy now feigning tears as Richard paced the hallway outside, his phone buzzing incessantly. Emily, no doubt. That bitch hadn't stopped texting since he "paid her off," her messages a mix of pleas and threats. But Mom... she was the real obstacle, wasting away from the antifreeze I'd been slipping her, with Richard's help now. Last night, after visiting hours, he'd fucked me in the hospital parking garage, his cock slamming into my wet pussy against the car hood, whispering how her decline made him harder than ever."Isabella?" Mom's voice was a frail whisper, pulling me back. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. "Hone