Why Does Fruiting Bodies Have That Title?

Preview:“Pin her to the ground. Dom, you keep those damn legs down.” Dante coughed as he stood up to regain himself. They wanted a weapon. They created a queen. Novalee Ashford had a simple life-a job she tolerated, a husband she adored, a future she believed in. Then Dante Santoro decided she was his. Ripped from everything she knew, Novalee is thrust into a world of violence, cruelty, and impossible choices. The Santoro family doesn't just want to own her body-they want to remake her soul. Under their brutal tutelage, she transforms from victim to weapon, from captive to bride. But Novalee has a secret: she remembers who she was. And she's planning something they never expected. Vengeance. With Atlas-the guard who was supposed to keep her caged-as her unlikely ally, Novalee plays the deadliest game of her life. Every smile hides a blade. Every submission masks rebellion. Every moment brings her closer to the reckoning they deserve. They wanted to create a monster. They succeeded. Marked, Broken and Carrying his Heir is a dark romance containing mature themes and graphic content. Reader discretion is strongly advised. ****WARNINGS**** Explicit sexual assault/rape Non-consensual sexual situations Explicit consensual sexual content Sexual degradation and humiliation Forced sexual performance Violence: Graphic murder Torture Domestic violence and abuse Blood and gore Beatings and physical assault Captivity & Control: Kidnapping and imprisonment Human trafficking elements Forced marriage Psychological manipulation and gaslighting Conditioning and breaking Loss of autonomy Trauma & Loss: Pregnancy loss Forced hysterectomy Suicide Grief and mourning PTSD symptoms Other: Forced drug administration Starvation/food control Sleep deprivation Isolation Death of spouse

Bound by visions, torn by time, pulled together by something ancient. No distance could sever it. No pain could silence it. Surrendering to the bond that nearly tore them apart— It didn’t claim them. It consumed them. What begins as a sacred bond between Alpha and Luna… evolves. Into something older. Rarer. An Ailm bond—whispered through bloodlines long extinct. Their souls don’t touch—they merge. Two bodies. One pulse. One wrath. One love so fierce it bends time, shatters fate, and redraws the lines of what’s possible. Now the humans rise with purpose. Demanding the impossible— Baylee and Caden. But they weren’t made to be owned. They were crowned in fire, baptized in blood, forged by fate and fury. Together—a reckoning. A key. Whispered about in prophecy. Buried in blood. If used to unseal what sleeps beneath the earth… It won’t just cost them their lives. It will unmake the world. This is Book 4 of The Blood Moon Saga series, Crowned in fire, Baptized in Blood, the continuation of Caden and Baylee’s story.

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

For years life for Krystal Dunn has consisted of medication and needles with no end in sight. After another failed treatment, hope for a life outside the hospital's walls evaporates completely. Krystal must face the cold reality of death with open arms. But just as she welcomes the darkness, Krystal is transported to another planet to participate in a secret event. An event that will end with her being made to mate whoever chooses her. Let the Harvest begin.

Every year, the village had to choose a girl of age to become the Blossom Bride. The girl who was chosen would be sent into the cave as the village god’s wife. She would spend the entire night with him. If she came out alive, she would be honored for the rest of her life as a village elder. Any child she bore was said to be blessed, destined for a life of effortless fortune. If she died, the village would simply wait for the next year, when another Blossom Bride would be chosen. The blessing of the Blossom Bride was believed to pass on to her parents and elders as well. However, no one wanted to be chosen. To escape the ritual, families quietly left the village, one after another. I was the only one who volunteered. I had a lust problem, and I had always wondered what it would feel like to be with a god.

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.