Barely Tolerable Novels & Stories

At Ryder Quinn’s kindergarten parent-child sports day, I expected my husband, Michael Quinn, to be away on a business trip. Instead, I found Michael on stage, dressed in a ballet tutu, dancing as one of the "little swans" in the fathers’ performance. I had barely taken a step forward when a little girl in a floral dress darted into his arms, calling out to him in the sweetest voice, "Daddy!" There they stood: Michael, his assistant, Janine Carter, and her daughter—all in matching family outfits. The moment our eyes met, Michael quickly pulled away from her, fumbling for an excuse. "Janine’s a single mom. It isn’t easy for her. I was just helping out." I smiled, cold and steady, and handed him the divorce papers. "Then, do me a favor too, Michael. Stop wasting my youth."

Aria Douglas, always liberal and explosive, finally found the fit of her shoes. She never believed that she could trust a man again until she realized that she was falling in love with that man. The one she met in a bar, the one with blonde hair that looked dyed-cropped, intense blue eyes, a hooked nose, and lips created by a bloody sex god. Samme got into her skin. And between her legs. She, who did not want to be with anyone, suddenly wanted to be with that man she barely knew. What had she seen in him? There were things she didn't understand about him and she wasn't sure she wanted to answer them either. The only thing that was absolutely clear to her was that she fell in love with a man who was a mystery and an enigma to her.

On the eve of my wedding, my wife, Sharon Moonstone, drugged me and knocked me unconscious. She let her first love, Aaron Miller, take my place as the groom, standing beside her as they held the wedding that was supposed to belong to both of us. By the time I finally found them, they had already gone into the bridal suite and consummated their marriage. When I demanded answers, Sharon did not show a trace of guilt. "You live off me. You'd better behave. Make a scene, and we'll divorce." My heart went cold. I handed her the divorce papers, but she barely looked at them. "Looks like you've improved," she said lightly. "At least you know a performance should be convincing from start to finish."

Colter Giordano, my fiancé of six years, heir to the Giordano family, took a bullet for a dancer named Mia. He didn't take one for me. A bullet tore through my shoulder. Blood bloomed across my dress, hot and sticky. But my heart hurt worse. He asked if I was okay. Just once. Then he rushed Mia to the hospital, leaving me bleeding on the floor. The next day, Mia's picture popped up on my Instagram feed. There she was, in a luxury hospital suite. Colter was fussing over a scratch on her arm that was barely there. The caption was just two words: "My Hero." I liked the post. Then I made an encrypted call. "The Falcone family's offer," I said. "I'm taking it. Get me on a plane to Sicily. Three days."

"Didn't you ask me to marry you? I permit you to wed me," said the raven-haired woman with a straight, blank face. "...Pardon?" "Let's get married." "...Weren't you the one who repeatedly rejected my proposal last night?" "Can't a woman play hard to get?" The man's face twitched. He could barely keep up with her, "Look, once you—" "So, you won't marry me?" A strange glint passed through the man's amber orbs which disappeared quickly just as it came by. "Who's to say I won't?" — In which a commander of a special unit under the PSIA found himself in a contractual marriage with his strange and mysterious neighbor. Little did he know that she's one heck of a little assassin.

I was never supposed to be his bride, I was the mistake he couldn’t erase. Killian hated me for breathing and for simply existing. His eyes burned with anger every time they landed on me. There was so much hate and heat between us, I could barely breathe. Then there was Nolan, his brother. Quiet, but dangerous. He didn’t look at me like I was broken. He looked at me like he wanted to take everything I had—body and soul. I didn’t mean for this to happen. But guilt tastes a lot like desire when you’re starving for something real. And now I’m caught between two brothers…one who wants to hurt me, and one who already has. This isn’t just a love triangle. It’s a war. And I’m the weapon.

Two years after her sister vanished without a trace, Sera Duvall is barely surviving emotionally and financially. But when a chance encounter leads her into the arms of Lucien Calder, the tech billionaire who was the last known person to see her sister, she makes a dangerous choice: infiltrate his world and expose the truth from within. Lucien is controlled, powerful, and hiding something behind every careful word. He offers her a deal: stay with him for one week, and he’ll give her what she wants. But the closer Sera gets to uncovering what happened, the more tangled she becomes in a web of secrets, emotional manipulation, and a slow-burning desire she didn’t see coming. And in a world where love is leverage and lies are currency, the truth may destroy them both.

Warning ️ ️ ️ This contains a taboo,age gap romance between stepfather and stepdaughter. Don't read if you're not above 18. Get ready to fill your thoughts with sinful desires. ******* “Derek… please…” I gasped, barely a whisper. “Please what?” He reached around and rubbed my swollen clit in fast, merciless circles. “Please make you cum? Or please don’t stop even if she walks in?” I hated how much it turned me on. This was wrong, so fucking wrong. My own mother was upstairs, and here I was letting my stepdad ruin me in the living room. His cock hit that perfect spot again and again. My eyes rolled back. I was so close… teetering right on the edge. “Oh god—” I choked.

In that moment, our lips were only a breath's distance apart. Antonio's eyes held an unspeakable yearning. His gaze dropped to my lips, his intentions evident. My own desire mirrored his, creating a powerful magnetism. Just as he closed the distance, I placed my free hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. "Antonio," I murmured, my voice trembling, "We can't..." He froze in place, his warm breath caressing my lips. His eyes held my reflection in them, fluttered shut for a moment as he absorbed my words. I saw a flicker of pain, quickly masked by a stoic calm. He nodded slightly. "I understand," he replied, quietly. His voice was steady, betraying none of the emotions I knew must have been roiling beneath his suave facade. "You aren't going to ask me why?" I asked him, my voice barely a whisper. Antonio smiled, a sad, understanding smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not," he said slowly, "because I understand that you have a valid reason for your actions." "Antonio," I swallowed hard, my voice unsteady, "I...I am getting married tomorrow, to Alpha Boris." His eyes widened slightly, the shock of my revelation clear. "You are the future Luna…" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wilhelmina Growler is a force to be reckoned with, a fierce and dominant female werewolf. Her unyielding determination to become the alpha of her pack, the Gravemaw Hounds. However, her aspirations are cut short when shortly after becoming the Beta, Alpha Boris Gravemaw demotes her and forces her as his Luna. The night of the highly anticipated Moon Goddess' Ball, Wilhelmina's world is turned upside down when she discovers that Antonio Lothian, the Lycan Prince, is her destined mate.

A pack of Rogues holds my mother, Celia Hale, hostage and clutches an iron chest like it's treasure. Lillian Parker, my mate's first love, points at the chest through her tears. "That chest… It's all I have left of my mother." However, the boulder above my mother's head is already loose, and it could crush her at any moment. I desperately beg my mate and the Alpha of the Silvermoon pack, Ares Hamilton. "Save my mom first! Please!" He just glances at me with a frown. "Celia's a strong she-wolf. She'll be fine. Margaret is already gone. That chest matters more." With that, he gestures for most of the fighters to move toward the chest. Only two young werewolves, barely steady on their feet, reluctantly step toward Celia. I stare at him in disbelief. In the end, they recover the chest, but my mother is dead.