Begging Me For Mercy Novels & Stories

He destroyed her life in a heartbeat. Now he wants her heart to beat for him. On her wedding day, Elena Robertson wore red for love. It ended in blood. Her parents, slaughtered before her eyes. Her fiancé, gunned down with a smile on his lips. Her freedom, stolen by the man who thought she was someone else. Thorne Del Roi. The Mafia King feared across continents. Cold. Merciless. Godless. He took everything from her to avenge a crime she never committed. He broke her, used her, poisoned her soul with vengeance. But truth cuts deeper than any blade. Now, the devil who destroyed her is the only one who can’t stop craving her. Not for her body, but for the heart he never meant to feel beating in his chest. And Elena? She wants to hate him. She should hate him. But what do you do when your enemy becomes the air you breathe? He’s power. She’s fury. He’s fire. She’s the match. And when love ignites between them, it won’t just burn, it will explode. So much twist you can't imagine. Dive and enjoy the ride.

Anna Whitmore dated Lucas Caldwell, a young heir from New York’s old-money circle, for three years. When the time was right, she decided to reveal who she truly was and formally proposed a strategic marriage. On the day she planned to propose, he made an excuse and walked away. That same night, he was seen at a nightclub, arms wrapped around another woman, openly mocking the idea of marrying someone “without status or value.” Anna saw his true face and walked away for good. If marriage in their world had always been a transaction, then choosing a man with greater power and influence was only fair. So she married his uncle. Later, on the day Lucas Caldwell announced his engagement to the daughter her father chose to acknowledge, he saw her at the banquet. The so-called “unfavored” Whitmore heiress. His former girlfriend. She stood beside his uncle under the spotlight, smiling— calm, radiant, untouchable. The man next to her was the one who truly controlled New York’s upper circle, a level of power Lucas Caldwell would never reach. His uncle spoke lightly, and the entire room fell silent. “She is my wife.”

Kyra never believed in miracles. At twenty, she’d already stopped hoping, beaten by the hands of the man who called himself her father, ignored by the world that never cared to notice her bruises. The only thing she ever wanted was escape. When her friend drags her to a secret BDSM bar, Kyra expects nothing more than another disappointment. But in a room filled with power and control, her broken gaze meets his—the Master, the man everyone fears and obeys. A single look, and something inside her cracks. He gives her his card but she throws it away. Until the night her father’s fists nearly kill her and she finds herself crawling back to the only man who ever looked at her like she was worth saving. But when she stands before him again, begging to be his sub, Kyra doesn’t realize the truth. The man she’s surrendering to is not just the Master of the bar. He’s her new professor. And he’s been waiting for her to come back.

She’s done surviving for everyone else. Now she’ll live for herself—even if it kills her. Kylee has always kept her head down. At school, she’s invisible. At home, she’s broken—caught between a stepfather’s rage and a mother who refuses to see the damage. The only way to cope is silence. Numbness. Disappearing. But then Price moves in next door. He’s all wrong for her: too charming, too curious, too determined to see what she’s worked so hard to bury. Still, Kylee can’t help but let him in. And with Price comes something else—something she can’t explain. Scratches on her skin she didn’t make. Whispers in the night she swears aren’t hers. Visions of a girl who looks just like her, begging to be remembered. As her grip on reality frays, Kylee must choose: stay hidden in the shadows of her pain, or face a truth darker than she ever imagined. Because someone is watching her. Someone who wants her to forget. But this time, Kylee won’t be anyone’s ghost. A haunting, emotional slow-burn romance with a twist of the paranormal. Because sometimes the bravest thing a girl can do is write her own heartbeat—and choose to live it out loud.

I'm due for a promotion when I stumble upon my husband entangled with his childhood sweetheart. After that, I'm secretly admitted to a psychiatric facility. I repeatedly tell the doctors that I'm fine, but all I get is worse abuse and humiliation. When Howard Armstrong visits me every month, I beg him to get me out. Each time, he says, "This is a proper establishment, so you have to follow the doctor's instructions. Don't be unreasonable!" On the day I'm discharged, he speaks to me tenderly and calls me his honey. Later, when I place a divorce agreement before him, he breaks down in tears.

In his bid for perpetual life, the first Don of the Bryant family annihilates the witch clan and violently takes possession of their most sacred relic. In the moments before her death, the head of the witch clan places a curse on every descendant of the Bryant family. Every descendant will suffer a sudden mutation at the age of 23, where their bodies would be covered in thick, black hair, and fangs would sprout from their mouths, turning them into monsters. They can only lift the curse if they marry a descendant of the witches. Ella Crawford—my sister—and I are the last remaining descendants of the witch clan in the human realm. In my past life, Oliver's lottery selection fell on the attractive Ella. I was aware that Ella lacked the power to lift the curse, so I secretly swapped the lots, and Oliver ended up married to me. In the end, during our wedding night, Ella set herself alight, proclaiming that she had lost her eternal love and didn't want to face life without him. As a result, Mom and Dad drove me out. Oliver, however, took me in and showered me with affection. It wasn't long before I conceived his child, and he successfully survived his 23rd birthday. Yet, barely a day later, Oliver pushed me into the fire pit. I pleaded with tears streaming down my face, "I freed you from the curse and am currently carrying your baby, Oliver, so please don't treat me like this!" Oliver merely responded with a malicious grin as he tossed the torch aside. "If it weren't for your interference, Ella would have lifted the curse for me! I would have been able to spend the rest of my life with her, Cynthia!" In the end, I was completely consumed by the flames. I suddenly open my eyes and find myself returning to the day Oliver chooses his bride by lot. I immediately snap the tampered lot, as I'm eager to find out how Ella will save Oliver without any witch powers in this life.

“Oh yes, Daddy, just like that!” That was me crying from the computer; slowly I turned to look to see if there was a video when I was met with Daddy's cock. He had shoved down his pants, and oh my god, it was just as beautiful as I imagined. Thick, hard of cum that made me wetter. I just wanted to get on my little knees and suck it dry. "I've been jerking to your videos.” He groaned, his hand now slowly running through his beautiful cock; holy fuck, it made my tits hard. Hearing that he's been jerking to my videos and that he's been recording me secretly, creepy in a way that made my clit twitch.

I took a shortcut through the alley and watched Dante Marchetti put a bullet in a man like it was nothing. He saw my face. That was the end of my normal life. Within an hour I was in the back of his car being driven to an estate I had never seen before with gates that locked from the outside and a wardrobe full of clothes in my exact size waiting like someone had known I was coming before I did. He told me I wasn't a prisoner but a guest. He said people who wanted to find me were considerably worse than him and that his walls were the only thing standing between me and a conversation I wouldn't survive. Maybe he was right. The problem is the longer I stayed the harder it became to remember which one was true. Because the man who caught me in that alley wasn't the only version of him. There was another one that nobody else seemed to get to see. The one who stood alone in his dead mother's library looking tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. The one who had my cat brought to the estate because he heard me crying through a closed door and didn't know what else to do about it. The one who almost smiled when I threw a glass at his head. That version of him was the one I couldn't stop thinking about. I came here as a witness. I stayed as something else entirely. Somewhere between the locked doors, the candlelit dinners and the secrets we started sharing in the dark I stopped wanting to leave. The question was whether a woman like me could survive loving a man like him. I was about to find out.

The church was full of different kinds of majestic decorations. A theme of white and gold, the color that is perfectly expressing both purity and prosperity. Indeed, it is really f*cking wonderful. But then... On this fre*king wonderful day who would have thought that a mere guest like me who was forced to attend this d*mn wedding of my damn stepsister will become the bride??! “She is right here. The… bride is here. We shall start the ceremony, Mr. Morgan” “Is it her?” “Y-yes. She is the one you will marry.” “Wait what, me?!”

Three months into my pregnancy, I was resting at home to ensure the baby’s health when a typhoon struck. My husband, Adam Quinn, received a call and rushed out to meet his childhood sweetheart. As a result, I experienced severe abdominal pain. The ambulance taking me to the hospital was involved in an accident, and I lost the baby. Adam arrived much later, only to blame me, saying, "Mona Thomas, why are you so useless? You couldn’t even keep the baby!"