Novelas y relatos de Cat Anatomy Drawing

"Do you miss me Bella...mia" She could recognize that voice even in her sleep. She stood frozen looking at him with wide eyes. "W..what.." she tried speaking but immediately closed her mouth breathing hard. She glared at him HARD while a handsome smirk appeared on his face. "What the hell are you doing in my house?!" she said,his eyes moving across her body especially on her exposed legs. He suddenly stood on his feet and she moved back, his presence affecting her. "What happened to your elbow" he asked. That was actually the first thing he noticed when she stepped out of the bathroom with a red towel wrapped around her tiny frame. "Why should I tell you that. I owe you no explanation" She said feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinized gaze. He took three long strides towards her before pinning her to the wall, his hot breath fanning her neck. Lexi could feel her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes met his ocean blue eyes. She hates to deny it but he grew much more handsome than before. A slow smirk appeared on his lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Lexi shook, trying to push him off but he stood gallantly like a statue, his height towering above her. " Let me ..go.. now" her voice hoarse. " I hate repeating myself Lexi. You might wanna start talking" Lexi Thompson, a retired cop, is trapped in a toxic game of cat and mouse with Antonio Saint Claire, a ruthless mafia kingpin. Lexi Thompson thought she'd escaped Antonio Saint Claire's toxic grasp but his obsession runs deep. Now she must play by his rules to preserve her sanity. Will she find a way to break free, or will their twisted love consume them both ?.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.

“Did you do as I said?” He murmured darkly, eyes slowly running over me. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice laced with shame. Although not enough to stop me from spreading my legs wider before him. His jaw flexed, a low growl escaping his throat as he lowered himself in front of me. “Show me. I want to see how you touched yourself that night.” “Right now?” I hesitated. “Yes. Right now.” He pushed forward. “I want you to take two fingers to your mouth, lick it slowly, take it all the way down there and show me how you made yourself cum. Everything.” I swallowed, my face burning red as images of that unholy night flashed in my mind. I licked two fingers as he said, trailing it all the way down to the already sleek folds between my legs. Then I dug in, the sleeky sensation pushing my eyes close. “Open them. I want to see.” My eyes managed to part, closely followed by my mouth. My folds grew slickier the more I worked my fingers in, drawing low cries from my lips. I had to close my eyes. “Open.” He growled, rising. We locked eyes, as I widened my legs, intensely flicking my wet mound until I began to feel my legs twitch. “Do I stop? Tell me what to do,” I cried. He said nothing, just sipped the wine in his hand while I continued to pound myself deeper, crying and unwilling to get to that point as I wanted him to do it himself. I needed his fingers to replace mine. To show me how a big, bad wolf tamed his prey. Finally, he set his glass aside, leaning downwards. “You really did your assignment. Now let the king give you a fitting reward.” He smirked.

⚠️*WARNING: 18+ Explicit Content Moonlight spilled through heavy curtains, casting silver across the stranger’s bare chest. Jessy stood frozen in the doorway of her family’s mansion, heart hammering as her eyes traced the hard ridges of his abs, the powerful lines of his thighs, and the unmistakable thick outline straining against black briefs. He was danger wrapped in raw masculinity. “Come here,” he commanded, voice low and rough. Her legs moved before her mind could protest. In seconds his mouth was on her breast, hot and demanding, while two thick fingers thrust deep inside her, drawing out a slick, shameful rush of need. He pulled her onto his lap, ripped her panties aside, and drove into her with one savage stroke—stretching, claiming, ruining her in the dark. Jessy clung to his shoulders, gasping, moaning, breaking apart as pleasure tore through her like fire. He fucked her harder, deeper, whispering filthy praises against her skin until she shattered around him. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and filled her with pulse after pulse of hot cum. Still joined, his cock twitching inside her, he brushed damp strands of hair from her tear-streaked face and smirked. “Now tell me your name again… Jessy.” Footsteps clicked down the marble hallway. “Jessy? Sweetheart, I’m home.” Her aunt’s voice—warm, loving, and far too close. Terror and forbidden desire twisted in Jessy’s chest as she sat there naked, impaled on the man who was never a stranger. His cum was still leaking down her thighs when he flexed his hips, pushing deeper, and whispered hot against her ear, “Be very quiet, little girl. Wouldn’t want Mommy to discover how hard her precious step-niece just came on her new husband’s cock.”

On my fifth birthday, my parents showed up at my birthday party later than usual. They brought with them a skinny little girl who couldn't seem to speak at all. I rushed over, hoping to hug Mom, only to get knocked down by her. That was how I fell into the ten-foot cake that my parents had specifically picked out for me. Buttercream filled my nose and mouth, suffocating me to no end. When I managed to climb out of the mess, I burst out in tears and asked Dad to cuddle me. But Dad retracted his hands while looking conflicted. "Don't blame your mom, Willow. From now on, you must take good care of Maple, your little sister. As long as Maple is happy, your mom will be happy." Later on, the mean kids in the neighborhood shove Maple Thompson, my new little sister, into a pile of sand. I rush over to protect her immediately. Once we get home, I mimic my parents by drawing a bath so that I can clean Maple up. That's when Mom suddenly barge into the bathroom and slap me heavily across the face. "You've already enjoyed our love for the past five years! Why are you still greedy for more? I can't believe you're trying to drown Maple right now!" Mom's eyes have gone bloodshot. She drags me by the hair and stuffs me into the washing machine. "Only a washing machine is capable of cleanse that filth out of your soul! You can only scramble out of the washing machine and apologize to Maple once you've decided to quit bullying your sister!" In the living room, Dad lowers his voice. "Keep your voice down when you're chewing Willow out. Maple is about to fall asleep. Don't go around waking her up now." Mom doesn't want to look at me anymore. Instead, she slams the lid onto the washing machine forcefully. I can't get out of the machine. What she doesn't know is that the washing machine will activate. "The 212-degree-Fahrenheit wash cycle has been activated." Scalding hot water is soon dumped onto my body. It hurts so much that I gradually lose my consciousness. Will Mom love me again once I'm squeaky clean after the wash cycle?

I've been married to Salvatore Falcone for seven years. He's a mafia Don who drills raw terror into everyone's minds. While I'm the Donna whom he has announced to the world, in truth, I'm just a mistress who serves as his human shield that can warm his bed on the side. Salvatore has betrayed me countless times over the past seven years. The first betrayal occurred when he took my ring off on our first wedding anniversary and gave it to one of the escorts in the clubhouse on a whim. The second betrayal occurred when I collapsed in the kitchen out of exhaustion. Instead of saving me, Salvatore blamed me for not preparing the hangover tonic for him in time, so he had someone dump iced water onto me to wake me up. The third betrayal occurred when I suffered from massive bleeding when I was five months pregnant. When I begged Salvatore to go to the hospital with me, he told me that he was keeping Valentina Caruso, his childhood sweetheart, company while her cat was getting fixed. For 2500 days, I swallowed all of my grievances, agony, and tears. Last night, at the banquet of our seventh wedding anniversary, Salvatore had taken Valentina's hand and sat her down on the Donna's throne that was meant to be mine. At that moment, everyone looked forward to seeing me humiliate myself. This was the 101st time he betrayed me. After the banquet was over, Salvatore didn't even bother looking me in the eye. He just said icily, "Don't forget that you're only a mistress to me despite our marriage." At the crack of dawn, Salvatore wakes up with a hangover. He tosses his soiled shirt at me out of habit. "Wash this shirt immediately. I'm going to wear it tonight." As I gaze at him, I caress my belly, which is slightly swollen. "Sorry, Mr. Falcone. This is no longer my duty." Salvatore most likely has forgotten that we've signed a contract when we first got married. The clause states that we will get divorced seven years later. Today is the third day before our contract comes to an end. I toss the marriage certificate and the pregnancy report into the shredder on the spot. In three days, my unborn baby and I will disappear from Salvatore's world permanently. This time, I will never look back.