Crime Stories Short Novels & Stories

The cliffside mansion rose like something out of a dark romance novel, all glass and stone overlooking the crashing waves. I arrived at exactly 11 PM, my heart hammering as I clutched my portfolio. My name is Nova Ellis — twenty-four, unpublished romance writer with a drawer full of very spicy manuscripts I’d never shown anyone. Damien Cross opened the door himself. At thirty-six, he was even more striking in person — tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones, tousled dark hair, and piercing steel-gray eyes that seemed to strip me bare with one look.

Love stories in a fictional universe mostly end up with a happy ending because destiny exists and will always be by the side of the two characters. But love stories are not always nice. Some do not start in a vintage coffee shop or a school hallway in the first day of a school year, and some do not end up in a wedding as a happy ending. Love indeed is complex as it could either be a lifetime benefit or a permanent danger to an individual. But perhaps destiny does exist—but that does not mean destiny gives everyone a happy ending. The question is, do the people involved in the world of crime deserve a happy ending? Or will destiny stay by their side to prove that love is more powerful than an

Charlie Brown looked up at the wall clock and saw that the time was thirty minutes past one.she sighed. Sometimes, life at this old place seemed to drag on for hours. She looked around her office and was once again hit with the knowledge that this place told a story of it’s own. There were tales of secrets and lies, hidden crimes and deaths. Innocent victims put through suffering at the hands of the perpetuators who were currently free men and a menace to the city because of the numerous unsolved cases that were now piled up.

Panic gripped my chest as I heard Carson's voice. "Put that knife down!" My heart stopped. No. I rushed into the kitchen, my legs barely registering the steps. Layla was standing near the counter, eyes swollen with tears, her hand trembling as she held a sharp kitchen knife pressed just a little too close to her wrist. Carson stood a few feet away from her, hands slightly raised. "Layla, don't. Please," I pleaded. Her eyes flicked to mine—and they weren't just angry. They were broken. Shattered.

The New York best selling romantic novels were my best companions during my college days. "Mmm...Oh...Mmpphh...UM!" I moaned. It was hard to really say anything verbal with my mouth filled up. I swished his cock inside my cheeks, getting it as deep into my throat as possible while breathing through my nose. I was buried into his lap; his cock completely inside my mouth, his thighs pressed up against my cheeks, my nose in his lap. My eyelashes brushed up against his pubic hair. "This feels good Camila, this feels so fucking good Camila" he mourned softly. I loved that I was really tormenting him. Making him call me by my name

Chapter 1: Caught Fucking Around Trigger warning: This story is raw, gritty. It's not the kind that pets you. It will strip you off your pride like a little dirty dog, take you to your peak and punish you harder. When you're done, your pussy won't be the only thing that leaks... your master's marks will be your new tattoo, and little puppy, you'll thank him for it. Drop now if you hate dirty stories with degradation. Britanny's POV

Chapter Three – Ruthless Claim The fire crackled in the study, the night deepening, but the heat between us was a inferno, unquenched by the earlier ravaging. My body was a map of their desire—bruises on my thighs, bite marks on my breasts, cum and sweat coating my skin—yet the hunger raged. The mafia boss and his lieutenant loomed, their eyes dark with lust, ready to claim me again.

I felt his stare on my ass and I wiggled just a little because I loved his attention on me. He just walked away, leaving me disappointed. Whatever, it was his loss anyway. Heading to the movie room, I decided to keep myself busy since my burner and original phone had been confiscated. The movie room was a small, dimly lit space with a worn couch and an old projector setup that Viktor had rigged up from whatever supplies were in the safehouse. It wasn't much, but it beat staring at the walls. I scrolled through the limited selection of DVDs—mostly action flicks and thrillers that made me know it was his taste, until one caught my eye.

The girl chuckled before calling the other girl, who was still in the cubicle. "I think your drink was spiked. I'm glad I saw you, Alyssa! What if I didn't? Your mommy will kill me," she said. The woman also came out of the cubicle and sat on the side, "I feel like I'm paralyzed. Damn that drink!" "You two could've been in someone's hands. Someone's bad." The woman with red hair commented as she handed me the lipstick she borrowed. "You shouldn't accept drinks from strangers," I added. The four of us have fixed ourselves. It looks like the two are feeling better since, according to them, they don't feel numb anymore.