Criss Cross Novel Novels & Stories

When I got back on my feet, I fixed my gaze on the floor. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Sky snatched my novel, glanced at the cover, then showed it to his friends. “Oh, look! It's a romance novel,” Josh snickered, and they laughed heartily. They've got a lot of nerve! “Give it back,” I said softly. Oh shit! That didn't come out as planned. I was supposed to sound fierce, like a Mafia boss lady. I'm sure what they heard was just a stupid goat bleating.

The book club ladies were in fine form this afternoon. Margaret Thompson sat primly on the floral couch in a rented out space close to the library, a half-empty teacup balanced on her knee, her Bible study notes open on the coffee table. The conversation had started with the latest Christian fiction novel — something about redemption and resisting temptation — but it had drifted, as it always did, into more personal territory. Gossip dressed up as prayer requests. “Speaking of temptation,” one of the women said, lowering her voice with dramatic concern, “have you heard what’s going around about that poor Thompson boy?”

"She's such a pretty young girl, but she just had to be stubborn. Now look—Master Lucas won't let her off. At the very least, she'll lose a finger." "This is too cruel. I can't even bear to watch." The maids and servants chattered among themselves by the pond, whispering and gossiping. But I could barely hear them anymore. The intense pain in my hand made me struggle wildly. The small canopy boat was old and poorly maintained. Under my frantic movements, it rocked violently, bumping against the water with hollow thuds. The scene suddenly mirrored the accident my parents had suffered at sea years ago. The deep-seated fear buried in my heart was instantly dragged to the surface.

The maid knocked and disappeared before an answer could be heard from the otherside. I didn’t wait. I pushed the door open, my hand clutching the weapon inside my coat. “Ahh Mr Cruz.” He stood up from behind his desk, his hand hovering over the piece to the side of him, anticipating my next move. “I was wondering when I would be seeing you again.” He snarled at me. I paced forward, pulling my nine millimetre from my coat, pointing it directly at his forehead. Simultaneously, Luciano matched my movements, the shimmering metal in his hand was focused on me.

Book two for Theirs is now published on this site under the named US, soon the books will be joined and made into one novel but for now, they are separate books. I just want to thank you guys for the continuous support and I hope you enjoy the book. . . SNEAK PEAK Cassidy's POV "Starr," I called out softly, my body pressed against her office wall as she continued to leave wet kisses along my neck. "Sshh," she silenced as she began undoing my jeans.

You'll be able to find me on various SM pl@forms so make sure you come check in on the latest :) I am currently working on more Mafia romances, a new series called The Notorious Five. If you haven't read this, you will want to as it is so much better than Cruz, darker and grittier. This is the series that has taken up most of my time and if you read the books, you will see why. They are constantly updated and the series is almost finished. If you find me on SM, you'll be able to find out where the works are :)

I had my finals beginning in two days, and I'd see my classmates for the first time after Sister Ophelia put me in quarantine, as if I had a deadly virus no one could ever get in touch with, only Theo and her. I spent the last two days of lockdown studying. By the next day, the cut in my finger was done, just the scar was left behind, as all other cuts I suffered throughout my life. I couldn’t pay enough attention to the goddamn books, because the pain I felt was unusual. Have I been misdiagnosed? Was CIP curable? Did that mean that I was going to actually suffer when Clarissa beat me up?

I walk towards her, and she flew up. “Well…” she hesitated before continuing. “I was thinking about everything, and I’m trying to wrap my head around everything.” While she says this, she looks toward the ground. “Crissy.” I pick up her face and stare into her eyes. “We are still the same people. We are just a bit different.” She was silent for a few seconds. Then she kisses me. My eyes widened. “What the fuck is happening?” Alexander asks, surprised. Crissy stood back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I have so much to process, and I thought that would clear my mind.”

She whimpers. All the blood in my body rushes to my tight, aching dick. As you wish, Miss Cross.

She liked her world like this; controlled, immaculate, and hers. Her assistant had just left the report on the collaboration between Duval Holdings and CrossTech, and Clarisse skimmed it with the cool efficiency of a surgeon. Numbers, timelines, projected returns, upcoming brief, it was all there. Damon Cross, as always, delivered results with a surgeon’s blade.