Cry Cried

The night Enzo was made boss of the Moretti family, I gave him my virginity. He was the heir I'd been promised to since before I could speak. We kissed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, tangled in the humid, twilight heat... His rough, urgent hands hurt me, but I didn't pull away. Even the pain felt sacred, a sacrifice I was willing to make for love. Lost in the heat of the moment, he promised me a pair of the most beautiful crystal shoes, so I could dance the opening waltz with him at his coronation ceremony the next day. The first dance is always reserved for the new boss and his future bride. I cried with joy, believing my years of secret pining and patient waiting would finally culminate in a fairytale ending. But I was wrong. So terribly wrong. The next morning, I dragged my aching body out to get his favorite espresso, only to overhear the guys joking as I returned: "So you finally popped the family cherry, huh? How was Vivian on your first night as boss?" Enzo's voice was lazy, mocking. "Face of an angel, body of a devil. She's a hot little viper in bed." The room erupted in sleazy whistles. "So, you really gonna marry her, young boss?" "Are you kidding me?" Enzo scoffed. "Vivian's just a warm-up. Once I get some practice in, I'll go tame the Falcone ice princess. When I get bored, I can always circle back and put a ring on her." I stood frozen in the doorway, my vision blurring, the coffee cup trembling in my hand. Before the world faded to black, I sent a coded message to the Don: "Uncle Romano, for the promotion in three days, get me a transfer. As far away from Enzo as possible."

This book Contains Steamy contents strictly R18+ She wanted him, Elena yearns for him, as her hands slid through his hard toned body down to his brief, Elena wanted nothing but to have Roth hot and deep inside her, taking her with him to that secret place, where she could freely cry out from sheer pleasure. But Roth rejected her, she was young, naive, he did not want to take it too quick. Ten years later, Roth realized how mistaken he had been, Elena was no longer the naive, young sixteen years old girl anymore, this woman standing before him was an epitome of beauty, mature, irresistible, his body responded vigorously at the sight of her. His Shaft twitch at the sight of this woman. He wanted her! He yearns for Elena Bennett.

At eight months pregnant, my younger sister, Reina York, pushed me down the stairs, causing me to go into early labor.  At the hospital, I called Xavier Morales, but he answered with an impatient scoff. "What do you expect me to do about it? Stop bothering me." Xavier hated me, and he never wanted our child. Our baby girl was born, but despite the doctors doing everything they could, she did not make it. I called Xavier repeatedly, but he coldly hung up on me every time. Then, just moments later, I saw Reina's latest social media post. Xavier was there with her, smiling like he did not have a care in the world. He had completely abandoned me just to be with Reina. Even when our baby was cremated, they were still posting about their love like nothing had happened.  I did not scream, nor did I cry—I just packed my bags and left.

Alacrimia in Layman's terms is the congenital inability to produce tears. Some places in Africa have their norms and beliefs wrapped around age-old, blind superstitions. Especially the rural communities. So when a young girl comes from the city to the village, and it is discovered, through a series of unfortunate events, that she won't cry, even when induced, things take a downward spin for her, as she finds herself from Osun State to Kogi State, and then Enugu State.

A car accident left my mother-in-law bleeding and desperate for help, but her plea was heartlessly rejected by her own daughter. Even on her deathbed, my mother-in-law's only wish was to see her one last time. However, she was busy staying by her first love's side, euthanizing his dog. "You better stay as far away from me as possible! My mom's perfectly fine!" she shouted before hanging up on me, only to spend the night tangled with her first love in a hotel room. It was not until after the cremation ceremony that she returned—carrying a birthday cake. What greeted her was not a celebration but her mother's funeral. She cried, sobbing uncontrollably, "Mom! You haven't even celebrated my birthday yet! Don't leave me!" I stared at her and pulled the divorce papers from my bag. How fitting. This time, I was leaving too.

This isn’t a book. It’s a violation. Of your rules. Of your morals. Of the last line between want and ruin. These aren’t stories. They’re commands. Each page is a filthy little dare to spread wider, moan louder, and let go of every ounce of control you thought you had. Because once you start reading? You don’t stop. You can’t stop. This is where innocence gets devoured by the mouths it was told to avoid. Where best friends’ daddies, strict professors, and stepbrothers with no self-control break all the rules in your head—and then break you. They’re not gentle. They’re not careful. They’re not here for love. They want your breath caught in your throat. Your thighs shaking from how much you need it. Your body betraying every thought that says “no.” They’ll pin you down with a stare. Fuck your mind until it spirals. Make you beg without even touching you. You’ll gag on the tension. Cry from the pressure. Climax from the ache of what you’re not supposed to want. So keep your fingers ready. Keep the lights low. And baby? Be warned: You’re gonna need a towel by the end. Because this book doesn’t just seduce you. It owns you. Read it loud. Feel it deeper. And don’t you dare pretend you didn’t love every depraved second of it.

I stood in the shadows, the scent of pine and frost heavy in the air, watching my mate, Ethan, smile—truly smile—for the first time in years. But not at me. At her. My cousin, Isla. His first love. She sat beside him, warm and glowing, with our pups, Lucas and Mia, curled up against her like she was their real mother. They were laughing, sharing bites of ice-cream cake, the kind Lucas once said made his stomach hurt. I was never meant to be here. I wasn't his choice. He didn't fall in love with me—he was assigned to me. To him, our bond was never about love. It was a political arrangement—an alliance between two packs: his power, my father’s ambition. A tie forged not by hearts, but by bloodlines and borders. He never touched me unless required. He never looked at me like I was his Luna. In that moment, as their laughter echoed under the full moon, I felt the mate bond falter—thin, fading, like breath in winter. And I knew. I had played my part long enough. So I turned away. It was time to severe the bond that was never truly mine. But when he sensed I was really leaving, when the tether between us began to snap, he broke. Dropped to his knees, clutching the pups like lifelines, his voice raw. "Please," he whispered, "don't leave me." Even the pups cried, reaching for me with shaking hands. "Mom, we’re sorry… We didn't mean it. Please don't go."

When I died with a smile on my face, right before my brother's eyes, he looked as if the anguish might tear him apart. Yet, for twenty-one years, he hadn't stopped wishing I would meet this exact end. It all traced back to my fifth birthday—the day I had innocently hoped our parents would come home from their business trip to celebrate with me. They rushed back that night but never made it. A car accident took both their lives. From that moment on, my brother resented me, despised me. He didn't just stand idly by as our cousin snatched up my work as her own; he encouraged it. And when my landlord threw me out, it wasn't a random cruelty—it was my brother pulling the strings. All he had ever wanted, from the very beginning, was to see me die a miserable death. But when he finally got his wish… why did he cry, pleading for me to come back, begging me to call him 'brother' one last time?

He lowered his head and angrily placed a kiss on my lips, I had felt the passion, love and compassion in his previous kisses but right now he was venting out all his anger. He bit my lower lip hard until it was completely swollen and began to bleed, I wanted to cry in pain but he didn't give me a chance and his tongue pried my mouth open and with the help of it he pulled my tongue into his mouth and then bit my tongue. At this moment he was completely consumed by anger and out of his senses, I wanted to use my magic to get rid of him but I could not do that too as he had one of my wrists twisted which was now turning numb with pain and the other was pinned above my head against the wall. Soon his fangs pierced my tongue and this time finally a sharp painful shout left my throat and hit his lips. My lips were now trembling and I just wanted to push him away but as much as I tried that, he kept pushing his body against mine making me loose my mind completely. My painful voice brought him back to his senses and his lips and teeth finally left my mouth, tears flowed through my eyes due to the pain and I looked at him angrily that was when he finally spoke "I told you to be careful but you do every possible thing to rile me up. Your scent is completely different from every person on this earth, it is so appealing and inviting that anyone can find you and that means that no matter how hard you try, you can't escape from me."

"Just imagine all the things I can do to you now Anne. With you vulnerable, submissive, worthless, and at my every comand." He says then grabs my shoulder and whips me around. I try to keep my gaze down but his hand is on my face and he grips it hard, making me cry out in pain. Then he forces my jaw up to look at him. His cold eyes express power. Cold, heartless power. "But I won't touch you, ever. You're still a stripper, insignificant and meaningless and dirty." Marcella should have known it was a bad idea, that this was a bad idea. How did she end up working as a maid for Mr. Robinson? Why did she choose to be stuck suffering under his power? It was bad enough that she worked as a stripper for him, disguising her identity for as long as she could. But the minute she chose to leave and find something better, she ended up as his maid. And the answer remains the same… she’s doing this for her brother, and the one promise she made. Now she’s stuck working as a maid for the ruthless Mr. Robinson and as much as he takes advantage of her position, Marcella is not ready to give up. No. She will stay and remain strong with all that she has. And who knows? She might end up taming Mr Robinson.