Dallas Winston Jacket Novels & Stories

The streets were his home, a cardboard box was the only roof he had over his head, an old jacket he found in the trash was his only blanket and for his meals. He stole and made sure that he was the first to get to one of the restaurants' trash every night to make sure that he had something to eat. His life changed when he stole from a mafia boss, whom everyone was scared of, he was known for being ruthless and killed without mercy especially those who betrayed and stole from him. He was a Russian man with a thick accent and a very powerful aura, that made many shivers at his presence without him having said a word. But when he met him, he gave him a job instead of killing him like everyone thought he would, his job was to be his right-hand man. He was the one who did all the killings and dealing with his rivals. He gave him the name White tiger, one that was born once in every generation, he gave him this name because he said that he had the courage, was smart and cunning. The man was very handsome, tall with broad shoulders and he looked very big for his age. His eyes though were distant, cold, and deadly. One could not look at them longer than a second. His name was Antonio Rodrigues, The White Tiger.

After the plane crash, I rejected the captain—my brother-in-law’s—final life jacket that he had as he handed it to me. Instead, I allowed myself to plunge a hundred meters from the sky. In my previous life, I had survived after accepting his life jacket. But he died a tragic death in the crash. After his death, I was consumed with guilt. My husband proposed to take care of two households at the same time so that he could look after his sister-in-law. Out of guilt, I reluctantly agreed to his proposal. I even had to give up my only chance of getting promoted to department head of the hospital to my sister-in-law, upon my husband’s insistence. When I was seventy years old, I suddenly saw my brother-in-law, who was supposed to be dead, show up in front of me. He said to my husband, “Bro, thank goodness you came up with that fake-death plan back then. I was drunk and caused the deaths of all the passengers after the plane crash. If not for that plan of yours, as the captain, I certainly could not have escaped scot-free and would have been sentenced to prison for life! “It was too bad we had to keep her in the dark for her entire life.” After a lifetime of sacrifices, I was so furious that I nearly passed out upon hearing my brother-in-law’s words. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the plane crash.

"I'm scheduling the C-section for tomorrow. The doctor will extract her bone marrow during the procedure." Those were the words that shattered Selena's world. Her husband, Ellis Winston, the most ruthless Mafia Don in New York, was going to force her to deliver their baby at twenty-seven weeks. To him, her pregnant body was just a blood farm to cure Jennifer, the manipulative half-sister who supposedly saved his life. So, Selena ran. She left behind a pool of blood, a crushed ultrasound photo, and a destroyed wedding ring. The world thought she was dead. Six years later, Ellis is a walking corpse. He rules the global underworld, but he is tormented by the ghost of the wife he pushed to the grave. During his company's grand anniversary banquet, the heavy ballroom doors burst open. Selena is back. But she isn't the weak, obedient housewife in a cheap housewife anymore. She is the untouchable heiress of the Merrick billionaire empire. She strides down the red carpet, a signed divorce agreement in hand, ready to crush the man who ruined her. Ellis refuses to let her go. He is willing to go to war with Wall Street to drag her back. But what will the arrogant Don do when he comes face-to-face with a genius six-year-old boy who looks exactly like him? He will pay any price to win her back. Even if it costs him his empire, his organs, and his life.

Some debts can only be paid in blood... or marriage. When Isabella Caldwell wakes to her father's anguished howl, she discovers her family's fortune has vanished overnight. But the truth is far worse than bankruptcy. Fifteen years ago, her father caused the deaths of Alexander Blackwood's parents, and now the bill has come due. The terms are simple and non-negotiable: Isabella will marry Alexander, or her family loses everything,including her mother's critical medical care. Alexander Blackwood has spent six years meticulously planning his revenge. Cold, calculated, and utterly ruthless, he's built an empire from the ashes of his family's destruction. Taking Winston Caldwell's daughter as his wife is the perfect punishment for the man who orphaned him at sixteen. What he doesn't expect is Isabella herself, fierce, talented, and unflinching even as her world collapses around her. She agrees to the marriage but makes one thing clear: he may own her name, but he'll never possess her spirit. As these two damaged souls begin their paper marriage, unexpected sparks ignite between them. But can passion overcome the weight of the past? Or will Alexander's need for vengeance consume them both? BLOOD CONTRACT is a dark, emotional romance featuring a brooding anti-hero, a resilient artist determined to survive, and a marriage arrangement that's binding in more ways than one.

My name is Dakota Wetherby. On the very day my husband, Theodore Aldridge, and I get legally married, he brings his ex-girlfriend, Sofia Moretti, into our home. "Sofia recently suffered a miscarriage, so she's going through a very difficult time. I'm genuinely worried about her," he says. "We're just friends. It's only natural for friends to comfort each other," he adds. Sofia is Theodore's college sweetheart. Rumor has it they separated on good terms when she went abroad for further studies. Clad in Theodore's jacket, she curls up on our bed. Her pale, ashen face is streaked with tears. "I'm so sorry, Dakota. I had no idea you two were getting married today. "I was too upset and didn't know who else to reach out to, so I called Theo. "He was only comforting me because I lost my child. It's completely my fault for overstepping and ruining your wedding day. "You can ask for whatever compensation you want. Just please don't blame Theo for this." I hold the freshly issued marriage certificate from the courthouse and walk up to her. "Since you've brought it up, I suppose I'll reluctantly accept your compensation. "Theodore and I are married for business reasons, with billions in projects hanging in the balance. "Tell me, how exactly do you plan to make up for all of that?"

*My mate turns out to be the mafia king?!* “Stop flirting with my staff.” My head snaps toward the guy I’ve run into twice today. I thought he was just an average school playboy. “Your staff?” I ask stupidly. He smiles widely. “That’s right, sweetheart. This is my club.” * “W-what are you doing?” I whisper, but the look in his eyes says it all. “Do you feel that?” He asks. It takes a second, but then I feel tiny sparks racing along my skin as his hand slips under my jacket and over my skin. I gasp, and then his lips are on mine. *** A few years ago, a series of scientific research buildings were attacked. The chemicals from those research facilities had seeped into our water supply and slowly manipulated our DNA. Last year was the first report of someone showing a hint of supernatural abilities. Then another and another until suddenly, there were people with abilities popping up all over the place. People with abilities were either feared or envied. I have tried hiding my ability for as long as I can. My ability would have me locked up and used until there was nothing left of me. The ability to heal is a gift everyone would want to take advantage of, so I never use it…ever. Until... I meet him. Julian. My schoolmate. The boss of The Hell Club. The Mafia King. My...mate. What we didn't know at the time was that these so-called DNA alterations were all werewolf genes growing inside the human body. And he, Julian... is my mate.

In 1612, he couldn’t save her. In 2026, he might not want to. Elias Thorne was a man of maps and measurements, the King’s most trusted surveyor, until the smoke of the Lancashire witch trials choked the life out of everything he loved. Catherine wasn’t a witch—she was just an innocent woman caught in the gears of a superstitious world. When Elias was turned into something monstrous that same year, he didn't see it as a curse; he saw it as a deadline. He had forever to find a way to bring her back. For four centuries, Elias moved through the shadows of history, building an empire of wealth and dark influence. He hunted every myth, funded every occult discovery, and bled for every lead—all to find a soul that refused to return. He grew bitter, his heart hardening into the very stone of the London streets he walked. He eventually gave up on the heavens and the hells, settling into a life of cold, immortal apathy. Then, on a Tuesday afternoon, he sees her. She’s standing in line for coffee, wearing headphones and a denim jacket, looking exactly like the woman he watched die under a grey Jacobean sky. She has no memory of the fire, the maps, or the man who has spent four hundred years hating the world for her sake. Now, Elias faces a choice: Walk away and let her live the peaceful life he once prayed for, or reclaim a love that doesn’t belong to him anymore. But Catherine has secrets of her own—and in the modern world, the ghosts of 1612 are finally starting to catch up.

I cringe in fear, he traces his finger down my half naked body feasting his eyes on me, I can tell my already wet transparent outfit isn't helping matters, I feel his hand graze through my nipple slightly he turns me over making me face the wall, I feel his bulge rub against me,I try pushing him but he pins me down with no effort at all, "It won't be fun if you don't resist" I'm hit by a sharp wave of pain as he thrusts into me gradually it turns to pleasure as he thrusts faster,harder and quicker my brain tells me to fight him off and run but my body aches for more pleasure than ever,I've always been this kind of slut but tonight I feel violated, He turns me over to face him I watch his lips move closer aiming for a kiss,disgusted and irked I kick him in the groin causing him to fall and sprawl on the ground ,I reach for my jacket, he pulls me by my ankle I try kicking him off but he's holding on too tight, restless and impatient I reach for the gun just before me pulling the trigger without second thought, he stays still not moving seconds after blood come gushing out from his abdomen,I hear claps come from behind "Well-done Nikita, welcome to the crib"

Warning: DARK ROMANCE Story contains detailed mature scenes possessing dubious consent not recommended for age group below 18 years old. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Prologue Shadows engulfed him in a beautiful embrace. He looked like an angel with devilish intentions. It wasn't until he took a step towards her did the gravity of situation descended upon her and even then she couldn't do anything but shake in fear. She knew making a run for it won't do a thing, calling was not an option and if she screamed...she opened her mouth to scream but a meek plea came out. Her body's lack of response terrified her, tears gathered in her orbs with horrible anticipation. With his each step nearer she gripped the frame of her window tighter hoping to keep her balance. It took him three steps to be inches away from her body. He slowly took his suit jacket off, making himself comfortable as he amusingly watched her shaken face. She was so horror-stricken to even look at his face. She gulped as his hand cupped her neck in a gentle grip, guiding her eyes to his. His eyes slipped from the hold of her eyes to her lips in a second. She grew self conscious all over again. His heated gaze on her lips was unwavering. In the moment of bewilderment and growing self awareness her tongue unconsciously wiped her lips wet and it was all it took for him to descent on her lips.

I used to be a top ballet dancer. The year I was diagnosed with a spinal hemangioma, my boyfriend Julian Blackwood said, "Wherever you go, I go." We'd been together three years. He walked beside me as I went, step by step, from the most luminous dancer on that stage to a woman in a wheelchair. Every time the nerve pain hit and I collapsed, he was the one who lifted me off the floor. Every round of electrostim and acupuncture, he sat in the corridor outside the therapy room and waited for me to come out. Before I got sick, he promised me—the night I finished my final performance of Swan Lake, we'd sign the marriage license. He'd bought tickets for that show three months in advance. I never stood on that stage again. And the marriage license never came up. Until the morning I noticed the collar of his white dress shirt carried a smudge of lipstick that wasn't mine. I heard him on the balcony. A woman's voice on the other end. "Mr. Blackwood, you left your jacket at the hotel last night. I'll bring it over." I stared at that smear of red, and something in me snapped. I laughed. "Send me to Westbrook. The locked-down rehab facility. I don't want to drag you down anymore." Something flickered in his eyes—a brief, animal panic. Then he nodded. He thought I meant rest. He didn't know I'd already signed the papers to donate my body to science. I was going there to die.