Novel & Cerita Dean Winchester Leather Jacket

The night before my engagement, I saw Leo Vitaly in a naked embrace with my best friend, Sophia, at the villa. I did not cry or create a scene. Instead, I went crazy as I slept with three of his best buddies. I left evidence of our lovemaking on the wooden desk of his office, condoms in the passenger seat of his car, and a leather whip in his private wine cellar. All of this was left behind on purpose to tell him what I did. When Leo found out about it, all he did was put out the cigar in his hand and made a group call to his buddies. "You've all slept with her? What did she taste like?" Taunting laughter was heard from the other end of the call. "She's pretty flexible in bed." "Not bad, but she needs to be more adventurous in bed. The minor celebrities I sleep with are better than she is." "Haven't you given her a taste before by giving her a good lesson, Leo? She's too tight down there." My meticulously planned revenge was nothing but a joke to him. Leo had not cared at all. That night, I broke down. Leo sent me to the sanatorium after that. He 'treated' me there for an entire year.

The night before my fiancé, Soren, and I were supposed to leave for Northern Europe to start our new life, the sounds of a lively discussion drifted from his private club. "Christ, Boss, are you insane? Why the sudden marriage alliance with the Rosetti family to make a play for Italy? Didn't you say you were getting out of the life with Abby and heading north?" Soren leaned back into a leather sofa, his voice nonchalant and muffled by a cloud of smoke. "Plans change. Besides, remember, I'm the one who made her who she is." "Once she sees the new empire I'm building, that little canary will come flying right back to my cage. The woman can't live without me." I stood in the shadows of the club, a wine glass in my hand, a dull ache blooming in my chest. The anniversary gift I had so carefully chosen for Soren was still in my purse, waiting for me to give it to him. I slipped out of the smoke-filled club, tossed the gift into the nearest trash can, and booked a one-way ticket to Northern Europe. But what he didn't know was that just as he could betray our future for Monica, I could abandon him for mine. All those years we spent dancing with death were never just for his sake.

I caught my fiancè fucking my best friend thirty minutes before our wedding. An hour later, I was riding his father in the back of his car, still in my wedding dress. *** Hudson Armstrong had me trained and broken down into the perfect and compliant woman. He thought I would swallow the humiliation, paste on a smile and walk down the aisle like nothing happened. He thought wrong. His father Julius? Dark-haired, cold-blooded and powerful enough to make grown men tremble. He was the kind of man who didn’t ask for permission. He just took what he wanted. When he found me shattered by his asshole of a son, he offered me an escape. A filthy, savage and absolutely depraved way out. I should have said no. Instead, I let him peel off my white lace, shove me against the leather seats and fuck me like I was his while his son stood waiting at the altar, clueless and humiliated. One revenge fuck. One night to forget. One twisted mistake, except Julius won’t let me go. His hands, his mouth and his obsession is consuming me whole and the more Hudson tries to win me back, the deeper I fall into his father’s bed.

There were rules to their marriage. Lily was given the life of luxury and everything she could possibly want to live while her husband held the power and control over her fairytale life. It was a game of beauty and dominance. Lily Blakely: I had no other option but to do the unthinkable. I sold my soul to a billionaire heir, rich and spoiled. My dignity held under the heels of his shiny leather shoes and my heart in his hand. And I had done it all to save my father's life. He didn't know that. For him, I was the gold digger of highest order, one he despised the most. And yes, I didn't expect him to fall in love with me ever. He swore that he wouldn't. Daniel Rutherford: She was as beautiful as cunning. The kind I hated the most. A young, independent girl who sold herself for a life of riches and standard. I wanted nothing more than to stay a thousand miles away from her. But I seemed to fail in doing so the moment she got close enough to touch. I wanted her to repel me, yet every time she was near me I got attracted to her in a way I dreaded. I wanted to push her away, but to my utter disdain I wanted to fuck her even more.

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"

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.

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.

"You kept this from me, our child." Her heart pounded. Five years of secrets, of careful hiding, shattered in a single, terrifying moment. He knew. Asher Moretti knew. Aliyah Censori thought she was a biker bitch who knows a lot about the men that control the pedal and leather until she turns 20 and meets her mate. It was love at its fullest glamour and everyone was envious of them but unfortunately, he did the most outrageous thing that Aliya would ever imagine — he posted her nudes!! Aliyah was reluctant to accept the reality when the bond that binds them together is now severed. She cried her heart out. Asher Moretti who was coming back from his wife's tomb. He was sad and heartbroken. He went to the club and met Aliyah where they both drank themselves to stupor and they ended up on the bed. Aliyah hates him for no reason at first, she blames him for everything that happened between her and Cohen, thinking he knows about it since he is the president of his club. And now, she is pregnant with Asher Moretti’s baby. What happened when she realized that their intimacy that night had made her situation worse? But what happened when she realized that behind his facade was a man broken and was desperate for love? Behind his mask was the man who has never been defeated in any biking race but has been defeated by love and fate?

So this is how the mate bond feels. A rush of energy, a pull like gravity tightening around us, and an almost maddening awareness of the other person. I wasn’t about to let it sway me though. Sure, the man in front of me is ridiculously perfect, but I wasn’t some love-struck fool who’d drop everything at the first spark of fate. I had a life, plans, and a fiancé waiting for me upstairs. I raised an eyebrow, forcing myself to stay calm even as my heart raced. “Take a number and get in line, sweetheart,” I said coolly, flashing the engagement ring on my finger in front of his gray eyes. “I’m otherwise occupied right now.” …Five years later, when I pushed the door open, my mate remained motionless on a leather couch, his piercing gaze boring into me with a cold detachment that sent shivers down my spine. He leaned back, the casualness of the gesture at odds with the intensity in his eyes. His arms rested lazily on the backrest, but there was nothing relaxed about him. His body was coiled tight, like a predator ready to pounce, and the air between us crackled with tension. “Is my number finally up?” he asks, his tone laced with bitter amusement. “My dear mate.” The words sting, but I can’t deny the truth in them. He is my last chance.

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.