Dog Knotted Novels & Stories

Married for five years, Lorenzo, the underboss of the Moretti family, had never been without a woman. He found my “noble lady” posture stiff and vanilla. Dancers from Trinacria, headliners from the city’s nightclubs, his rotating stream of mistresses could fill the entire estate. Yet whenever I was displeased, whether it was throwing drinks or kicking someone out, Lorenzo never intervened. He’d only lit his cigar with casual amusement and said, “Relax. It’s just fun. No one can touch your position.” Then a clumsy, naive maid appeared. Unlike the others, she wasn’t flashy. However, when Lorenzo returned, bloodied, she’d hand him a cup of warm tea, her eyes red-rimmed. She watched him with pure admiration while he handled the family business. Lorenzo said the estate felt cold and lifeless except for her. He said only when she panicked did he feel like a hero being needed, rather than just a husband in a political marriage. Until she accidentally broke an antique vase left by my mother… Before I could react, Lorenzo stepped in and shielded her trembling form, glaring at me as if I were the enemy. “What’s wrong with you? If you’re crazy, go see a shrink. Don’t scare her like a rabid dog!” Watching his careful, protective expression, I smiled. I guess it was time for the Moretti family underboss to be replaced.

The moment I was born, my mother implanted a chip in my brain and began shaping me into her idea of a perfect daughter. She blocked my sense of hunger so I would only have simple meals daily to maintain the "ideal" figure. She erased my ability to feel pain so she could inject me with endless chemicals to keep my skin smooth and flawless. She tampered with my senses, deleting every trace of negative emotion from my mind, all so I could remain eternally innocent. I couldn't tell right from wrong. I didn't know sadness or anger. I only knew how to smile. When the neighbor's dog died, I smiled and was scolded harshly for being heartless. When my classmates bullied me, I smiled and became the class freak. When my grandfather passed away, I smiled again, and my relatives cursed me for being soulless. Eventually, my father couldn't take it anymore. He left us. Mom, however, didn't seem to care. "They don't understand," she told me. "Everything I've done is for your own good. One day, you'll thank me." … On my 18th birthday, she planned a grand live broadcast, ready to show the world her perfect creation. She never knew that the day before her grand broadcast, I had already lost myself completely. By then, I was no longer human. I had become a machine.

At another Sunday dinner at the Bellandi estate, Luca Bellandi's assistant, Ava Marino, was sitting in my seat. It was the first chair to Luca's right at the long walnut table, the seat everyone in Chicago's underworld knew belonged to Mrs. Bellandi. Ava sat there as if she had been born into it, her pale wrist brushing Luca's sleeve while she poured his wine. I stood in the doorway and looked at him. "She's in my seat. You don't have anything to say?" Luca raised his eyes. "You were late. Don't blame someone else for sitting down first. There are empty chairs over there. Sit if you want. If not, get out." The dining room went dead quiet, and before I could answer, his thoughts slipped into my ears. [Vivi, don't go. Come sit beside me. Tell them it's your seat. Tell me you still want to be my wife.] [Please get mad. Please care. Say you need me, and I'll give you the whole world.] In the past, those soft, trembling thoughts would have been enough. I would've swallowed the insult and stayed beside him like a loyal dog that didn't know when to leave. This time, I didn't. I slipped the wedding ring off my finger and laid it on the table. "If the Bellandi family can't even keep a wife's seat for me, then I guess this family doesn't need a wife anymore. Luca, let's get divorced."

At my lowest point that year, I took a job at a pet shop, where I was assigned to take care of a "gentle-tempered" silver-white Alaskan Malamute. Every time I went near him, he would lift his head and bury his nose against my chest, breathing in low, rough sounds that felt disturbingly like a grown man holding himself back. Especially when my hand brushed through his beautiful fur, his body would heat up, and his eyes would darken and burn with unmistakable possessiveness. Thinking he was sick, I rushed to find the shop owner. The owner gave me a long, meaningful glance. "He's not sick. But he only acts like this with you. "You need to bathe him, give him a full-body massage, and try giving him a little kiss. Otherwise, he might lose control." I had my doubts about the whole thing, but I didn't really have a choice. I went along with it anyway. Eventually, I told the friend who had gotten me this job everything that had been happening. After she heard me out, she went quiet for a second. Then, she looked at me strangely and said, "Have you ever thought that maybe you're not looking after a dog at all? What if he's actually a werewolf who can take human form, and he's in heat, using pheromones to mess with you because he wants to… You know, sleep with you?"

The day before the company retreat, the CEO suddenly sent a message in the company group chat. [How's your leg?] The group chat, which had been buzzing with excitement just moments before, instantly went silent. To protect the CEO's dignified image, I immediately found a CT scan report and sent it into the chat. [Thank you for your concern, Mr. Graham. I already got my leg checked. The doctor said it's nothing serious.] This time, the CEO replied almost immediately. [Good. I'm glad you're okay. You can submit the claims for medical expenses. You can also take another two weeks off.] The group chat instantly flooded with comments praising him. [Mr. Graham is so thoughtful.] [He really cares about his employees.] I was secretly proud of my high emotional intelligence when I suddenly received a friend request from someone claiming to be the CEO's fiancee. [So you're the homewrecker who's been seducing Christopher at work! You're really something, aren't you? Why would he ask about your leg in the middle of the night? [If you have the guts, send your leg photos to the group chat and let everyone admire them!] The sip of water I just took nearly sprayed all over my screen I looked down at the dog curled up in my arms. Its name was Hammie. I then glanced at the family photo hanging on the wall. What homewrecker? I was literally the CEO's mother!

Cynthia Perin is a 19-year-old art teacher.She is kidnapped by mysterious people and held in a cage in a villa as she walks home from school after class. When Cynthia wakes up, she discovers that her abductor is Carlo Ricci, a wandering young fool she once took in.Carlo regains all his memories and his identity as the head of Mafia North. He turns back into a man full of danger. Carlo takes advantage of his drunkenness to have forced sex with Cynthia in his cage. He violently takes Cynthia's first time. Carlo hates Cynthia for treating him like an abandoned dog and abandoning him at will. He had loved his master-Cynthia Perin so faithfully. Now it's his turn to trap her in the prison of his possessiveness and torture her... And Cynthia is planning to inform Antonio, her former crush, to come to her rescue ...... "I can't give you the freedom to leave with another man! That's my bottom line Cynthia. leave me and I'll kill him!" ...... "No! Don't touch there!" Cynthia shrieked, it was the secret garden in the deepest part of her body.Cynthia could not struggle out of his grip, fear and terror taking over inside. Her sensitive body trembled uncontrollably beneath him. "Cynthia you ARE mine!!!" Carlo muttered in a drunken slur, but his hands kept moving. The warm touch enveloped his icy heart tightly.It was as if this was the only way he could gain what little security he had left. Dangerous lust burns beneath their bellies and the sound of the gang betraying gunfire seems surrounds Carlo. It didn't matter, as long as Cynthia was entirely under his control. It didn't matter...it didn't matter...

My boyfriend, Simon Carver, was a man with very strong boundaries. For three years, he never let me go to his place. He said it was his private territory. He never let me touch his phone, not even to check the time. Even at gatherings with friends, he always seated me farthest away from him. I always thought he simply wasn't used to intimacy. Then, on the eve of our wedding, I received his shared location. I thought he had finally decided to let me get closer, so I followed the location and went to his home for the first time. The door wasn't locked. In the living room, a woman was wearing his oversized T-shirt like pajamas, her pale legs resting across his lap as she whined for him to massage her. When he saw me, surprise flashed through Simon's eyes. Then he returned to his usual indifference. "Why are you here? "That location was meant for Ives. I was in a rush and picked the wrong person. "Maren, you need to give me some private space too. Don't see one shared location and come rushing over like a dog that smelled a bone, desperate to check up on me." I found it funny. He was intimate with another woman, yet he turned around and asked his fiancee for private space. I didn't say anything else. I just lowered my head and accepted the out-of-state transfer notice from my boss. Since he thought I was standing too close, I would step farther away. Far enough that his world would never have me in it again.

For five years, I played the ghost in my own marriage. I pressed Julian Daniel’s pristine suits, matched his cufflinks, and sat by the window like a loyal dog, waiting for the "Ice King" CEO to look at me with something resembling desire. Instead, I received clinical kindness and a box containing a gold watch. Every anniversary, the exact same script. It was his way of checking a box - a tax he paid for a life he felt obligated to support. I sacrificed my career as a prima ballerina, shattering my legs to push him out of the path of a speeding car. He didn't marry a wife; he locked away a debt. The anniversary script burned to ash on our fifth year. Standing outside the bathroom door, I heard the raw, unbridled passion Julian had denied me for half a decade. He wasn't breathing my name into the steam. He was choking out the name of his high school heartbreak: Penelope. The betrayal didn't end in our bedroom. It followed me to a high-end restaurant where Julian hosted a private lunch. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, I didn't find a husband willing to defend his wife. I found his childhood friend dragging his foot in a cruel, mocking circle, mimicking my limp to a room erupting in roars of laughter. Penelope doubled over in delight. And Julian? He sat at the head of the table, watching my humiliation with a look of pure, unbothered boredom. “I owe her,” his voice cut through the fading laughter, calm and tired. “I am just trying to pay back a debt.”

The dormitory entrance downstairs is completely blocked. After squeezing to the front row, a he-wolf from the physical training camp next door points and whistles at me. "Look, that's the Luminian vixen. She's famous for being a notch-collector and will do it with any Alpha." My bed is strewn with rotten meat and animal entrails. On the wall, the words "Harlot", "Floozy", and "Tart" are scrawled in bright red lipstick. Jessica Cobb, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed cheer captain, holds up her phone. "Girls, I really don't want to expose her, but she's just filthy," she says with a face filled with contempt. "She's worse than a dog in heat. On Monday, it was the little hottie with the six-pack abs in his Ferrari. "Wednesday, it was the mature Alpha who reeks of cigars and has eyes that look like they want to devour you in his Bentley. Yesterday, it was that old gentleman with the monocle who's into domination in his Rolls-Royce." She shoves the photos right in the faces of the surrounding women. "Clearly, she didn't come here to study, but to find a sugar daddy." Despite the crystal-clear pictures showing me in those cars, I can't reveal that the men with me are my obsessively controlling older brother, my hot-tempered uncle, and my great-uncle. Respectively, they are the Alpha King of Lumin, the Chief Justice, and the Chair of the Elders' Council. The surrounding male werewolves burst into laughter, their eyes roaming over my thighs. "Hey, Luminian doll, how much for one night? I'd like a taste of you too." They have no idea that these men they're fantasizing about as my sugar daddies are actually the werewolf elders they can least afford to mess with in this lifetime.

I was born with a cursed tongue. The words I said came true. So as soon as I understood what that meant, I stopped speaking. For more than twenty years, I never said another word. Then my six-year-old son knocked his pregnant aunt over by accident, and my husband sent him to a kennel. My son had been bitten by a dog before. He was terrified of them. I begged. I went down on my knees and slammed my forehead against the floor until it was bleeding. Connor Grant lifted his sister-in-law Camille Lane up off the ground, ran a tender hand over her swollen belly, and his voice came out cold. "Don't think I can't see what's behind this. He did it because you put him up to it. You're a calculating little mute. He has your filthy blood in his veins. If we don't break him now, he grows up worthless." "Send him somewhere that knows how to teach a child his place. Teach him how things rank in this house. And teach you, while we're at it. Don't touch what isn't yours." By the time I found my son, he was in a cage with five vicious dogs. There was almost nothing left to hold. I pieced the small body back together. I opened my mouth for the first time in over twenty years, and the first words I had spoken in my life were: "Connor Grant. Blood for blood. I will see this house buried."