Eminem Smiling With Teeth Novels & Stories

“You think you hate me now?” I said, brushing the blood from her mouth with my thumb. “Wait until you start craving me in the dark.” Kyra Ferguson. Daughter of the Alpha who stole everything from me. The female whose blood sings to mine. My prisoner. My mate. My Enemy. She was supposed to suffer then die. I brought her here to ruin her, strip her of pride, dignity, and control. And yet, every time she bares her teeth, I want to taste her defiance. Every time she resists, my body aches to conquer her. She’s fire wrapped in thorns, untamed even in chains. And I hate her for how badly I want her.

“Congratulations on your wedding! Although we must have missed our invite in the mail. We’d like to catch up with…” There’s no reason to keep reading the mail beyond that point. It’s a variation of the same kinds of mails I’ve been receiving since the wedding three weeks ago. I pause at the door to his study, sounds of a woman riding on throes of orgasms, filters through the open crack. What would people say if they saw a woman with her legs spread out, in between her legs, my husband of a few days, sliding in and out of her? He keeps his dark eyes on me, bringing his signature scotch to his lips. I can’t take this anymore. How could he do this?? How did I end up with a man like this?? “Get out of my house!” I snap, The woman shrieks, scrambling to cover herself up with pieces of clothing. I grit my teeth hard. “She’s my guest.” “Take your guests elsewhere. This is not a whorehouse.” I snap, gritting my teeth so hard it feels like my jaw would crack. “Would you do what they do?” “W-what?” He leans forward, I keep my eyes above his waistline, specifically on the middle of his forehead. “Would you, instead of them, suck my cock?” His accent makes the word sound even dirtier than usual. Isaac's family demanded a husband, he delivered and now his life is a mess. A marriage on paper, a disaster in practice. Isaac Valentine needed a husband, not for love. And he met the last man he would ever choose, Ivan Romanov. The deal is clean. Everyone wins. Until it isn't. After all, what's more dangerous than a marriage of convenience? Real feelings with an expiration date.

His iron grip fastened around her waist with every second she tried to push him off. "Let go of me," she gritted. "Why should I let go?" He asked devilishly. Nibbling her earlobe "Have you forgotten you're my mate." "It's about time everyone knew you're mine." He teased with his now exposed teeth gently nibbling her skin. "Mine." She heard him growled out before his sharp canines bit into the crook of her neck... In no time she felt a strange heat dripping down her neck, it was blood gushing out from his bite. "Oh, My God! I can't believe Edward just marked me." She pondered.

Once childhood friends, now reluctant strangers—Lady Clara Valdemont and General Darrell Storm are bound by an arranged marriage meant to unite two feuding houses. Once allies, the Storms and Valdemonts were torn apart by betrayal and bloodshed. Now, the kingdom’s fragile peace rests on the shoulders of a bride and groom who barely speak. As Clara walks down the aisle, memories of the boy who used to tease her and teach her how to fish clash with the man waiting at the altar—stoic, cold, and unreadable. Darrell has not forgotten the past, nor has he forgiven it. Their vows are spoken through clenched teeth, their first kiss a mere brush on the cheek. This is not a love story born of fate—it is one that must fight to be written. In a kingdom of politics, pride, and pain, can two broken hearts learn to beat as one again?

“Stop this.” I so desperately wanted to die of embarrassment as the heat and dampness from my panties brushed against my skin. My worry that he would see my soaked underwear was outright replaced by his large palm coming down on my poor, innocent bare flesh. I howled in more fury than pain this time, the insult to my pride feeding that fury. “My house, my rules. And this body of yours is now mine. So my body, my rules.” “You... you don’t own my body.” I managed to stutter, but that only earned me another round of punishment. “My body, my rules,” he said again, and this time I sank my teeth into my bottom lip as hard as I could. “Are we clear?” “Yes."

My parents had always played favorites. On my birthday, the house was completely empty. Meanwhile, my older brother, Howard Moore, posted a nine-photo grid on social media, showing off a huge birthday cake. In every picture, Mom and Dad were gathered around him, smiling like they couldn’t be prouder. I called them. Laughter poured through the phone from the other end. Still, I gathered every bit of courage I had and asked softly, “Why didn’t I even get a happy birthday?” The line went silent for a second. Then Mom’s bright, smiling voice came through. “Because Howard is handsome. Taking him out makes us look good. But you? Those hooded eyes and that bulbous nose. Honestly, if we didn’t feel sorry for you, we would’ve gotten rid of you a long time ago.” Howard took the phone from her and said gently, “You know you’re adopted, right? Did you really think you were one of us?” I stood there for a long time, too stunned to move. After that, I stopped talking. But deep down, I still craved the love of my biological parents. So I secretly made a post online, looking for my biological family. I didn’t expect Howard to find it. He took a screenshot and sent it to the school’s anonymous gossip account. “The fake Moore kid is looking for his parents. Anyone lose an ugly little kid?” I cried for a long time. Then late that night, I walked past their bedroom door, which had been left slightly open. Howard’s laughter floated out, clear and bright. “He actually believed it! This is hilarious! Let’s hire someone to pretend to be his parents. I can’t wait to see him on his knees, begging us.” Dad took a sip of his tea. “Do whatever you want.” Mom added, “Just don’t go too far.” Outside the door, my fingers slowly loosened around the doorknob.

My fiancé, Owen Lockhart, came from old money. He kept a canary in a gilded cage, spoiling her rotten. Just as I was about to break off the engagement with him, a barrage of comments suddenly popped up in my mind. [What did Owen do wrong? He just wanted to get your attention.] [Don't break up with him. All you need to do is shed a few tears, and he'll give you everything.] I turned my head, and through the window, I saw the canary in her high-end jewelry, smiling brightly as she hooked her arm around Owen's. He lazily lowered his eyes, yet his expression held a hint of indifference mixed with a subtle affection. I smiled bitterly, replying to the lawyer's message: [Go on with drafting the engagement annulment agreement.]

It was him. The man I had just been accused of murdering in cold blood. The man whom I've been forced to consume poison because of. Or, had I seen a ghost? Why was my supposedly dead husband standing in the midst of those people, smirking in accomplishment. As the venom of the poison spread through my body and like I was going to rip apart because of the pain, I gave in to the paralysis that rushed me and then closed my eyes shut, tears finding their way out of my closed eyes regardless. “P…please, G… God,” I mumbled with the final breath in me. ~~~ And, suddenly, my eyes were opened, and I was standing in front of him. And he was smiling widely at me, asking what I thought of the wedding dress. But, this was weird because this was from three years ago. Then, my eyes dropped on the calendar. Was I hallucinating? I… I have been reborn?!

The air between them became hotter as she bit her lip, trying to stop herself from smiling so much. The closet was dark and stuffy, so small that their bodies were almost touching, her heart thumped like crazy. "D-Derek" She called out as he hummed in response, holding unto his sides for some unknown reason. "Will you be my boyfriend?" She blurted out, closing her eyes so she wouldn't see his reaction, he groaned, it almost broke her heart but when she looked down, she saw his shirt was now soaked. Blood trailing down his abdomen which made her gasp, slamming open the closet door. "Somebody call an ambulance!" She yelled as the guy she had just asked out dropped limp to the ground like a pack of soggy spaghetti. *A Nigerian themed novel* |16+

I’d been dead a month before my family even noticed. It wasn’t concern that brought them to that realization. It was my silence after the so-called “dinner” with Adam Rossi, the infamous mafia boss. My father scoffed like always,“She probably shacked up with that bastard. Too busy spreading her legs to pick up the damn phone.” My sister texted me a photo of them smiling under the Christmas tree, ornaments twinkling like nothing was wrong. Bitch, she wrote. You better talk Mr. Rossi into working with Dad, or you might as well be dead already. And my mother—once the softer one—was now colder than the frost on their windows. “I told you, we should’ve sent Gia to charm Mr. Rossi. Serena always screws things up.” They didn’t think I would die. Not until they found my body—broken, rotten, and forgotten—in Adam Rossi’s basement.