Flared Nostrils

Adeline Cruz was orphaned. At an early age she learnedto stand on her own feet. Due to poverty she could not finish school so when shewas accused of a crime which she did not commit. She could not defend herselfagainst evil people. She was imprisoned for two years. There came, Hernan. He is one of the sponsors who provides assistance for inmates such as food, personalhygiene, etc. There he saw Adelaine and he investigated her case until hehelped settle her case and get released. After a few months, their pathscrossed again and Hernan offered her a job as his personal maid, which sheimmediately accepted, especially since she had a lot of money to earn and shehad nowhere else to go. They got along well and it was only then that she feltthe appreciation of someone like him. Hernan was kind and caring so shecouldn't stop herself from falling in love with the man. Until one day, Hernancourted her and she immediately accepted his love. The days and months thathave passed have been happier and exciting for them. But when Hernan's ex-girlfriend returned, the man had changed. Until, Hernan proposed to the ex-girlfriend rightin front of her. Adelaine’s world almost collapsed especially when Hernan saidthat the good image of his name would be ruined if they continued theirrelationship because she was an ex-convict. He leaves Hernan's house and tries toforget him. She studied hard until she met Robert. With the help of Robert shewent abroad and they stayed there for several years. Five years later, Adelainereturned to the Philippines and unexpectedly, she and Hernan had crossed pathsagain because Hernan and Robert were working as business partners. Adelaine thoughtthat she had forgotten everything but the hatred flared up again in her heartwhen she saw her ex-boyfriend.

A gasp escapes me as my back hits the wood, and hands grab mine, pinning them high above my head, forcing me to look straight into the face I’ve tried so hard to forget. Kai. His scent filled my senses, spicy and dangerous and so damn soothing. His gaze burned into my skin and the amount of fury in them almost made me shiver. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap. He leans in, voice low and venomous. “You like cuddling up in another man’s arms, Virelle?” “Excuse me?” I hissed. “Ric is my mate. I can do whatever the hell I want.” His jaw clenches as his nostrils flares. “You think he can please you?” I glare at him, ignoring the heat pooling low in my belly. “Yes, I do, because he’s my mate and I can do whatever I want, I don’t owe you anything.” “Bullshit,” he growls and before I could blink, his lips crash against mine…hard. His lips are rough and angry, his teeth grazing mine with his tongue forcing its way in, like he’s trying to claim what he threw away. My mind is screaming at me to shove him off, but my body is traitorous and trembling, and is already responding. I could feel Nyzarelle howling in delight, as I clutched to him for dear life. I'd never felt like this with Ric A moan slips from my mouth but is swallowed by his tongue as his hand grips my thigh, trailing up until I feel them on my folds. He massaged my folds roughly, before stuffing his hands into my panties and pooling a finger into me. My back aches as he finger fucks me angrily, not giving space to catch my breathe.

****Excerpt**** “You see yourself as ordinary,” he said softly. “But entire worlds have crumbled and come apart for far less than a woman of your beauty.” He pushed his horn further again, filling her another inch. Her flame flared white-hot behind her ribs. Begging, pleading, clawing. “That’s it, my little whore. You like that, don’t you?” he preened against the corner of her mouth. His voice hit her harder than the horn. Dirty, cruel, worshipful. The word whore sent heat spiralling down her spine, making her clench around the invasion. She hated the word. She loved how he said it. “Please…” She started. He squeezed her throat, cutting off the rest of her words. Her breath hitched violently at the pressure, but she surrendered to the feeling. “Unless you are about to beg me to fuck your ass harder with this horn, I don’t want to hear how you can’t take any more.” He growled, low and threatening. A wave of want crashed into her so hard she whimpered. Adelaide should have been scared. In a way, she was. It wasn’t fear that made her heart pound, it was the terrifying realisation that she wanted exactly what he demanded. She wanted to feel the thickness of his horn deep inside her, wanted the stretch, the pain, the pleasure. She wanted all of what she knew he could give her. She leaned her head back to run her tongue over the seam of his lips. “Fuck me harder.” She said softly, the words barely a whisper. They carried the desperation, surrender, hunger, devotion, need. Her voice trembled with the weight of what she was giving him. Of what she was asking him to do to her. He growled. The sound vibrated through her, deep and possessive.

*Smut After her mate's brutal rejection, healing prodigy Sandra surrenders to a dangerously seductive stranger in a dark alley, only to discover he's her uncle Marcus. Trapped by blackmail in his isolated house, forbidden desire ignites between lessons. But Marcus harbors a deadly secret about her father's death. ----------------- “Fuck, Sandra,” he growled, thumb brushing over my nipple through the fabric until it stiffened, aching. “Vanessa’s right upstairs. If she hears us—” “I don’t care,” I panted, rocking up against him, chasing that thick pressure. “Make me forget today. Just tonight. Please.” I’m going straight to hell,” he muttered, then closed the gap. His mouth took mine slow this time, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of me. I sighed into it, hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. He tasted like black coffee and smoke and sin, and I wanted more. He tugged me closer, one hand fisting in my hair, the other splayed low on my back, pressing me against him. Heat flared low in my belly, spreading fast. I shifted, trying to ease the ache between my thighs, and he groaned against my lips, grip tightening. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth; I opened for him instantly, meeting him stroke for stroke until we were both breathing hard. He tilted my head back, lips moving down my throat, teeth grazing the frantic beat of my pulse. I gasped, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. “We should stop,” he rasped against my skin, but his hand was already pushing under my thin tank top, calloused palm gliding up my ribs. “We should,” I agreed breathlessly, then dragged his mouth back to mine, kissing him deeper, hungrier.

After I became pregnant, my figure changed, and my face grew puffy. My fiancé began to treat me with a subtle, almost imperceptible sense of disdain. When the baby was five months along, it happened to be Valentine's Day. That day, he finally agreed to take our wedding photos, something I'd been hoping for. But just as we arrived at the bridal studio, his phone rang. "Mike, I just got back to the country. My friends are hosting a gathering, and everyone's bringing their boyfriends. Could you come and pretend to be mine?" It was a few short sentences, yet it completely altered the expression on his face. He turned abruptly, stepping out of the studio with a look of urgency. "Lucy's back. I have to go see her," he said. Hearing those words, a fire of rage ignited inside me, one I couldn't suppress. "For her? You're going to leave me here alone?" I demanded. "Do you even know how long I've been looking forward to today? It's Valentine's Day, and instead of staying with me, you're going to be with her?" His impatience flared visibly as I stood my ground. Without a word, his hand pushed me aside, and he strode out of the shop. "We can take wedding photos any day. I'm the only one Lucy has in this country. I have to go see her," he said. Then, gripping my wrist with alarming force, he shoved me, sending me sprawling to the floor. Without a backward glance, he got into his car and drove off. I felt a sudden, wet heat flowing from my lower abdomen. Pain surged through my stomach, sharp and unbearable, as my consciousness started to fade. A wave of despair and terror consumed me. Someone. Anyone. Please save my baby.

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.

My younger brother had opened a high-end beauty salon, so I took my mother there for a facial. We picked the most expensive package, but the moment the mask was applied, Mom's face began to burn. When we peeled it off, her entire face was covered in rashes. I called for the director, but she looked impatient. "Oh, that's just a normal detox reaction." I was stunned. "Her face is practically ruined! What products are you even using?" "Ruined?" She flared up like someone had stepped on her tail. "Your mom's skin is just too bad to handle premium nutrients! Once our products are opened, they're non-refundable—got it?" I pointed to the brochure. "It says right here—'gentle and non-irritating, full refund if any adverse reaction occurs.' Is this how Stellan Fallow taught you to run a business?" She crossed her arms and lifted her chin high. "I am the boss! You and your mother look broke as hell—clearly here to mooch a free treatment. Now that it didn't work, you're trying to scam us for money? "Let me tell you something—this set costs 38 thousand, and with my emotional damages and lost wages, that's a total of 100 thousand. If you don't pay up today, I'll have the police take you both in!" A hundred thousand for a product that ruined someone's face? It was no wonder Stellan suddenly wanted to open a salon—it turned out he and his girlfriend were running a scam together! I was about to call Stellan, but before I could, she hit the video dial first. "Bubby, get over here—two broke idiots tried to freeload a treatment and now they're trying to shake us down for money!"

I saved my husband, Raffaello, the Don of the mafia, from the hands of a rival family. In return, he forced me to kneel before his childhood sweetheart, Sofia, and bark like a dog just to cheer her up. Our son, Lorenzo, wandered into the family's chemical plant out of childish curiosity, so I dragged him out with my own hands. Only for him to look me in the eye and said that I wasn't worthy of being his mother. What my husband didn't know was that when the assassins came for him, I had deliberately drew them away, letting them capture me instead. They had injected a virus into body, which burned my throat and destroyed my voice forever. What my son didn't know either was that inside the chemical plant where I rescued him, I had inhaled an overwhelming amount of toxic powder, which later caused me to have severe asthma. That night, when my asthma flared up and my lungs began to fail, I used what little strength I had left to call my husband. He impatiently rebuked me, "Grace, stop bothering me for once. A person who is really dying wouldn't make such a scene. Don't think that I don't know that you're just jealous, trying to compete with Sofia for my attention." I collapsed into the snow, greedily gasping for the final breath of air. Then, everything went still. Later, Raffaello, who never loved me lost his mind. He injected the same virus over and over again into his body, just to feel the pain I once endured. Lorenzo, who refused to acknowledge me, attempted suicide repeatedly, begging fate to trade his life for mine. But, sadly, by then, I no longer loved them.

This isn't a fairytale. Mirror Mirror on the wall. A fairytale that became her fall. “Over my dead body will I let a man whore father my child. You're in every way incapable, irresponsible and definitely incompetent of becoming a father.” She said with a smile. "Stop acting like a saint, you're not one. You're only pregnant because you're a slut yourself, so what exactly is the difference between you and me?” She stepped up to him with a mocking smile. “Maybe, I'll show him pictures.” Anger flared up inside him. Who the fuck does she think she is? “Show him pictures!?" His fingers grabbed her throat. His eyes held hers. She didn't flinch, instead, a small smile played on her lips. Crazy ass bitch. He isn't used to being challenged. “I don't need to beg you for anything.” He growled. "You have no other option.” She scoffed. "I have a lot of options, Kim.” He continued. "I can take him away from you after birth,” “I want to see you try.” The smile on his face told her otherwise. “What will you do? Take me to court? Fight for custody?” He chuckled. “I can bribe the whole fucking court.” Her heart skipped a beat. No. "You don't get to decide.” He lit a cigarette. "Everything will go my way.” "It'll not!” “Maybe I'll show him your pictures. Or let you visit him once a week, who knows?" He shrugged. “This is my child!" She screamed, tears welled up in her eyes. “So it's either you do as I say, or I'll do as I please." “What do you want?" Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “Where I come, illegitimate children aren't accepted in the family." “I'm not marrying you!" “I'll never marry you!" She screamed. "You have no choice..”

I fell in love with a man I should never have touched—my brother-in-law, Lucas Zahn. The first time he came to our home with my sister, Quincy, they looked like the perfect couple. He smiled at me, held out a peace talisman bracelet, and said it would keep me safe. I wore it like it was the most precious thing in the world. When the old injury in my ankle flared up, he would scoop me into his arms and rush me to the hospital without a second thought. When thugs tried to harass me, he made them scatter with a single look, then spoke to me in a voice so gentle it made my heart tremble. I told myself I understood—that everything he did was only because I was Quincy’s younger sister. Even so, I clung to those rare moments when I could be near him. Until the night Lucas was drugged by an enemy, his life teetering on the edge. If no one acted, he would die. So, I acted. On that reckless, desperate night, my sister walked in. The sight struck her like a lightning bolt, and she collapsed, her weak heart seizing on the spot. What came next was madness. In a frenzy of rage and panic, Lucas tied me to an operating table. His hands—those hands I once longed to hold—cut open my chest and tore my heart out for her. “When the avalanche hit, Quincy nearly died saving me. I swore I’d treat her well for the rest of my life. That means loving her family, too. I never thought you’d be so shameless. “This is what you owe her!” He never knew that I was the one who saved him in that avalanche. So, I died in agony, my love carved out of me—literally. When my eyes opened again, I found myself back on the night he was drunk.