Glory Novels & Stories

My husband, Dante, the Consigliere of the Falcone family, and I hated each other more than any two people on earth. He hated me for tearing him away from the woman he loved. I hated him because his heart had never been mine. We shared a bed for seven years, but the words we exchanged most were not of love, but of venomous curses. But on the night a rival family's motorcade stormed the estate, everything changed. I remember the firefight lighting up half the city. Dante threw himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. "Survive," he said, his voice as steady as ever. He drew his gun. As he turned to face them, a hailstorm of bullets erupted. As armor-piercing rounds tore through his vest and slammed into his body, he turned to look at me. It was the only time in seven years he had ever looked me in the eye. His large frame barred the doorway, stopping any gunman from crossing the threshold. "If there's a next life, promise me this, Principessa. Let me protect the one I was always meant to." That night, the glory of our family turned to ash, and the streets ran red with blood. As our enemies closed in, I triggered the explosives in the car. The flames consumed everything. When I opened my eyes again, I was walking into my father's study. "The family in Ashpoint needs a bride to seal a truce," I said, meeting the gaze of my father, the Don of the Falcone family. "I'll go." In my past life, he died believing he had failed my half-sister, Sofia. This time, I wouldn't let that regret haunt him. I would take Sofia's place and board the flight north. Let Sofia stay. Let Dante protect the woman he was meant to protect. But why, when he lifted the white veil of the woman he loved in this life, did he regret it?

One day, I get lost in the forest. Frozen out of my wits, I accidentally barge into the Bloodmoon pack. That's when Raul Wolfgrim, the Alpha King, stares at me, as though he's looking at the personification of a miracle. He claims that I'm his fated mate, and that he's spent years looking for me. From that day onward, Raul gives me everything he has. He gives me the spot next to him as well as the pride and glory of being the she-wolf who has power over the other wolves in the pack. Every look Raul gives me is filled with hot, passionate love. Every touch proclaims his possessiveness toward me. I used to think that I've finally found my actual home. Hence, I give up on looking for my name, my past, as well as my position in the world beyond the pack. Instead, I choose to stay next to Raul. But five years later, Raul brings back another she-wolf named Eva Grayback after surviving a battle at the border. As he stands before the pack with his hand intertwined with Eva's, he declares solemnly, "Eva is my actual fated mate." As for me? I'm nothing but a liar. While Eva is forced to suffer in life as a Rogue, I'm the one who have apparently taken up her slot in Raul's bed and shared countless nights of pleasure with him. That's why he must rectify this mistake. On the day before Raul and Eva hold their bonding ceremony, I'm tossed back into the forest. The beasts' fangs tear through my flesh, while wolfsbane burns in my blood like fire. When Raul finally dispatches a squad to look for me in the forest, everything is far too late. I've already remembered who I am and have awakened my hidden potential. That's when I decide to leave him with the unborn pup in my belly.

I don't have any ambitions in life. My biggest dream is to become a rich widow. On the day I'm supposed to go on a blind date, my parents place two photos in front of me. The first photo features Frank Larson, the young and handsome heir of the richest family in the elite circle. The second photo shows his youngest uncle, Henry Larson, who's supposedly dying really soon. It's said that he has never married anyone despite being 35 years old. My younger sister, Lily Nufer, chooses Frank as her future partner immediately. "I want to become the wife of the richest heir in the elite circle! A life of glory and luxury awaits me!" Then, she starts mocking me. "Sarah, you should just marry the walking corpse. Once he's dead, his assets are all yours!" I nod in return. "Okay." Walking corpses are fine by me. I don't have to scrub his back during bathtime. Plus, the sooner he dies, the sooner I regain my freedom. But after I get married, I find out that the so-called "corpse" not only possesses a figure that's sexier than a model's, but his stamina also exceeds that of a bull's. On top of that, Henry is also the one who calls the shots in the elite circle. Later on, Frank gets cast out of the Larson family for embezzling the company's funds. As Frank's wife, Lily is forced to live on the streets with him. Unable to take it anymore, Lily kneels by my feet and offers to exchange Frank for Henry due to their age difference. I'm about to nod and agree to the offer when Henry, my extremely influential and powerful husband, stomps onto Frank's hand immediately. "No way!" I say, "I'm okay with having a younger husband. Youth is nice." Henry chuckles coldly at Frank. "Sarah's your aunt! How dare you try to take her away from me! It seems that you must be tired of living!"

On the night of our third anniversary, Killian missed dinner again. Texted me he was working late at the auto shop. I looked at the $5.90 clearance cake on the table. I'd fought a crowd at the grocery store to buy it. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. We need to save for a real house in Brooklyn, I told myself. I put the cake in the fridge. I wrapped my cheap coat tight and walked into the cold to deliver late-night takeout for extra cash. I never expected to run into my "poor" husband at a luxury hotel in Manhattan. He stepped out of a Rolls-Royce in a sharp custom suit, tossing hundred-dollar bills to the valet. A hot woman wearing a priceless pigeon-blood ruby followed behind him, hooking his arm. "Killian, it's snowing so hard. Are you really going back to Brooklyn to play house with your naive little peasant wife?" she whined. Killian looked at the cheap, tarnished silver ring on his finger. A hint of softness crossed his cold eyes. "For three years, she worked five jobs a day to pay off the fake debts I made up. She wouldn't even see a doctor when she was sick." "That's enough. She passed my test. Once I deal with the rat in the family, I'll tell her everything. Give her the glory she deserves as my Donna." The woman bit her lip. "What if she finds out you're a Mafia Don and is just after your money? Why not tell her you have a terminal illness—see if she'll drain her savings to save you. Test her one more time…" Killian stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded. "One last test. After this, I'm giving her the grandest wedding." The freezing wind howled. I gripped the paper takeout bag. Tears rolled down my face without a sound. I am done with this arrogant, lying love.

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.

**WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT 21+** + + My name doesn't matter. My filthy urges do. I came home from work. The bedroom door was half open. My husband was there, pounding into some woman on our bed, his cock slamming in and out, deep and rough. I should have screamed. Instead my pussy clenched hard. I stood frozen, watching every thrust. My hand slipped under my skirt on its own. Fingers circled my clit as he fucked her right in front of me. He glanced over. “You like watching my cock stretch her?” I rubbed faster. “Don’t stop,” I whispered. Then I came shaking, eyes locked on him pounding her. *** 69 Dripping Fantasies is sixty-nine raw taboo stories. Wives catching husbands cheating and getting soaked instead of angry. Step-family secrets whispered in quiet. Glory holes that fill fast. Honeymoon wife swaps sparked by one dumb dare. Older rich men taking total control. Professors crossing every forbidden line. Husband’s best friends sneaking in. Strangers who follow, then fuck hard. Group nights in dark clubs. Cucks cleaning up every last drop. *** I’m on my knees. One thick cock buried deep in my throat, making me gag. The woman behind me squeezes my tits until it hurts so good. Her tongue between my ass, teasing, no cock has filled my pussy or ass yet. But I’m trembling, dripping, seconds from squirting everywhere. Two massive black cocks wait their turn, and her presence makes it filthier… hotter. I never knew I craved this so badly. *** No soft romance. Just dirty yeses where no should be. Sixty-nine stories. Sixty-nine surrenders. Read if you’re brave. These pages might leave you wet, jealous, horny… or secretly think of your own filthy fantasies when nobody’s watching. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

I was born into a line of vampire hunters, but I was hopeless at it. I couldn't pass a single trial, couldn't make a single kill, so my family dumped me in the countryside and left me to rot. When they brought me back at eighteen, they packaged me up and handed me to the vampire noble Lucian von Karstein as his lowest blood-slave. I had already made my peace with being drained dry and tortured to death. He turned out to be nothing like what I expected. He built me a villa with good light. Every morning before dawn he went out to the garden and picked flowers still wet with dew, and left them by my pillow. When his family ordered him to kill me, he gave up five hundred years of glory for my sake. He surrendered his power, his title, his castle. He traded everything he had to keep me safe, and in the end he ran with me, away from the whole vampire world. But there was a curse in my blood. Every time I let myself feel something for him, it punished me, gnawing my heart to pieces one inch at a time. So all I could do was call him useless, force him to buy me jewelry, drive him away from my bed, and humiliate him every way I knew how. He ended up living in the garage, hauling cargo to survive, supporting a spoiled, vicious wife who treated him like dirt. One night I crept into his little partition and pulled back his collar. There was a burn the length of my hand, gotten from hauling freight day and night just to buy me a gift. I hid in the bathroom and ran the tap to cover the sound of crying. Dabbing ointment on the wound, sniffling, I asked the thing in my blood: "Curse. When is he finally going to hate me and leave?" The curse looked at the back of his hand, wet where my tears had fallen, then at the faint tremor of his lashes, and sighed. He's going to love you for the rest of his life.