Lazy Confessions Novels & Stories

At the National High School Football All-Star Game, my boyfriend Evan had just been named MVP. Sophia, the cheer captain, immediately posted on Instagram. Caption: "Guess who got a little something from the champion himself~" The photo turned out to be a pair of Evan's worn underwear! Scrawled across them in lipstick were the words: "For my dearest Sophia." She held them up with her long acrylic nails, pouting for the selfie. The internet exploded. "Why does she have his underwear?" "Isn't it obvious? They're totally together." "Sitting here waiting for the official couple photo." Within seconds, a close-up of the two of them cheek-to-cheek surfaced in the comments. Congratulations and teasing flooded the feed. I gripped my phone, a chill spreading through my entire body. Evan had promised to go public about us ages ago but kept putting it off, saying he needed to prove himself first. He'd been stalling ever since. Now here I was, his actual girlfriend, and I didn't even get an invite to his victory party. I took a deep breath and called him. "Explain." On the other end, Evan's voice was lazy, almost amused. "The fans grabbed everything off me. Jersey, pads, all of it. Sophia insisted on keeping something as a souvenir, so I gave her the underwear. No big deal." "The Instagram post is just riding the hype. Don't be so uptight about it." Then Sophia's voice chimed in. "Yeah, honey, Evan and I are like brothers! I've seen everything on him already. It's just a pair of boxers, so don't be so petty." I listened to their increasingly flirtatious banter through the speaker, then slowly pulled off my engagement ring and tossed it aside. "Fine," I said to Evan. "I'll be the bigger person. Why don't you skip the 'girl bro' thing and just make her your girlfriend? I'm tired of watching this act."

.. his fingers were assaulting my hole while I stood there, side of my face pinned to the locker, ass in the air taking it like slut, howling deep in my throat. “You like it huh?” His voice was deep, raw, no warmth, a near growl, movements quickening. “You like offering me your whole to do as I please” he whimpered and I felt three fingers slip in. My back arched so hard, tensing in place, my eyes rolled to the back of my head, saliva drooling from my mouth, guttural moan echoing in my throat. “Now I just have to wreck you” he murmured through gritted teeth and with that, he roughly nudged my stance wider. My cock dangled, precum leaking from my tip... This collection is not about love. There are no soft confessions, no forever promises, no gentle hands reaching for something pure. These stories are built on raw hunger...men consumed by obsession, dominance, and the need to take what they crave without apology. Inside these pages are ruthless encounters between men who don’t believe in romance. Men who use bodies like addictions. Men who pin, command, consume, and leave bruises where tenderness should have been. Desire here is violent, intoxicating, and shameless. Every touch burns with greed. These are not stories about soulmates. They are stories about dark locker rooms, sweaty midnight encounters, rough mouths, possessive grips, filthy whispers, and desperate cravings that refuse to stay hidden. Men giving in to temptation with no guilt and no restraint. Men chasing release like starving animals, devouring each other simply because they can. No hearts. No healing. No salvation. Just sweat, tension, sin, and the dangerous thrill of men who know exactly what they want from other men and take it hard, fast, and without mercy.

The night before high school graduation, Ethan Luciano pulled me into his bedroom. His hands were rough, his touch demanding, yet my heart overflowed with a decade's worth of unspoken longing. I'd loved Ethan for ten years, and finally, it seemed my silent wishes had come true. Afterwards, as we lay tangled in his sheets, he whispered that he'd marry me after graduation. Once he took over the Luciano family's empire from his father, he'd make me the most cherished woman in the family. I believed him. The next morning, I sat curled up against his bare chest as he casually told my foster brother, Lucas, about us. My cheeks were flushed, and my heart raced, still clinging to the sweetness of the night before. However, then their conversation shifted into Italian. Lucas smirked, leaning back against the doorframe. "Not bad, Young Boss. Your first time, and the school's 'it girl' just threw herself at you. So, how's my little sister taste?" Ethan gave a lazy chuckle. "Looks like an angel, but a freak in the sheets. Who would’ve thought?" The room erupted in low, conspiratorial laughter. Lucas raised a brow. "So, should I call her my little sister or my future sister-in-law?" Ethan’s tone darkened, his arm tightening around my waist for a moment. Then he let out a sigh. "She’s nothing. Just practice," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I’m trying to hook up with the cheer captain, Sylvia Dawson, but I don’t want her thinking I’m clueless in bed. Cynthia Saville’s just a warm-up." He paused. "But don’t tell Sylvia. I don’t need her getting all emotional." They didn't know that I’d spent months secretly learning Italian, preparing for the life I thought I’d share with Ethan. I didn't say a word. Later that day, I quietly withdrew my early decision application to Caltech and applied to MIT instead.

"A woman like you? No fucking way you're a virgin." "Who said virgins can't be filthy, Rocco?" DIANA SANTORO: Five years locked inside a convent. Not because I was holy. Because the family I was born into is dangerous. My name is Diana Santoro. Mafia blood. And in this world, daughters like me get hidden away until the war is over. Now my brother’s the Don. And he wants me back. The man he sent to collect me? Rocco Moretti. The most feared monster in Italy. The devil of Cosa Nostra. They say he pulls confessions out of men with his bare hands—then sleeps like a baby afterward. Three days on the road. Just us. He’s expecting some scared little nun-in-training, ready to be escorted quietly back to my gilded cage. He has no idea that the only innocent thing about me is this face. **** ROCCO MORETTI: Forty-seven men. That's how many I've killed. Tortured more than double that. Never lost a minute of sleep over any of them. So why does this girl—with her innocent eyes and that smart mouth—make me feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind around every bend of this road? Last night, at some roadside motel, she walked into my room. Ran her fingers over my tattoos, looked up at me with this smirk, and told me she wasn't wearing underwear. What the hell does she want? To destroy me? To see how far she can push before I snap? She's a virgin. Untouched. Off-limits. The one thing a man like me can never have. But when she looks at me like that—wearing that short dress, lips parted just enough—I forget who I am. I forget I'm the monster. And I start wanting, with everything in me, to be the one who ruins her. Even if it costs me my life. Even if it costs me everything.