Leather

"You think you can hunt us in our own territory, little star?" Cain's voice is velvet wrapped around steel as he and his brothers flank me in the shadowy alley. "We know exactly who you are." I was a cop. Then my brother's mutilated corpse turned up in a ditch and every piece of blood-soaked evidence screamed the Vultures MC's name. Three ruthless brothers who ruled through fear, pain, and absolute dominance. So I dyed my hair blonde, erased my identity, and walked straight into the devil's den. Their bar. Their territory. Their world of sin and savagery. I'd destroy them from within or die trying. But nothing prepared me for Cain's predatory stare that strips me bare with a glance. Or Jax's twisted smile that promises delicious torment. Or Ryder's brutal hands that pin me against cold brick while his breath burns against my neck, whispering dark threats that make my body betray every principle I've ever held. Now I'm drowning in their intoxicating darkness. Leather, blood, and raw masculine hunger that consumes everything in its path. They're marking me, claiming me, breaking me down piece by piece until I can't remember who I was before them. When I finally uncover the shocking truth about my brother's murder, everything I believed shatters. The real killer has been hiding in plain sight, and now I'm caught between two deadly worlds. My oath as a cop and my surrender to these beautiful monsters. But when the lines blur between justice and vengeance, between duty and desire, how far will I fall before I lose myself completely?

On the day Winter Everhart suffers a miscarriage, her husband, Joshua Stroud, and their son, Terence, are out with his beloved Jessica Lynch. They watch the very performance Winter has always loved. "You're just so unreasonable. What's the point of all this?" "Dad, can you get me a new mom? She's so annoying!" On Winter's birthday, she returns from the hospital only to find Joshua celebrating Jessica's instead. Even Terence, the child she nearly gave her life to bring into the world, pledges to protect the woman who has stolen everything from her. Tears glisten in Winter's eyes as she smiles. Then, with quiet resolve, she walks away from the cage of a marriage that has bound her for five years. Joshua and Terence believe she won't survive without the Stroud family. What they don't expect is that she rises so high that they can no longer reach her. "Mr. Stroud! Mrs. Stroud's car design is now number one nationwide—Stroud Group has been completely outshone!" "Mr. Stroud! Mrs. Stroud has just won the World Championship in Artificial Intelligence Design!" "Mr. Stroud! Mrs. Stroud has been invited by a foreign president to attend a state banquet!" Regret tears Joshua apart. Dragging Terence with him, he kneels before Winter and pleads, "Honey, please give me another chance! If being your servant is what it takes, I'll do it!" But just beyond the door, a strikingly handsome man kneels on one knee, a leather collar fastened around his neck. Twining a diamond leash around Winter's palm, he vows with his gaze burning with feverish devotion, "My master, from this moment on, I bow to no one but you. Please, take me in."

Delilah thought she married the perfect man. Charming. Respectable. Devoted. But then she discovered the man she trusted was a fraud — cheating behind her back, controlling her every move, and secretly stealing from the people who once believed in him. Her marriage wasn’t love. It was a trap. And when she lost the child she was carrying, alone, abandoned, and broken in a cold hospital bed, everything shattered. That’s when he returned. Thorne Weston. The estranged, adopted brother her husband never spoke of. The boy who once made her college life hell — cruel words, wicked smirks and relentless taunts. He's her tormentor. Her shadow. The one who looked at her like he wanted to ruin her… and maybe always did. He disappeared after graduation. Vanished. Forgotten. But now he’s back — colder, richer, and far more dangerous. And he’s watching her. And when she breaks down in the hospital, barely breathing through grief, he corners her in the shadows and makes her an offer that freezes her blood — and sets her body ablaze. “You want revenge? I want you. Be mine… and I’ll destroy him for you.” She should scream. She should hate him. But hate doesn’t explain the fire curling in her belly every time he whispers her name. Hate doesn’t make her knees tremble when he steps too close, smelling of smoke, leather, and sin. And hate isn’t what makes her crave the rough, twisted salvation only he can give. Because Thorne Weston is no longer a cruel boy with a chip on his shoulder. He’s a man forged in violence. Obsessed. Possessive. Unhinged. And he doesn’t just want her — he owns her. Body. Soul. And every shattered piece her husband left behind.

As a low-income student who's specifically recruited by the elite college this year, I can still feel my hands trembling as I clutch the letter that tells me I get to study for free. Not only are my tuition and miscellaneous fees waived, but I also get to receive 30 thousand dollars' worth of student grant per year. I even get to have free access to the leather seats inside the library, the equipment inside the gym, as well as the aerial garden on the roof. The best surprise for me has to be the cafeteria. All low-income students get a 50% discount on their meals, but the quality of their food doesn't decrease at all. Best beef is used in the steak dinners offered by the cafeteria, whereas a seafood platter showcases the entire huge lobster. Even the most basic mac and cheese meal has different types of freshly grated cheese baked into it. As I sit in the brightly lit classroom and look at the rich students around me, who wear custom-made uniforms and have branded watches latched around their wrists, all I have is one thought. I must be on good terms with them. But my seatmate, who's also a low-income student, isn't as thrilled as me. In fact, she just looks at the people around her with disdain in her eyes. After the first lesson, a rich student arrives at our table. He might not sound polite at all, but at least he's not putting on airs. "Do any of you have time to head over to the cafeteria and buy me breakfast?" I'm about to respond to him when a shrill voice booms out next to me. "You're so annoying! What, you think you rule the campus since you're rich? Had I known that this classroom is filled with useless scions like you who just waste their lives away on nothing, I wouldn't have enrolled in this college in the first place!"

"Jett?" My voice trembled. "Shhh, Bunny," he murmured, tilting the bottle and pouring the liquor over my p***y. The cold sting hit my swollen folds, and I jolted up, gasping as the burn spread through me. "Ahhh—!" I nearly buckled from the mix of cold fire and his hot tongue as he went back to eating me. My body jerked off the table, chasing the torment I knew I couldn’t withstand. He pulled back, eyes dark, smirking as his tongue followed every drop running down my thighs. "F***," he groaned. "You taste even better with whiskey on your pussy." --- I thought my biggest mistake was crushing on Jason Maltideon—my best friend, the boy I’d spent my life yearning for—only for him to reject me the moment the Goddess fated me to him. But my real mistake? Giving myself to the wrong man. His twin brother—Jettison Maltideon. He’s everything I should fear: wild, reckless, a walking sin wrapped in leather and gasoline. The kind of man who fights too hard, drinks too much, and smirks like he knows exactly how to ruin me. I hate him. I hate that he looks just like the man who shattered my heart. I hate that he knows my darkest secrets—and doesn’t care. But most of all, I hate that when he touches me, I burn. Jettison wants me. He doesn’t take no, and he’s made it clear he’ll chase me until I break. Now, with the Moon Goddess pulling our strings in a storm of betrayal, forbidden bonds, and a sickness tearing our pack apart, I’ll have to decide— Is Jettison my ruin? Or the only wolf who was ever meant to save me? Note: Rated 18+. Dark romance, morally complex characters, and triggering themes.

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne—cedarwood, leather, and power. My hand moved. Smooth, practiced. The pistol slide from under the apron into my palm. I raised it fast. But before I could pull the trigger— BANG. Not my shot. A scream tore through the restaurant as another man launched himself toward Romano’s table, blade flashing. Another assassin. What the hell— Romano didn’t flinch. He shoved the table forward, knocking the attacker off balance. The blade scraped across wood, not skin. I ducked instinctively as the room erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked. Glass exploded. People screamed and dove for cover. “Get him out—NOW!” one of the guards barked. I aimed for the second attacker. Didn’t even hesitate. One shot—head. Gone. The guard saw me. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Then rage. I ran. I weaved between overturned chairs, plates, and screaming bodies. The smell of blood was real now, thick in the air. One of the guards grabbed me. I slammed my elbow into his ribs, twisted, and brought the butt of my gun down on his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Out. I had to get out. My boots pounded the floor as I tore through the narrow hallway. But then— “Elisa.” His voice stopped me cold. I turned. Antonio Romano stood in the middle of the carnage, suit untouched, blood spattered behind him like art. His eyes were on me. And he was smiling. It was darker. Slower. Like a hunter seeing something worth chasing. Somehow, he knew who I was. “Interesting,” he said softly, tilting his head. “They sent you.” I didn’t answer. I ran. But that voice followed me. He knew my name. And he let me go. This wasn’t over. It had just begun.

Serene’s heart raced as she stood in Nicholas’s dimly lit study, the scent of leather and whiskey heavy in the air. She’d been dusting the bookshelves when he entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. Now, he stood inches away, his black suit hugging his broad shoulders, his dark mullet framing a gaze that burned with intent. “You missed a spot,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, pointing to a shelf she’d already cleaned. Her cheeks flushed as she turned, the hem of her maid uniform riding up her thighs. “I-I’ll get it, Mr. Volkov,” she stammered, reaching up, but his hand caught her wrist, firm yet gentle. “No,” he said, stepping closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Let me show you.” His fingers slid down her arm, leaving a trail of heat, before guiding her hand to the shelf. His chest pressed against her back, and she gasped at the hardness of his body, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable. “You’re trembling, little maid,” he whispered, his lips brushing her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Do I scare you… or do I excite you?” Her breath hitched as his free hand trailed up her thigh, slipping beneath the lace of her uniform. “Mr. Volkov…” she whimpered, but her protest melted into a moan as his fingers found her, teasing her through the thin fabric of her panties. “ Nicholas,” he corrected, his voice rough with desire, his touch growing bolder, circling her most sensitive spot until her knees buckled. “Say it,” he demanded, nipping her earlobe. “N-Nicholas,” she gasped, her body arching into him, surrendering to the fire he’d ignited. In that moment, the billionaire and his naive maid were bound by a hunger neither could deny.

Warning VIEWER’S DISCRETION IS ADVISED. If you're not into raw, filthy BDSM, dominant alphas, submissive sluts, deep throat gagging or relentless multiple orgasms, then close this now. But if the thought of being used hard and without mercy makes your thighs clench… I dare you to keep reading. “On your knees, pet,” Master Kane growled, his leather belt already looped in his hand. I dropped instantly, mouth watering, ass raised high like the obedient little whore he’d trained me to be. The cold floor bit into my skin, but the sting only made me wetter. He stepped closer, unzipped slowly, and fed his thick, throbbing cock between my lips until I gagged—tears streaming, mascara running, just the way he liked. “Good girl,” he praised, fisting my hair and f**king my throat deeper. “You take it so well for a slut who begged me not to stop last time.” I whimpered around him, my pussy clenching emptily, already soaked and ready for whatever punishment came next. He pulled out suddenly, strings of spit connecting us, and flipped me onto the table—wrists bound tight with his belt, legs spread wide. One brutal thrust and he was buried balls-deep in my ass, no warning, no mercy. I screamed. He laughed. And he didn’t stop until I was sobbing his name, coming hard around the invasion I craved. I’m his employee by day. His collared f**ktoy by night. If anyone at the office ever found out how I beg my boss to ruin me… I’d be fired. He’d be ruined. But when he owns every hole like this, how could I ever say no? Ready to watch her break and beg for more? Dive in… if you dare.

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.

"Say it," Tenz growled, yanking her hips against the hood of his blacked-out car, his hand wrapped around her throat like a necklace made of danger. Kyoline's breath shuddered as his mouth traced her jaw, his fingers sliding under the hem of her leather skirt, teasing, threatening. "Say you're mine, or I'll make you say it with your teeth clenched and your legs shaking," he hissed, dragging his tongue along her collarbone. She smirked through the haze of lust and war. "I'm not yours, Tenz... I'm just letting you play with me until someone better comes to steal me." "Someone like who?" he spat. A cold voice answered from behind the shadows. "Like me," Isaac said. And just like that... the chaos began. --- Kyoline Diego was born of blood, betrayal, and gunfire. A mafia princess with ash in her veins and a Glock in her purse. Her childhood ended the day her father-a respected Made Man-was assassinated. Left for dead, she crawled from the ruins with nothing but vengeance and two younger siblings she'd kill for. Now eighteen and jaded, Kyoline bartends for mob rats by night, runs guns for a price, and slays in gold heels by morning. Love? It's not on the agenda. Survival is. Enter Tenz Jersey-her inked-up, lie-laced mafia beau. The man who f*cks like a god and lies like a sermon. He gives her fire, chaos, and a reason to breathe. He also gives her bruises she wears like medals and promises that vanish like smoke. She tells herself he's enough. Until Isaac. Cold. Calculating. Beautiful in a way that feels like a bullet wound. He shoves her into an unmarked SUV, claims he's NYPD, feeds her lies and cannoli-then laughs while she figures out he's actually the most lethal hitman.....