Mob Psycho Tattoo Novels & Stories

NOTE: MATURED CONTENT. Excerpt. "On your knees," he commanded, his voice dripping with dominance and lust. "Now." "Please," I whimpered, but he silenced me with a swift slap across my cheek. "Silence!" he barked. "You know what I want. Now open your mouth and take it." As I unzipped his pants and pulled his hard dick out, My lips parted as he shoved his hard cock between them, his hand tangled in my hair as he guided me. "Suck it!! Suck it slut!!" He slapped me again, making me feel more wanted. I loved the pain because I was used to Noah spanking me so hard. "Suck it you little bitch!!" He stroked my hair, his eyes shut as he thrust so hard and fast that I could barely breathe. ************** Britney Williams, the pack's Omega gets married to Alpha Liam Michaelson, a successful billionaire in New York City but she never had enough in bed and the sex he gave her. It happened that Britney's past life wasn't just the type a regular kind of girl would have. She was a Nymphomaniac, the sex freak. It was all about fun and that meant mad, Psycho fun with her first Alpha. Things were going well in her marriage until she couldn't cope with the fact that her husband wasn't satisfying her so hard in bed like "HE" did in the past. When I say "HE?", I mean Britney's ex boyfriend, Alpha Noah Lex. What happens when the beautiful and most elegant but sex driving Britney gets to find out that she just can't go a day without thinking about Alpha Noah's touch? Or the fact that she gets to meet Noah at a store which led to something crazy...... Find out more on; BITTEN BY THE DOMINANT ALPHA:

“I sat on his lap, my face inches from his, my breath unsteady, his heat pressing against me as his eyes held mine. He dropped the cigar into a tray, leaned in, and his lips almost touched mine, but at the last moment I shifted, pulling back, and his low chuckle rumbled against my skin. “Oh, girl, you do not want to go down that path,” he said, his fingers tracing down the line of my neck until suddenly he stilled, his hand brushing against the tattoo marked into my skin. He leaned in closer, reading aloud in a low voice. “Jareth Gleb.” The name froze the air between us. “That’s… my father’s name,” I whispered, my breath shaky, and the moment the words left me, I saw the shock flash across his face. He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me off his lap so fast I stumbled. ” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Paris was born of divine blood, a Zara Spiritborn, daughter of beauty and seduction itself. Her face could stop hearts, her presence could ruin men. After losing her parents, she fell under the rule of her cruel stepmother, Selene, who turned her beauty into a weapon. By day, Paris was a princess. By night, she was the realm’s most desired stripper, dancing for masked Alphas who would pay mountains of gold just to touch her. Betrayed by the boy she loved and sold to Vincent the mad king, unknowingly to pay off a debt, only to discover that this tyrant is none other than her father’s brother. A man whose cruel hands are capable of untold violence and unspeakable desire. But passion bends every law, every taboo. Vincent finds himself falling for Paris is his niece and the only woman he should never desire but yet cannot resist.

EZREN: Kiss or kill. Those were always the two options left.. until the past walks back into my life in the form of blue eyes, ginger curls, and a tattoo he swears I should remember. Knox Graye. A diagnosed psychopath. Says he was my brother’s boyfriend. That I left him to die and that I hold the only truth to his death. He is everywhere. Digging up my lies. Ruining what’s left of my life. Call me ‘Cherry’ like it means something. I swear I hate it. I hate him. I don’t know if he wants closure, revenge, or just someone to break. Either way, I’m his target and his third option. KNOX: Everyone thinks I’ve got a loose screw in the head but they're wrong. I lost the whole damn toolbox, buried six feet under with the only person I ever loved. I've spent six years grieving. Dying in pieces while he rots away in a grave but now? Now someone else walk around in his bones, smiling with his lips like he fuckin’ owns it. Like I wouldn’t recognize my own goddamn Cherry. Except now he calls himself Ezren. Cute. He thinks he has been hiding behind top grades and golden-boy charm, but I built his whole damn maze. And now that he's close? I’m done with subtlety. I want chaos in his veins, his secrets peeled off like skin. I want to crawl into the part of his head where he still hears his brother’s laugh and whisper: “You were always mine." He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to dismantle him. Brick by fucking brick. And when he finally breaks, I’ll be there to offer him a choice. “Kiss or kill, Cherry?”

"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.....

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.

Everyone knew Elio Carbone, Don of the Carbone family, was a cold-hearted womanizer. He had one rule: never sleep with the same woman twice. But for me, he broke it. The first day after our breakup, he stood outside the old Bianchi estate for a day and a night, his entire security detail in tow, just to win me back. The second day, he flew to Sicily and bought the deed to my family's ancestral estate at auction for triple its value, and had it delivered to me. The third day, he tattooed my favorite flower, the lily, over his heart. The tattoo artist said he refused any anesthetic and didn't make a sound. Later, at a banquet for the Five Families, in front of all the other Dons, he sliced his palm and made a blood oath. He swore loyalty only to Eleonora Bianchi for the rest of his life; if he broke his vow, he would pay with his life. After a year of his relentless pursuit, his devotion finally wore me down, and I agreed to take him back. I truly believed him then. That Elio truly loved me. Until one night. He took me to an underground racetrack to broker a deal with an ally. But in the roaring crowd, I saw a girl, trembling and crying, her clothes in tatters. Ava was shoved to the starting line. She was the wager for the death race. One look was all it took for Elio's face to darken. The next second, he dropped his hand from my waist and, without a word, walked toward the track entrance. I stood frozen, watching his back as he disappeared into the driver's seat of a modified sports car. I used to wake up crying, terrified he would lose his life in one of these reckless races. He had smashed his trophies, burned his marker for the illegal track, and sworn to God he would never again enter such a life-or-death gamble. My hand drifted to my stomach, covering the secret I hadn't yet had the chance to share. His blood oath was broken. And so was I.

To ransom my husband from the black market, I threw myself into relentless work, earning every penny I could. My son suffered alongside me, sharing in my exhaustion and deprivation. Years of malnutrition had left him vulnerable, and eventually, he was diagnosed with leukemia. I wept as I scraped together money from relatives and friends to pay for his chemotherapy. But on the way to the hospital, a sudden, unbearable pain wracked him. In his struggle, he accidentally bit off his own tongue and died in agony before we even reached the doors. I clutched my son's ashes and went straight to the black market, determined to use the borrowed money to bring my husband back. The moment I stepped in, I overheard a conversation between Joe Masseria and his men. "Boss, Sandra comes every month with her payments. She's suffered a lot just to ransom you," one said. At that moment, a widow—Joe's sister-in-law, long mourning her late husband—appeared beside him. "Joe," she said, her voice calm but cutting, "all these years, you've protected me from harm, even giving me the title of a mob boss's wife. But you've kept Sandra in the dark the whole time. Isn't that… terribly unfair to her?" Joe's eyes were cold, devoid of any pity for me. He scoffed. "Fairness is ruthless. She's had all this love from me. What's a little suffering compared to that? "But she's waited for me all these years. It's time I returned—before she loses her mind and comes after you. "If she's still sensible, I'll make sure her and her son's quality of life improves a bit." I understood everything in that instant. Holding my son's ashes to my chest, I wept until it felt as if my heart would shatter. Joe—your so-called fairness killed my son. And I am done waiting for you.