Novel & Cerita Muscle Supergirl

At our seventh wedding anniversary dinner, I noticed something strange. My best friend, Darren Blackburn, who had always been single, had suddenly changed his profile picture to a couple’s photo. "So you’ve been hiding a girlfriend from me?" I joked with a grin. "When are you bringing her around? I should at least meet her and make sure she’s good enough for you." He just smiled and shook his head, brushing it off. "Not yet," he said. "It’s not the right time." Then Deanna Cunningham, my wife’s voice called out from the kitchen, "Babe, come help me tie my apron." I hadn’t even pushed my chair back yet when Darren was already on his feet, jogging over. He stepped behind her, wrapped his a

"You shouldn't be touching me." he growled, his voice low and ragged, every muscle beneath her nimble fingers felt the tremors of restrained power. The heat of his skin radiated through her gloves. "If I stop, you'll bleed out." His hand shot up, curling gently-but firmly around her wrist. His eyes, a shade of hellish red in the dim lights, locked onto hers. "No, doctor," he whispered, his lips forming a stern pressed line. "If you stop, it won't be the blood that kills me. It'll be the hunger." Dr. Eleanor Airlea never believed in myths-until the night a wounded stranger staggered into her veterinary clinic under a blood-red moon. The wolfs injuries should have killed him, but h

What if humanity’s cruelest monster is the only one who can save you? In the toxic slums of Sector 4—far beneath the glittering glass domes of the elite city—there is only one rule: keep a low profile and stay alive. Jada is a master of survival. From the scraps discarded by the upper class, she builds everything she needs to exist in this merciless world. But during a brutal raid by the ruling Consortium, her identity scanner suddenly flashes a blood-red alarm. The verdict is neither prison nor death. It is: Sector Omega. Sector Omega is a myth born of whispered nightmares. It is the Consortium’s deepest underground laboratory, where the authorities breed genetically mutated supersoldiers

I thought Christmas had already broken me. Betrayal, loss, and a miscarriage that shattered everything I’d built. So I did the only reckless thing a heart in ruins could do: closed my eyes, jabbed a finger at a map, and bought a ticket to wherever it landed. No plan. No hope. Just a wounded heart running from the wreckage. I wanted quiet. Snow. A place to breathe and heal. I found him instead. A man who feels too wild for this world, all heat and muscle and dark, hungry eyes. He kisses like he’s claiming something. Touches like he’s learning every secret my body holds. His strength borders on impossible. His presence, addictive. He calls me his naughty little Christmas gift. And every ti

“I want you to ruin me. To fuck me like nothing else matters.” Zoriana’s breath hitched, the air in her lungs turning to ice as she stared into the darkened eyes of the man pinning her against the warehouse door. Outside, the pack’s founding day celebration was a blur of music and laughter, but in the shadows, there was only the scent of rain and the dangerous heat radiating off Alpha Tristan. “You’re mated to my brother, Zoriana,” he growled, his voice a dark, jagged rasp against her ear. His mouth brushed her pulse point, sending a shiver of pure, traitorous electricity through her blood. “Do you have any idea what I’ll do to you if I stop being a gentleman?” Zoriana didn't care a

"I love it when you say my name, printsessa, how long has it been? Two-" "Three years." I snap unintentionally wishing I could take the words back. A sly grinspreads across his angelic-looking face, "You've been counting." He states in a cocky tone. I place my hands flat on his chest, and I shove him away. "Still a cocky son of a bitch I see." I hiss, hating the way he makes my body burn with fever. Slowly panting through my parted lips, I realise that he is shirtless, his gold skin and sinuous muscle put on full display for my eyes to feast upon. His eyes look darker than I remember, smouldering with carnal intent. The perfect curve of his lips etches with cruelty. He's so

*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 t

I never should have let my mother hold my future hostage. She paid my tuition with his father’s money. Locked my birth certificate, my transcripts, every scrap of paper I need to survive in a safe I’ll never open. And the one thing I had left of my dad, his old watch, she dangled like a noose. Run, and I lose my education. Fight, and I lose the last piece of the man who actually loved me. So I moved into the Hunters’ mansion. Into the lair of the boy who spent years making my life hell. Chase Hunter. Six-foot-five of pure venom wrapped in muscle and money. The senior who cornered me in empty hallways, who whispered filth in my ear just to watch me flinch, who smiled that sharp, cru

After a brutal breakup and one too many whiskies, Arielle Lawson makes the mistake she swore she’d never repeat—she calls her ex. She never saved his number; she memorized it. Heart memory. Muscle memory. Bad-decision memory. But the man who answers isn’t Daniel. He’s calm. Controlled. Amused by the drunken stranger ranting about betrayal, wasted years, and ruined wedding plans. Arielle hangs up, mortified, convinced the mistake ends there. It doesn’t. Because the number she dialed belongs to Kael Virelli, the elusive leader of a multi-million-dollar anti-government underground syndicate known as The Black Ledger—a man feared by politicians, hunted by intelligence agencies, and obe

"You're either brave," Aaron said quietly, his accent thickening just enough when he was irritated, "or you have no sense of self-preservation." I didn't look away. His dark eyes burned - calculating, controlled, dangerous. The kind of Alpha who didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed. The kind who was born into power and sharpened by it. "Maybe I just don't scare easily," I said smugly. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Slow. Controlled. He stepped into my space, close enough that the air shifted, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him and smell the faint scent of coffee on his breath. "You should," he murmured, eyes focused on my lips. ⸻⸻⸻ Xavier has