My Darling Dreadful Thing Novels & Stories

She did not realize the lock she had thought was secure had been faulty for weeks, something Father Damien had meant to fix but never had. Only when the door swung open and cold hallway light spilled across her naked, spread body did Amelia’s eyes fly open. Father Damien stood in the doorway, still in his black clerical shirt and trousers, the white collar glowing like a warning. His eyes, those beautiful, terrible eyes, were fixed on the sight between her legs: her glistening fingers, her swollen, abused pussy, the wet spot darkening the sheets. For one endless second neither of them moved. Then his voice came, low and dangerous and nothing like the gentle priest who said Mass.

Lockhart's face was a mask of pure horror and agony before he took his last shuddering breath. I admit they’re good but not as good as me. I peeked at the small gap of the closed window beside me and a triumphant smile blooms through my face. They’d just walk on a trap. Now, for the fun part of the evening. •••

POV - GABRIELLA SANGRIENTO "Motherfucker." I pinch the bridge of my nose then took a deep breath to calm myself. Amelia was sweating as she was covered in her vomit. After she woke up she started fighting, trying to get out of the chains. I shut her up by slapping her but that made the situation worse, she vomited all over the place and now she smells like shit. "I'll get Oscar," I said. "No, we don't have time." Giovanni replied.

I think Damian was like 9 and Layla was - urmm - 7 I guess. ''That young?'' I asked astonished. ''Yeah, they were very much in love. I could see that with the way they looked at each other, the way Damian smiled anytime the thought of Layla crossed his mind and the way she blushed at the little compliment passed by Damian but the unfortunate happened. She wasn't herself anymore. Layla started becoming distant, more reserved and Damian knew that something was off. One day, they got into a very heated argument so Damian drove off leaving her alone on the side of the road. He needed to clear his head. The next morning he went to her place but she wasn't around. He called her phone a 100 times.

My secretary inserted the USB drive into the computer, and the video played on the big screen. In it, Queenie's cries filled the room as Sandra frowned, looking annoyed. She didn't even want to carry Queenie. "We're going to be late for our dinner, and we've got a movie to catch afterward," she grumbled. Shawn frowned as well. "Babe, we can't drag this baggage along, right? You promised tonight would be just for me."

So whatever sick game Darrell was playing, I could handle it. I walked down the hallway on unsteady legs, my enhanced hearing picking up sounds from behind his door that made my wolf whimper. Low moans. The rhythmic creak of bedsprings. And a woman's voice crying out in pleasure. My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob and I pushed the door open, stepping inside. But the sight that greeted me shattered every last piece of affection I might have still harbored for Darrell Blackwood. There he was on the massive four-poster with Amaya riding his cocklike her life depended on it, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

My palm pressed against my chest, trying to still the rapid thumping of my heart, trying to anchor myself in reality. It was a book I’d seen raved about online. Reviews called it brilliant, seductive, thrilling. So when I asked Dante to have someone pick it up for me, I hadn’t expected… this. I had no idea I was requesting something so vividly erotic, so brazenly explicit.

The Ferraro family diamond - a 15-carat D-flawless monstrosity rumored to be cursed - winked at her throat like a third eye. "Darling friends," Sylvia purred into the microphone, her voice dripping with false warmth. The diamond's facets cast prismatic shards of light across her collarbones as she turned. "Tonight isn't about apologies. It's about truth." A waiter near the stage shifted, his hand drifting toward his waistband. Damien catalogued the movement, simultaneously tracking the other two threats me had identified - a redhead by the champagne fountain with a knife strapped to her thigh, and the sommelier whose prosthetic left eye had a telltale red gleam that suggested a camera feed.

“I didn’t bring you here to play games. This is the real deal. This is hell, sweetheart. Whatever you think Dare is capable of, multiply that by ten, because I am so much worse.” His fingers dug into my neck harder, and my chest heaved as I fought to breathe. “And the things I’ll do to you,” he continued, his voice dark and dripping with malice, “will ruin you. They’ll break that nasty little spirit of yours until there’s nothing left. Do you understand me?”

I groaned in pain and tried to sit up. “You are not the woman I fell in love with. You are the ugly ass Darcy, the one who lied to me and took advantage of me for her own gain. The one who disgusts every fiber of my soul. You can never be Tessa, not to me, not after everything I know. Tessa has never been real, Tessa was born on lies, I refuse to be a part of it. And you know what? It's a good thing you miscarried. I can't imagine anything tying me to you! So before I kill you with my bare hands, stay away from me while I think of what to do with this mess you've created”