Nerve-wracking Novels & Stories

WARNING: ONLY FOR MATURE AUDIENCES (18+) "If you want to discover parts of yourself that you never dreamed of, if you want to feel pleasure and pain dance together in ways you didn't know was possible, I will give it all to you on a silver platter. I will accept your gift of submission, and gift you with my dominance in return." He is a dominant. She is a submissive. He craves control. She wants to loose control. Seems like a perfect pair? Anna has always had a craving for something beyond what her boyfriend, Nick could offer her. She keeps her life neat and tidy which seems to be picture perfect. So why does she feel the desire to let loose and give into her deepest darkest fantasies when she met the dark side of Will? Will doesn't do romance. He does sex, excitement, passion and moves on once the thrill dies down. So, why does the little woman named Anna gets his every nerve on fire and why does it feel like it's never going to fade away? When Anna is sexually frustrated because of her long time boyfriend, Nick, she turns to her boyfriend's dominant father, Will. What happens when Will asks Anna to move in with him and be his 24*7 sub? When feelings get involved and danger surrounds them, how will they survive with their newfound chemistry? Their story unfolds with exciting experiences and kinky activities.

“I'm going to come!” I mustered. “Don't come till I tell you to,” he breathed out his order. I strained to hold the feeling, but he slammed into me two more times and I felt my core tighten, my balls shrunk and a sensation scurried along the tip of my cock, the thick ropes spewing. "What did I say?" His voice was dangerously low, sending a chill down my spine. He pulled out abruptly, making me gasp at the sudden emptiness. My body trembled, every nerve frayed. He moved to the drawer, my chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as he pulled out a nipple clamp, a whip, and a thick dildo. I swallowed hard. A slow, wicked chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Oh, love,” he murmured, dragging the leather whip along my sensitive, overstimulated skin. "We’re just getting started.” Oliver’s life as a sex worker was about to come to an end, until he met the Billionaire with a kinky taste that changed his life. He soon discovers that the company he got accepted to as an intern is run by the same man, Benjamin and he is plunged into a secret office romance where he becomes Benjamin’s play thing. In this gripping tale of sex, desire and romance, haunting characters from Benjamin’s past reveal themselves and Oliver finds himself entwined in a world of deception, betrayal...and dangerous emotions that threatens his love for Benjamin.

Everyone thinks Jimmy Hudson, my college roommate, is the typical brutally honest and socially clueless guy who just has zero filter sometimes. A friend and I meet up to go boxing and practice our hooks, but he calls it a hookup when texting the group chat about it. He even nonchalantly says he won't be deleting his message. When I meet my boxing buddy, he says I'm meeting my hookup buddy. He even has the nerve to say, "It's just a joke. Don't be overly sensitive and read so much into it." Thanks to a few more of his dirty tricks, my reputation is ruined, and the entire class ostracizes me. But Jimmy doesn't stop there. He slips sleeping pills into my drink, which leads me to miss an exam. Later, he claims it was just a careless mistake and blames it on his scatterbrained tendencies. Eventually, he dumps crushed cherry pits into my water bottle, which ends up poisoning me to death. This all happened because our campus belle, whom he has a crush on, helped me with my luggage on our first day on campus. All of a sudden, my eyes open again. I've returned to the first day of my freshman year at college. This time, I'm going to let Jimmy get a taste of what it's like to have his life ruined with a helping of some social cluelessness of my own.

I forgot to bring a No. 2 pencil, so I filled out my SAT exam with a red pen. The proctor warned me it would count as cheating, and I just shrugged and told him it didn't matter. Tyson Jenkins, the school heartthrob who ranked near the bottom of the class, suddenly got anxious. In my last life, we went back to school to pick up our acceptance letters. I already had a guaranteed spot at Kingsford University. And yet, I was the only one who didn't receive a letter. Tyson had used a system to swap our exam scores. Because my score showed up as zero, Kingsford University revoked my guaranteed admission. I demanded a review of the scoring, but Tyson, who had suddenly become the top scorer out of nowhere, sneered at me. "Kieran, couldn't cheat your way through the exam this time, huh? Everyone knows you only got that guaranteed spot by cheating. You've got some nerve playing the victim!" I went to our homeroom teacher to clear my name. I never expected her to cry on camera and say, "I tried to talk Kieran out of it in private. It's not fair to the other students if he does something like that, but he used his family's influence to pressure me into staying out of it." Overnight, I was at the center of a storm. Before I could even explain, a group of fanatics dragged me up to the roof and shoved me off. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day before the exam.

In my previous life, my parents made me choose a bride from the three most powerful families in the capital. I did not hesitate. I chose the one I loved most: Holly Smith. However, on our wedding day, she died in a car accident on her way to the hotel. The Smith family was devastated. Though they did not dare blame my family, I was consumed with guilt. I transferred all my assets and shares to them without hesitation. Twenty years later, while on a business trip overseas, I saw Holly, alive, locked in a passionate kiss with my former best man on the street. The other two heiresses stood nearby, watching with envy. "Faking your death for twenty years just to end up with your true love? Worth it," one of them said. "And Hayden, that pathetic lapdog, stayed faithful to you all this time. What a joke." I lost control and rushed over to confront them, but Holly had people waiting. They dragged me into a pickup truck and beat me half to death. With a twisted smile, she sneered, "You've got some nerve showing up here. "You wanted me so badly back then that you had Jack beaten, he almost lost his memory and forgot about me! "Since you came all this way, I'll make sure you experience what it feels like to wish you were dead." When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my parents asked me to choose my bride. I pointed to the maid's daughter standing in the corner. "I'll take her."

I put three hundred million dollars into building a business for my brother's first love. They were finally getting married. But two hours before the wedding, the maid of honor suddenly went AWOL. To keep the wedding on track, I dropped a major international deal, booked the next flight out, and flew back immediately. When I arrived, my brother hugged me gratefully and handed me the wedding ring along with a gift box — inside was a necklace, a token he'd promised Celeste. "Sis, I'm counting on you to take care of Celeste's side. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you step in as maid of honor today?" But the moment I walked into the bridal suite, my brother's bride slapped me across the face. "You've got some nerve showing up here, you homewrecking bitch." "You think you can steal my husband at my own wedding? Are you out of your mind?" "Celeste, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I’m Alexander’s sister…" I tried to explain. "Who the hell are you kidding?! My sister-in-law runs a billion-dollar empire. A tramp like you could never." "You want to steal my husband? Fine. Let's see how tough you really are." And just like that, I was tied up and thrown into a pen with a vicious dog. Celeste Davenport — if that's how you want to play it, then enjoy your one-way ticket to the hell.

I used to be a top ballet dancer. The year I was diagnosed with a spinal hemangioma, my boyfriend Julian Blackwood said, "Wherever you go, I go." We'd been together three years. He walked beside me as I went, step by step, from the most luminous dancer on that stage to a woman in a wheelchair. Every time the nerve pain hit and I collapsed, he was the one who lifted me off the floor. Every round of electrostim and acupuncture, he sat in the corridor outside the therapy room and waited for me to come out. Before I got sick, he promised me—the night I finished my final performance of Swan Lake, we'd sign the marriage license. He'd bought tickets for that show three months in advance. I never stood on that stage again. And the marriage license never came up. Until the morning I noticed the collar of his white dress shirt carried a smudge of lipstick that wasn't mine. I heard him on the balcony. A woman's voice on the other end. "Mr. Blackwood, you left your jacket at the hotel last night. I'll bring it over." I stared at that smear of red, and something in me snapped. I laughed. "Send me to Westbrook. The locked-down rehab facility. I don't want to drag you down anymore." Something flickered in his eyes—a brief, animal panic. Then he nodded. He thought I meant rest. He didn't know I'd already signed the papers to donate my body to science. I was going there to die.

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.

Tony Gambino never forgave me. His childhood sweetheart died saving my life, and for seven years, his hatred was a constant, silent burn. I fasted. I prayed. I begged for absolution. He met my penance with a cold sneer. "I'll only forgive you when you're dead." The words were a knife to the heart. So why, when we were both poisoned, did he shove the only antidote down my throat? As the poison claimed him, blood trickling from his lips, he choked out his last words, "Scarlett... in our next life, let's never meet." Later, I tried to visit his grave. His sworn brother and Consigliere, Richard Bruno, blocked my path. He pressed a gun to my forehead. "I don't know how you have the nerve to show your face here, Scarlett. He'd be alive if he hadn't saved you. "I should never have let him give up Elma for you. You're a curse. Everyone who gets close to you gets destroyed." Their eyes were unanimous in their blame. And they were right. So I watched his gravesite from a distance, my own guilt a heavier stone than any marker. Not long after, I was killed in a gang crossfire. When I opened my eyes, I was seven years in the past. This time, I made a different choice: I let Tony go—so that everyone might live.

Madison is a woman on the verge of destruction. She's nearing her 22nd birthday and still hasn't been sealed. If she doesn't find a partner to be her first physical meal, she risks going full demon and harming innocent people. She hoped to wait for one of her two mates to appear, but time is growing short. With guidance from an old notebook her sister kept, Madison heads to a dive bar and finds a perfect first meal, a man like no other. A king to her queen. Duncan "Ford" Stanford, the werewolf king ***************************************************************************************** Ford kissed my neck down to the curve where it met my shoulder, then started licking and nibbling. I moaned and moved my head to give him better access. It felt so good. His right arm gripped me tightly against him as the nibbling became firmer little bites. Every nerve in my body thrilled at the little shocks of pain that were then soothed away by his tongue. Suddenly, I realized what was happening. He was thinking of marking me. Even though I didn't really want to make him stop, I had to. At the next hard nibble, I squeaked. “That hurt! Don't bite so hard, Ford!” I scolded. “Sorry, baby. I got carried away. You just taste so good.” He said, moving away. The loss of his body on mine was difficult, but I couldn't let myself be marked by a werewolf. ******************************************************************************************* First of three books: The Demon Queen's Desire, The Demon Queen's Duty, The Demon Queen's Destiny