Palm Creases

Eric couldn't resist reaching out to touch Katrina's face. Her skin was warm and soft. She smelled like lilac soap and cinnamon, a delightful combination he had only encountered in her. He slid his thumbs slowly across her lips. They opened with a tiny gasp that made them all more tempting. "Kat... " He looked into her eyes and forgot what he had intended to say. God! She was too beautiful. Her eyes were filled with care, love and longing. Longing that sure matched his own. Very slowly, wanting to draw out every moment, Eric brought his lips to hers. He watched her eyes glaze, and heard her ragged moans when his mouth touched hers, then he kissed her passionately. He ran his lips down over the line of her throat. Heavenly warm skin met his lips. Eric inhaled the downy softness, bringing his hands up along her hips, at her waist and upward along her ribs to the front of her blouse, over her breasts. Katrina moaned softly in approval, cupping her hands in his as he undid the buttons on her blouse. Her breasts came spilling into his hands after he unhooked her bra. He filled his palm with her breasts. "God! I want you Kat" he said with a voice laced with deep passion. Katrina Argos aged twenty,set out to take her revenge on Eric Salmadiego, the guy who almost ruined her sister's life. Eric Salmadiego aged twenty four was a well known arrogant and popular billionaire. Not only was he arrogant, he was a full time playboy. To achieve her mission, Katrina moved into Eric's house as a live in maid. The both of them started on a rough note, but as time went by they fell in love with each other.

The fearsome Romano family has made an announcement. Whoever among me and my sister, Vivienne Everhart, can give birth to the first grandson of the Romano bloodline shall inherit the Romanos' wealth that's worth tens of billions of dollars. Also, said grandson will be the next Don of the Romano family. In my previous life, Vivienne had married Dominic Romano, a healthy and strong young man of the Romano family. My parents were the one who had arranged for this marriage to happen. I, on the other hand, got married to Julian Romano, a gloomy man who was confined to his wheelchair due to his crippled legs. In less than a year after our marriage, Julian had regained his ability to walk once again. At the same time, I got pregnant with the first grandson of the Romano family. As such, Vivienne got abused by Dominic to the point that she completely lost her marbles. That was how she became the laughingstock of the rich socialites of the upper crust. On the day I was about to go into labor, Vivienne stabbed my belly with a blade. Then, she grabbed me before jumping off a tall building with me in her arms. When I open my eyes again, I see Vivienne snatching away the bouquet made of blue roses that's given to me by Julian. "I want to marry Julian!" "Vivienne, how could you snatch Isabella's bouquet away?" As soon as Vivienne receives the fancy blue rose bouquet, she freezes in place when she hears our father scolding her. After Dad grabs the bouquet from Vivienne's hands, he passes it to me before saying, "Isabella, you have a healthy body. Julian might be handicapped, but at least he's pretty talented when it comes to running his business." Then, he pats Vivienne on the head lovingly. "Vivienne, you're in poor health. Marrying Dominic is your best option." As I stare at the blue rose bouquet in my hands as well as the wedding gown I'm currently wearing, I dig my nails into my palm forcefully. Finally, I realize that I've gotten reborn.

“Shh, little girl,” he growled, teeth catching my bottom lip. I fought the moan, but he circled my clit, my hips jerked helplessly against his hand. Then he pushed my panties aside and sank two thick fingers inside me. I soaked his palm, knees buckling as tremors wracked me. “That’s it, cum for me,” he whispered against my ear. I did. Waves crashed through me while he held me up, stroking gently, murmuring filthy praise that made it sweeter, deeper, more shattering than anything I’d ever felt with a woman. I’m a lesbian. I’ve always known it, claimed it shamelessly. I’ve mapped women’s bodies with my mouth, hands, loving every touch and gasp. My best friend’s tongue between my legs has made me come countless times. The only man I tried, my ex, was awkward, unsatisfying. I swore off them forever. I love women. I love my best friend. So why does this man, her father, the one I should never want make me wetter with one stroke than she ever has? Why am I aching for his cock, pushed inside me, thrusting relentlessly, filling me, ruining me in ways no woman could? Why does bending over his desk for him feel like the right thing to do? One forbidden touch. One devastating truth: I might never want another woman again. When I rejected the vice chancellor's advances, my best friend's obsessive aunt, she threatened expulsion. My friend took me to her father, the college owner. One look at his body and I was lost. That night in their home, hiding in the kitchen while watching him cook, I touched myself, craving what is forbidden. Will my best friend discover my sudden addiction to her father? Will her aunt ever stop wanting me?

Jarek’s hand slides over my ass like a challenge, slow and deliberate, like he wants me to feel exactly where he thinks I belong. I don’t hesitate. My palm cracks across his face—sharp, loud, final. “Careful,” he says quietly, fingers digging into my hip instead of letting go. “You keep hitting men like that, someone’s going to hit back.” I tilt my chin up. “Try it.” ⸻ My parents owed Luke Jones money. I paid the debt with my body, my name, and a marriage I never agreed to. On paper, Luke is my husband. President of the Vipers MC. Untouchable. Behind closed doors, he’s a man who can’t keep an erection and punishes me for it—with fists, words, and silence. The only man that ever gave a shit a bout me was my brother, Steve. Luke’s best friend. His VP. Now Steve is dead. And Luke has finally stopped pretending. He moves Steve’s old lady into the clubhouse. Watches her. Wants her. Just like he always has. I secretly divorce him, disappear to the next town over. And I walk straight into the territory of a rival MC. Its president, Jarek Solen, notices me immediately. He’s dangerous. Controlled. Watching. The kind of man who doesn’t beg, doesn’t threaten—and doesn’t take no lightly. I refuse him anyway. Instead, I prospect his club. Earn my place the hard way. I don’t want another man. But Jarek Solen doesn’t see me as broken goods or borrowed property. He sees me as his. And when Luke realizes his wife is gone and his control is slipping—Jarek won’t hand me back. He’ll start a war. Because the Biker King doesn’t steal women. He claims what chooses him.

Today is the death anniversary of Jordan Willis, the Alpha of the Moonshadow Pack. He's also known as my dead mate. My name is Sasha Calhoun, a she-wolf who descends from a family with a weakened bloodline. I'm also the current Luna of the Moonshadow Pack. In a world where the bloodline purity determines the status quo of werewolf society, I seem to exist solely to enter a marriage alliance with Jordan, the Alpha who comes from the most elite family with a pureblooded heritage. This is a political trade meant to strengthen Jordan's position in his family as well as reassure the Elder Council. A year ago, Alpha Jordan sacrificed himself in a blazing inferno while on a mission. I become the most pitied she-wolf in the pack who has to keep the only light on in my empty home. At the same time, I need to protect the only flicker of hope in this pack. As I carry a bouquet of white lilies, which were Alpha Jordan's favorite flowers when he was still alive, I approach his grave. The pup in my womb seems to have picked up on my emotions, for it kicks me gently. I can feel the hum of a powerful and pure-blooded lifeform from the movement. It's the lifeblood of a pup destined to become the future powerful Alpha. Even though I'm still carrying the pup, I still feel reassured and proud. But the next thing I know, I spot a wolf sinking down to one knee far away on the horizon. He appears to be proposing to my younger sister, Winnie Calhoun. Even though there's more than 300 feet between us, I can still smell the Alpha's familiar scent, which seizes me by my heart. After all, I had once immersed myself in that particular scent for countless days and nights in the past. That Alpha… is actually Alpha Jordan, who supposedly died one year ago! I instinctively clutch my belly, my palm caressing the newly-developed heartbeat of my unborn pup. Then, I call the pack guards.

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.

I'm ten years older than Vincenzo Corleone. He had just turned 23 years old when he took over the Corleone family as the patriarch. A hint of teenage childishness could still be seen etched onto his youthful features. I was the one who held his hand and helped him calm the turbulence of his family affairs. I blocked three assassination attempts that were made on him. I used five years of my life to help him grow from a useless scion into the fearsome don who wielded the utmost authority in Nowork's underworld. Once, Vincenzo had embraced me in the church. He rested his forehead against my palm as he swore, "Age, identity, or the world's viewpoint of us will never stop us from being together, Freya. I will protect you with my life." But after that, he told his older brother, Marco Corleone, "Freya is too old. She's already 38 years old; I can practically smell the rot of age rolling off her. Even the crinkles in her smile disgust me to no end." Some time later, Vincenzo found himself a mistress who bore some resemblance to me. She was young and vibrant—like a white rose who had never experienced the ugly side of society. While Vincenzo gave me the title of the Donna of the Corleone family, he reserved his gentle, doting, and even passionate side for the mistress named Lina Marino. Vincenzo thinks he can pull everything off flawlessly. What he forgets is that the reason why I can establish my reputation in the underworld isn't because of his protection. I've been relying on my ruthlessness and my sharp sixth sense this whole time. When I slam the signed divorce agreement onto the spot before Vincenzo, I say with a smile, "You've fought by my side for so many years, so you should know very well that I can afford to go for high-stakes risks and withdraw my chips whenever needed. "But once I lose, someone here has to pay the price!"

On the eve of the SATs, Sasha Lane’s diary got leaked. Every private thought she had ever hidden about her uncle, Gabriel Quinn, was dragged into the open. Humiliated. Picked apart in public. She was forced to give up the exam. Sent overseas like an exile. After that, she was branded shameless, trashy, and completely out of line. Those accusations followed her everywhere. Years passed. No matter how hard she worked, she could never shake the weight of that judgment. Even after getting into a top global university. Even after becoming a rising star in pharmaceutical research. In the end, they still pushed her toward a stable civil service job, like none of her accomplishments meant a thing. Then came the scandal. A rumor about an illegitimate child exploded overnight. For the sake of his reputation and future, Gabriel forced her into a marriage with the most powerful heir in the city, Sebastian York. Gabriel told her, “Sebastian isn’t interested in you. He only agreed to a fake marriage to deal with his family. Once things calm down, you’ll divorce.” That was the moment her heart finally went cold. She didn’t owe him anything anymore. At City Hall, Sebastian York, a man infamous for his ruthless reputation, handed Sasha his medical report. “Everything checks out. No problem consummating the marriage.” Sasha looked him over, then shrugged. “Fine. You’re this good-looking. I’m not exactly losing out.” Sasha thought Sebastian wasn’t interested in her. She was wrong. After they got married, all it took was one extra look, and something in him snapped. He treated her like his wife in public. In private, he was anything but restrained. Every touch was slow, deliberate, and dangerously tempting. He knew exactly how to get under her skin. Knew exactly how to pull her in. Before she realized what was happening, she was already in too deep. Later, Sasha posted her pregnancy update on social media. Gabriel dropped his speech mid-event and walked out without a word. He drove through a storm just to find her. Soaked to the bone, he blurted out, his voice shaking. “Sasha… divorce him. Come home with me.” Back when she loved him, he didn’t care. Now that he finally wanted her, she had nothing left to give. On the other side of a closed door, Sebastian had her pinned against him, his hand locked around her waist as he kissed her until she could barely breathe. His palm slid over her stomach, his voice low and rough, coaxing. “Be good. Let him hear you.” She was the woman he had fought to claim. And anyone who thought they could take her away? Dream on!