Penitent Chambers Chest

“You’re useless.” I lift my head, wrists aching where the rope bites into skin already numb from the cold. My father stands over me, his shadow long and sharp in the firelight spilling from the clearing behind him. I can hear the celebration. My sister’s laughter. The pack chanting her name. “I tried,” I say. My voice cracks, and I hate it for that alone. “I did everything you asked.” He scoffs. “Everything?” His gaze drags over me like I’m something rotten. “If you’d done anything right, your mother would still be alive.” My chest burns, each breath a knife. “She chose—” “She died because of you,” he snaps. “Because you were too weak to protect yourself. Too weak to be worth the trouble.” I swallow, tasting blood. “I’m your daughter.” “No,” he says coldly. “You’re a reminder of my failure.” He turns away, already done with me. “Be grateful I’m hiding you instead of killing you. An Alpha can’t afford dead weight.” The rope tightens as he knots it higher, out of reach. He doesn’t look back. Behind him, the pack howls in celebration. I lower my head and let the tears fall silently into the dirt because crying is the only thing they haven’t taken from me yet. But as the night deepens and the forest breathes around me, something else stirs—slow and patient. They call me useless. One day, they’ll choke on that word.

When I became the blood bank for my mate Alpha Kane’s sweetheart, my wolf died from the endless loss of blood—and so did I, alone, in the cold den he rented to keep me out of sight. Today marks the third day since my death, and finally, my six-year-old pup noticed something was wrong. His finger bled when a toy hurt him, but I didn’t come to comfort him. When he tried to feed me his favorite food, I didn’t stop him either. He lay on my chest, gripping my clothes and whispering my name—but I didn’t respond. Desperate and helpless, my pup picked up my cellphone and called his alpha dad. “Dad, why is Mom still sleeping?” Kane didn’t answer. Instead, he sent him a photo of himself and Serena—his sweetheart—celebrating Full Moon Day, smirking. “Don’t worry. Your mom is just sleeping, not dead. You know I’m quite busy on Full Moon Day. Tell your arrogant and stubborn mom not to come find me until she admits her fault.” The call ended, leaving my pup frozen in silence. However, three days later, Kane received news of my death. He let out a gut-wrenching growl, refusing to believe it was true. Clutching my cold, lifeless body in his arms, he wept bitterly. “Kate… you are my only Luna,” he cried. “Come back. Stay with me… please.”

I’m on my knees again, wrists bound tight behind my back with silk that bites just enough to remind me who owns me tonight. He circles slow, leather boots echoing on the marble, and I can already taste the salt of anticipation on my tongue. When he finally grips my hair and yanks my head back, his cock—thick, veined, leaking—slaps heavy against my cheek. “Open,” he growls. I do, and he thrusts in deep, no warning, stretching my throat until my eyes water. The wet, choking sounds fill the room—gluck-gluck-gluck—as he fucks my mouth with brutal rhythm, hips snapping, balls slapping my chin. Every plunge forces a gag, spit dripping down my chest, but fuck, the burn in my jaw and the way he groans low makes me leak onto the floor. He pulls out just to slap my face with his slick length, then rams back in, deeper, claiming every inch until I’m nothing but his hole. ** This collection plunges headfirst into the raw, unfiltered world of explicit gay dominance and submission, where powerful alphas—billionaires, mob bosses, ruthless mentors—claim their willing (and sometimes reluctant) boys with iron control and unrelenting hunger. Every story drips with dark MM heat: contracts signed in sweat and cum, red rooms equipped for flogging, bondage, edging, and total power exchange. Expect graphic, immersive scenes of throat-fucking, ass-pounding, breeding fantasies, impact play that leaves marks, and aftercare laced with possession.

"I like her," I said as I sat across from my mother unable to keep the frustration from boiling over. "Like who?" "Callie," I admitted, my chest tightening as I said her name. Her expression froze for a moment before she set the papers aside and leaned forward. "You’re joking, right? Callie is your brother’s girlfriend." "I don’t care," I snapped. "I can’t stand seeing him with her. She should be mine, and I’m not going to just sit back and watch them together." "Well, well. This is interesting." She sat back, steepling her fingers. "You really want her all to yourself?" "More than anything," I confessed. A slow smile crept across her face, and it sent a chill down my spine. "Don’t worry. I have a plan.” Whatever she had in mind, I knew it wouldn’t be simple. But if it meant having Callie… I was willing to do whatever it took. **************** Callie was given a choice by her new boss: either lose her job or act as his escort for his family’s Christmas and New Year celebrations, pretending to be his girlfriend. Left with no other option, she reluctantly agrees to be his escort but what she doesn’t realize is that she’s walking straight into a trap. Dive into a story of love, betrayal, romance, suspense, and a Christmas miracle. Second Chances Under the Tree is a gripping and intriguing read that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page.

The morning after their night together, Harper Sullivan froze with a sudden, sickening realization—Ryan Delgado hadn't used protection. Fear coiled tight in her chest, sharp and suffocating. But Ryan just smirked, his voice smooth, teasing, as if this were some kind of game. "Our families are enemies. A baby changes that. Your father would have to accept me. Then I could marry you—properly." Heat rushed to her cheeks. She should have pushed him away, should have demanded answers—but his touch still burned through her resistance, and she gave in to him. Then, like a knife to the ribs, she heard his friend's voice from the next room, laced with cruel amusement. "Ryan, that's genius. Get her pregnant, then dump her. Harper would never recover from the scandal. And her family? Total disgrace." Ryan let out a cold, satisfied laugh. "Serves her right. She stole Olivia's spot as valedictorian, broke her heart, drove her overseas. I'll make sure she pays—this is for Olivia." Harper's body went rigid. Three years. Three years of stolen moments, swallowed secrets, letting him touch her in the dark while her family believed her loyal. And it had all been a lie. Rage and humiliation crashed over her, so violent she nearly choked on it. Her phone buzzed in her trembling hand. Fighting back tears, she answered. "Dad… I'll take the engagement."

In the final year of my bond with vampire lord Saul, the curse of our pact struck, and I was overwhelmed by agony, but my lord was nowhere to be found. He had gone out. He left me to suffer. Alone. When the door finally creaked open the next morning, I looked up through bloodshot eyes—hope flickering like a dying candle. But he wasn't alone. He carried an unconscious woman in his arms, her head resting against his chest like she belonged there. Ignoring me as I curled up on the floor in pain, he first carried the woman to his room and called the old butler anxiously. "Jacinda's passed out. Hurry! Check if she's all right!" The old butler cautiously pleaded on my behalf, hoping our lord could save me first, but Saul frowned and interrupted: "Jacinda is in danger, and I have no mind to drink her blood now. She just needs to pull through herself. Believe me, she won't die. Right now, the priority is to save Jacinda." A frown and a glance in my direction was his only response to the old butler's desperate plea. With my only hope shattered, I clenched my teeth and slashed several long wounds on my arms and hands to drain blood for self-rescue. After a long period of weak convulsions, the curse of the pact finally ended. I lay in a pool of blood, sending a message with my last faint consciousness. "I promise I will leave him."

On the day of the mating ceremony, a crazed witch bursts in and points straight at me, shrieking, "Six years later, your Alpha will betray you!" Troy Hudson, my soon-to-be mate, turns livid. He swats the purple-glowing crystal ball from her hand, shattering it on the floor. "Nonsense! Estelle is my fated mate! I'll only ever love her in this lifetime!" After that, he becomes even more devoted to me. At the Moon Goddess' altar, he drapes the Luna shawl over my shoulders. He marks me with his scent so the entire pack knows I belong to him. Every full moon, he deepens the mark on my neck, whispering that I am his forever. I believe his love is unbreakable until our sixth anniversary. A box waits at our front door. Inside lies a pair of lace panties and a photograph. In the photo, Troy is pressed over his foster sister, Rue Youngblood, the wolf tattoo on his body glowing faintly. His hand grips her waist, his eyes burning with the same heat I've dreamed of a million times. And Rue? She's wearing that same pair of panties. On the back of the photo, written in ink as red as blood, is a line of pure provocation. "The Alpha's heart may belong to you, but his body belongs to me." Agony ripped through my chest, yet not a single tear fell. Instead, I rest my hand on my belly and quietly send word to the Witch Association. "I accept your invitation. Please help me vanish."

I'm on my knees because they told me to kneel. Not because I have to—because I want to. Because when Haruto's hand grips my hair and Marcus whispers "good girl" in my ear and Julian watches with those grey eyes that miss nothing, I feel more loved than I ever have alone. Haruto pulls my head back, makes me look up at all three of them. "Whose are you?" he asks. "Mine," Marcus answers first, running a thumb across my bottom lip. "Ours," Julian corrects quietly, and the word settles in my chest like a heartbeat. They take turns using my mouth,and my body. Haruto is desperate and possessive, fucking my throat like he's still making up for six years of silence. Marcus holds my hand through it, sweet even when he's rough. Julian watches until he can't anymore, then joins, then takes over. When they lay me on the bed and surround me—Haruto inside me, Marcus at my mouth, Julian whispering filthy praise in my ear—I understand. This isn't about control. It's about being so completely theirs that nothing else matters. Not even the woman who wants me dead. But that's later. Right now, I have three men who love me, and I'm exactly where I belong. On my knees. On my back. In their arms. Always.

Eight years into our bond, I spotted a child at the kindergarten who looked uncannily like Malcolm—my mate. Malcolm had told me he was away on a business trip. However then he was holding that child in his arms, gently coaxing him. "Be good, sweetheart. In a few days, I'll bring you and your mom home. You're my only child. I'll never abandon you." The child smiled, content and trusting. I stood hidden around the corner, unable to breathe from the pain gripping my chest. Eight years ago, I had taken a silver blade to the stomach to save Malcolm. I lost my wolf that day—and with it, the ability to ever carry a pup. Back then, Malcolm had sat beside my hospital bed and made a promise: "You are the only mate I will ever choose. Whether or not we have a pup doesn't change that." However, what I saw now felt like a brutal slap—a reality too sharp to ignore. What value would Luna have if she'd lost her wolf and could no longer bear heirs? How could I possibly compare to someone who could give him a child, and the pack, a future? Choking back the pain swelling in my chest, I picked up the phone and called my father. "Dad… would you still want a daughter who's lost her wolf?" His voice came through, steady and sure. "Of course. No matter what happens, I'll always be here for you."

Adrian Moretti’s adopted sister—She knew perfectly well that I suffered from severe asthma and could not be exposed to smoke or strong scents. Yet during the yacht reception, she deliberately dragged me onto the open deck, where cigars burned nonstop and the wind howled. Within seconds, my chest tightened. When I reached for my inhaler, my blood ran cold. It was empty. I collapsed against the railing, gasping violently, my lungs burning as if they were collapsing in on themselves. She crouched beside me and smiled. “You’re always so dramatic. It’s just a little smoke. You don’t need to act like you’re dying,” she said softly. “You’re too weak. You need to build some tolerance.” I looked toward Adrian, my vision already blurring. “Adrian,” I choked. “Give me my inhaler. If I don’t use it right now, I’m going to suffocate.” He frowned slightly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he said coldly. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a bit of smoke. She’s right—you’re always seeking attention. We finally gathered tonight, and you’re ruining it.” My heart dropped. I fumbled for my phone and called my mother. “Mom,” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “I’m being bullied… and I can’t breathe.” My voice shook violently.