Pound Cake Lyrics Novels & Stories

“Don't tell me what to do.” I glared at him, my breath catching at the dark, hungry look in his eyes when he backed me up against the edge of the desk. “That's very ironic because I am the one who always gets to tell you when to come for me. So yeah, I'll tell you what to do and when I tell you to bend over the fucking desk, you fucking do it, Mrs. Sinclair.” He seethed huskily, spinning me around harshly so that my face got stuffed against the desk with his raging hard-on pressing into me. It fired up the dark thrill coursing through my veins and I did the one thing that betrayed the guard I was trying to put up. I fucking moaned. •••• After her ex-boyfriend ruined her life and crushed her heart into pieces by getting married to a renowned supermodel, Katherine Perez, the enigmatic artist decided to get her pound of flesh by orchestrating his kidnap on the morning of his wedding. Katherine was blinded but rage and wanted to stop the wedding by all means but things took a drastic turn when the team she hired accidentally kidnapped someone else. He wasn't just anyone. He was the head of the US Mafia. Christophe Sinclair. The devil in a suit. Katherine's defiance allowed her to believe that she could get away with the grave crime she committed but everything in her life took a turn for the worse when a Mafia Don who has never been fazed by any woman comes after her with everything he has. Caught in the web of a man who reminds her of every reason she chose to lock her heart away from the world, will Katherine allow herself to be vulnerable again after everything she lost?

****Excerpt**** “You see yourself as ordinary,” he said softly. “But entire worlds have crumbled and come apart for far less than a woman of your beauty.” He pushed his horn further again, filling her another inch. Her flame flared white-hot behind her ribs. Begging, pleading, clawing. “That’s it, my little whore. You like that, don’t you?” he preened against the corner of her mouth. His voice hit her harder than the horn. Dirty, cruel, worshipful. The word whore sent heat spiralling down her spine, making her clench around the invasion. She hated the word. She loved how he said it. “Please…” She started. He squeezed her throat, cutting off the rest of her words. Her breath hitched violently at the pressure, but she surrendered to the feeling. “Unless you are about to beg me to fuck your ass harder with this horn, I don’t want to hear how you can’t take any more.” He growled, low and threatening. A wave of want crashed into her so hard she whimpered. Adelaide should have been scared. In a way, she was. It wasn’t fear that made her heart pound, it was the terrifying realisation that she wanted exactly what he demanded. She wanted to feel the thickness of his horn deep inside her, wanted the stretch, the pain, the pleasure. She wanted all of what she knew he could give her. She leaned her head back to run her tongue over the seam of his lips. “Fuck me harder.” She said softly, the words barely a whisper. They carried the desperation, surrender, hunger, devotion, need. Her voice trembled with the weight of what she was giving him. Of what she was asking him to do to her. He growled. The sound vibrated through her, deep and possessive.

“Did you do as I said?” He murmured darkly, eyes slowly running over me. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice laced with shame. Although not enough to stop me from spreading my legs wider before him. His jaw flexed, a low growl escaping his throat as he lowered himself in front of me. “Show me. I want to see how you touched yourself that night.” “Right now?” I hesitated. “Yes. Right now.” He pushed forward. “I want you to take two fingers to your mouth, lick it slowly, take it all the way down there and show me how you made yourself cum. Everything.” I swallowed, my face burning red as images of that unholy night flashed in my mind. I licked two fingers as he said, trailing it all the way down to the already sleek folds between my legs. Then I dug in, the sleeky sensation pushing my eyes close. “Open them. I want to see.” My eyes managed to part, closely followed by my mouth. My folds grew slickier the more I worked my fingers in, drawing low cries from my lips. I had to close my eyes. “Open.” He growled, rising. We locked eyes, as I widened my legs, intensely flicking my wet mound until I began to feel my legs twitch. “Do I stop? Tell me what to do,” I cried. He said nothing, just sipped the wine in his hand while I continued to pound myself deeper, crying and unwilling to get to that point as I wanted him to do it himself. I needed his fingers to replace mine. To show me how a big, bad wolf tamed his prey. Finally, he set his glass aside, leaning downwards. “You really did your assignment. Now let the king give you a fitting reward.” He smirked.

I was a child who was born in a vocational school's toilet. To my mom, I was a stain in her life that she was given birth to after having her cherry popped by a delinquent when she was still young. I knew that Mom had been trying to kill me. Unfortunately, she hadn't succeeded so far. The first time she tried to get rid of me was when she decided to give birth to me in the toilet. It was a cold, winter month, yet she didn't give me anything warm to wear. The second time she attempted murder was when she got into grad school, which was based in the north. No one was around to take care of me, so she turned on the gas while holding me in her arms and clutching her train ticket. The third and last time happened when Mom was about to marry the man she loved. On the night before her wedding, she had tears streaming down her cheeks as she told me, "You're nothing but a burden. You ruined my life! "Do you know that I can only forget about all the pain and suffering you caused me after you die? Only then can I start a brand new chapter in my life!" I wiped Mom's tears off her face with my tiny hand. So, her wish was for me to die. On my birthday, my fever hit 104 degrees Fahrenheit. That was when I finally received the first slice of birthday cake in my entire life. I didn't have the heart to eat it, so I made my wish solemnly. "I hope that I will die soon." I heard that birthday wishes often came true. That way, Mom would be very happy.

When I was seven, my constant vomiting got so bad that my mother took me to court and accused me of being born dangerous. If the charge stuck, I would be stripped of my family ties and sent straight to prison. Everyone said my mother was overreacting. "He's just a kid. Kids get sick. As his mother, you should be more understanding." But the moment the evidence was shown, the room went dead quiet. My mother had drunk herself into a stomach bleed just to land a contract, and the second she got home, I threw up all over it. The deal was voided, and she lost her job on the spot. On my sister, Ophelia Sowle's, birthday, I threw up all over her cake right in front of all her classmates. After that, she was shunned by everyone at school. She spiraled into depression and even slashed her wrists. It didn't matter where I was, at the dinner table or under the covers. I could start vomiting at any moment. My mother and Ophelia had to clean me up more than 30 times a day. It wore them down to the breaking point. What infuriated them the most was that every time I finished throwing up, I would look at them and laugh, as if I was mocking them. The judge brought the gavel down and declared me guilty of being born bad. Ophelia's eyes turned red as she cried, saying she couldn't bear to lose me. I didn't cry or fight it. I accepted the verdict. But I requested that the judge watch my memories first. The judge looked stunned. "Memory extraction means drilling into your brain. The pain is unbearable. Are you sure?" I nodded without hesitation. But Ophelia suddenly panicked. "I don't agree!"

All her life, Ava Malcolm has given her all to her dead beat husband, Carson. She spent years trying. Smiling. Grinning at cameras just for him. Raised as the brilliant marketing prodigy of the Malcolm family and an heiress, everyone says he's after her wealth. Ava turns a deaf ear to their words. She loved him even if he cancels all anniversary plans, berate and neglect her. His family doesn't like her. On his 34th birthday, she decided to give him her inheritance hoping it'd light up the spark in their marriage and throws a big surprise party for him with high hopes that when he finally comes back from the 6 month business trip he went on, he'd see all the efforts she'd put into making his day special. He doesn't. Carson sweeps her aside like a pound of dust while grinning at cameras and heads up the stairs with a lady. She follows. Just as she gets to the room, she catches him with his first love, Giselle. Turned out he'd been cheating all the while. When she wakes up in an hospital, she realizes he's found the papers and had signed them. He pays the hospital to lie she was mentally unstable and leaves her there to build a life with his new lover. When Ava gets out, she's bent on getting just one thing: revenge. When she storms his party, he lies to the world that she cheated with an photoshopped image. No one believes her. Only he did. Jaxton Steel, heir to the steel conglomerates. He offers Ava a deal. A marriage with him in exchange for revenge against everyone that had ever wronged her. And Ava? She's no longer the damsel in distress. She's the storm he didn't see coming.

SMUT WARNING!! : This book isn't sweet romance. It's filthy, raw and unapologetically dark. Expect: *Three brothers who don’t know the meaning of gentle.* *A heroine who moans even when she swears she won’t.* *Fingers, tongues, and c*cks where she least expects them.* ~~~♠~~~ “Spread wider, Angel,” Zane growled against my ear, his fingers ruthless between my thighs. Ziven's c*ck shoved deep down my throat, hot, thick and massive. “Right there. Open up and take it like the filthy tease you've been." And behind me, Zarek drove into me deeper, pounding and claiming every inch. “Feel that? Dripping wet. Doesn’t matter how hard I pound—she’ll still take more. She’s fucking built for it. Our c*cks.” I begged desperately— clenching, gushing, and trembling through every thrust and claim. I never thought I'd crave this— three brothers who claimed me, ruined me, and made me beg for more. But I do. God, I do. My name is Zayla Everly Hollis. I died the night I married Lugard Blade. He broke me and killed me. But fate brought me back. Given a second chance, I ran. Straight into the arms of the three most powerful men in Chicago. THE MADDOX BROTHERS. ZIVEN. Commanding, brilliant, and dangerous with a keyboard. ZAREK. Cold, ruthless, and sharp as glass. ZANE. Charming, wicked, and heartbreak in human form. They offered me safety. Then they became my obsession. Now they’re my only protection from the monster I once called husband. But with three billionaires wanting one broken girl, hearts will shatter. And when the past comes knocking… I’ll have to choose between revenge—and the triplets who made me feel alive again.

Bellatrix Sinclair, an 18-year-old weapons prodigy that despises werewolves for destroying her family has been secretly planning to join the human rebellion. However, she is forced into the Mate Selection Process and matched with Lazarus De Loughrey, the ruthless Werewolf King obsessed with claiming her. He shouldn't want her and she should hate him but they cannot resist each other. It's a twisted connection, entirely physical because all I am is his slave. My heart should belong to my best friend Emmett, a human. Atleast the guilt of betrayal wouldn't be eating away at my insides. ___________________________ “Yes please.” She begs. “Then fucking let me in.” I growled, this fury exploding with vengeance. I wanted to destroy her pussy. It was maddening, it was sickening, it was barbaric. But I never claimed to be saint. “Here that baby, that’s the sound of your greedy pussy sucking on my cock. Give me more, drench me.” “Lazarus.” She moans painfully, “Please let me come.” I’m doused in gasoline and set alight, sweat coats my skin as I pound into her faster and harder. I’m definitely hurting her, “Wanna come?” I rasped, “Not until I say so.” Pressing my lips onto hers, pushing my tongue into her mouth until I feel the sweetness of hers. The kiss is sloppy and filthy. She cries as I drive my cock into her, the intensity too much to handle, sweet tears sliding onto her cheeks. “Fuck yes.” I smile sadistically, licking her tears. “Cry for me Ma Cherie.” “Please, please let me come My King.” She pleads. “Say it again.” Lightening shooting down my spine as she begged, “My King, please let me come. I’ll be good.” I chuckled, “Try your luck to kill me Ma Cherie, I dare you.”

The day my birth parents found me, the reunion banquet they threw turned into their funeral. My parents and their adopted daughter, Leila, died of food poisoning that night. The only one who survived was my older brother, Alpha Kian. He didn’t like sweets, so he never touched the cake. The cake that I handed to them myself. “So you want to take Leila’s place. “You’re just jealous because she got all our love! “She was the only one who ever accepted you, and you still killed her!” Those were Kian’s exact words as he shouted at me right outside the hospital room. From that day on, I became a sinner. To make up for it, I barely slept four hours a night and worked five jobs just to buy back the villa the rival pack seized during the chaos. However, the day I finally saved up enough, I saw my dead parents throwing a birthday party for Leila in that very villa. Kian stood among them, looking at her with a warmth I didn’t recognize. My mother said, “Isn’t today also Lily’s birthday? It’s been eight years. Maybe it’s time to forgive her.” However, Kian didn’t hesitate to refuse. “No. Even though Leila sniffed out the wolfsbane and saved you, we agreed that Lily gets ten years. “We can’t risk her ever trying to poison Leila again. Not even a day less.” I clutched the diagnosis paper from the clinic tightly and laughed through my tears. I knew I wouldn’t get to ten years. I was already dying.

I am the long-lost true heir of the Kensington family. In just the second month after reconciling with the Kensington family, I solved a technical problem that the Kensington Corp's Military Research Institute had failed to crack for five whole years. Yet, my adoptive brother, Sean Kensington, the fake heir, exchanged my patent bonus worth millions for a 20-percent-off coupon for a cup of latte. I went to my older sister, Sonya, the CEO, but she simply waved her hand dismissively, completely unconcerned. "Enough, Wesley. Sean just did it for your own good. If you're holding onto that much money, what if some organization set their eyes on you? This way, your safety is protected. "Besides, you've only come to the city not long ago. I doubt you've ever had something like a latte before. Take it as a chance to experience it. I'll even give you another ten dollars. You can buy yourself another cup." I looked at the condescension in her eyes, planning to send the recording to our parents. Yet, I saw on their social media that they had just bought a seaside mansion and a luxury car as a celebration gift for Sean's achievements. Then, I glanced at the coupon they had just sent me. [You did help Sean after all. Your father and I bought you a cake as a reward. Go pick it up yourself.] I checked the price. After discount, it was a mere 13 bucks. They had to be kidding me. I directly dialed the number of Kensington Corp's rival company, Jet Group. "I think the exclusive patent for this new missile should be yours. From now on, all my research results will only be shared with Jet Group."