Russian Male Names

"You know, red." He warned biting my lower lip. "I think we should try again with the spanking. I could make it more alluring. Make you love it." I felt my lower regions throb as his lips caressed my neck. His hands trailed down my body and found its way under my silky black nightdress. Tugging at the hem of my thong he then slipped in a finger and ran it up and down my hot wet slit ❦ The daughter of a Russian mob leader seems to catch the eye of his father's enemy. Will the Italian Don use The Russian Don's daughter as his plan to destroy his rival and fall in love with her or the father finds out himself and kills them both?

My girlfriend and I were reborn, returning to the cramped basement apartment we rented right after graduation. We silently walked out the door together, neither of us mentioning staying together. She went abroad with her childhood sweetheart to further her studies while I stayed behind, grinding away at my company. Seven years later, she became a rising young designer with a bright future and a happy family. I was still grinding away at the same company. When we met again, she clung to her childhood sweetheart's arm, looking down at my slightly disheveled state with a mocking smile. "Long time no see. How did you end up looking like a beggar?" I ignored her. However, later, when the powerful, world-renowned CEO of a top design firm clung to my arm, acting sweetly, her face twisted with panic. "Alex Prescott! How can you be so close with another woman?!"

Lily at age fifteen wanted to be so many things, but a werewolf was never part of it. Actually, she never thought of it either, because this story isn't about Lily at fifteen, nor is it about any damn werewolves. This story is about 23-year-old Lily Hills, waking up to the dead body of her one-night stand in a motel. The same man, Damien Kalashnikov, was to tie the knot the next morning, and Lily was slated to handle the magazine publishing the glamorous wedding events. Lily who just wanted an adventurous night for once in her life, was now accused of murdering a ruthless Russian Mafia boss. Just as all hope seems lost, Dimitri, Damien's identical twin brother and infamous "Beekeeper," saves her, he proposes a shocking solution: a contract marriage, with conditions for both parties to meet. The wedding, initially intended for Damien and his bride, will proceed as planned – with Lily as the new bride. As Lily and Dimitri navigate their complicated relationship, he commissions her to write his biography. With each passing day, secrets unfold, and shocking truths surface. Their bond deepens, but danger lurks. With a surprise pregnancy raising stakes, it seemed Damien left a souvenir. A Russian Roulette began. Albeit, a typical Russian will say to you: Когда река молчит, шепчет ли она секреты рыбам? (When the river's voice is silent, does it whisper secrets to the fish?) Even in silence, hidden truths may be shared, and secrets can be revealed in unexpected ways. Will Lily, wife to the Omertà Mafia Don ‘The Beekeeper’ eventually find out what happened that night?

The night before our wedding, my fiancée let her so-called "best friend" butcher the gown my late mother had sewn, chopping it into a revealing mini dress. I rushed over with the ruined dress in my arms, ready to demand answers: only to catch their voices through the door: "Imagine him expecting me to wear something a dead woman stitched. What a curse!" Through the narrow gap, I saw my distant, frigid fiancée flushed with color, straddling his lap. "What we did at the bridal shop wasn't enough," she murmured. "Tomorrow, walking down the aisle in this tiny dress you made me, it'll be even more exhilarating." Their lips met. My hand froze against the door, and inside, something broke with a soundless crack. If she longed for thrills, I would grant her some.

I called my wife, a forensic specialist, after learning that my in-laws were involved in a car accident. It was on the 80th call that she finally answered, "I'm just trying to celebrate Justin's birthday for him. What's wrong with you? Can you not get jealous over just about anything?" I informed her that Mom, Dad, and sister had died in a car accident, and that she should hurry back to arrange for their funeral. To my surprise, she scoffed at my suggestion and replied, "What does your family's death have to do with me?" She was not involved in the funeral arrangements at all. On top of that, she even falsified evidence for her love interest—the culprit who killed her family—in court as a forensics specialist. Eventually, on the day I informed her of my intention to divorce, she threw a fit. "Patrick, it's just the death of a few of your family members. Justin didn't do it on purpose. It was just an accident. "Moreover, it's because of your parents' and sister's carelessness on the road that led to the accident. Why are you making things difficult for me and insisting on divorce? I've truly misjudged you…" Noticing the indignance in her response, I finally understood. It seemed she had no idea that it was her family that died in the accident all this while.

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time to go.

After being missing for eighteen years, I was finally found by my wealthy birth parents. The impostor—the young man who had taken my place all this time—dropped to his knees, sobbing. "Goodbye, Mom and Dad. Thank you for raising me. Now that Jason is back, this family doesn't need me anymore." My parents hugged him with heartbreaking tenderness. "Don't be ridiculous," they said. "You're our only real son." Even my fiancée confessed her love to him. "I don't care who you really are. You're the only one I love." They all orbited around him, like planets around the sun. When I was nearly killed in a car accident, they were too busy throwing a birthday party for his dog. So I packed my things in silence. Without a word, I accepted an invitation from the space agency to join a five-year satellite research mission in complete isolation. Yet after I left, it was like the whole family lost their minds. They scoured the entire country, desperate to find any trace of me.

I've raised my son, Caleb Bennett, for nine years, but today I found out he was never mine. Claire Bennett, my wife, shamelessly tells me to leave with nothing. She says Caleb's real father is Lincoln Lancaster, heir to the most powerful family in Berglaton. The Lancaster family has few direct heirs left, so if Lincoln acknowledges Caleb as his son, Lincoln can easily surpass his frail uncle and become the rightful successor. Caleb says, "You think you deserve to be my dad? My real father could crush your whole family with a snap of his fingers!" Margaret Quigley, Claire's mother, adds, "If Claire hadn't gotten pregnant with Lincoln's child back then, do you really think we'd have let someone like you marry into our family?" I don't fight back. I just sign the divorce papers in silence. After that, I take out my phone and call my father, James Lancaster, who has been waiting for me in Berglaton all these years. "Come pick me up on Christmas Eve," I say. "I'm ready to go home and take over the family."

Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside. But not with me. Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his." And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber. I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future. From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother. So I let her go. Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean. Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end. I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

"Don't you for a second believe that we are ever letting you go, sweetheart". He muttered against her ear, his husky voice sending jolt through her body. His tongue suddenly flicked out to lick her ear lobe. She didn't even understand why was this happening to her. "You are stuck between us, Vanessa." another voice muttered out as he trailed his lips down her chest, his breath fanning against the skin between valley of her breasts. She whimpered feeling scared of them. "You are ours, love." the third voice made it's way to her ear. The last brother's lips teasing the nape of her neck and he suddenly bite the sensitive skin there making tears fell out of her doe eyes. "P-P-P-Please l-l-l-let me g-go." Vanessa pleaded to them making the trio smirked at her stuttering self. "Say this without stuttering and then we will consider your request." one of them said to her and the trio laughed at her aloud. *** Joaquin, Emiliano and Alejandro Fernandez are the triplet brothers. Their aura screams danger and power. They always have the upper hand and no one dares to cross them. They never had a mother figure in their life but a bastard father names Teal, who was killed at the name of peace treaty by Russian mafia boss Miakhail Igor Gorbachev years ago. Now they only had their sister with them but she was also taken away by Liam ovich Gorbachev and the Spanish trio brothers are furious would be an understatement. Vanessa Lynn Gorbachev, daughter of Rooh and Mikhail Igor Gorbachev and the only sister of Liam, is an innocent little girl. She was as innocuous as the child because she was never been out in the cruel world. She was homeschooled because of her stuttering problem.