Scraped Knuckles Novels & Stories

“Just give in, Catalina,” Theodore urged. No way was I going to. After the worst night of my life, the last thing I planned to do was accept his ridiculous proposal. I mean, who coaches a grown man on how to win his fiancée? “I’ll help you find your son,” he added as I walked away. I froze, his car stopping alongside me. “You need my help as much as I need yours. Don’t be stubborn.” Frustration burned through me. “Why would you want me? Didn’t you see what happened with my family? I’m the villain here!” Theodore stepped out, closing the distance. When his fingers brushed mine, I sucked in a sharp breath. He grinned. “Well, in my story, everyone gets a second chance.” His thumb traced my knuckles, eyes playful but intent. “Even the villain.” ------------------------------------------------------- Catalina Rodriguez has always been the black sheep of the wealthy Rodriguez family. Having lost her mother before she opened her eyes to the world, Catalina did her best to survive even if it meant making a deal with her cunning stepmother. But all that changed when she fell into a trap and almost got thrown from the house. Then she meets Theodore Knight, a very sexy man with blue eyes who needs her help. After saving Catalina from her father's wrath, Theodore is drawn to her wit, charm, and fierce intelligence, which leads him to offer her a proposal; help him win back his ex-girlfriend from his uncle, and in return, he would help her find the son she lost years ago. But one drunken night leads to an even bigger mess: they wake up married. Will Catalina and Theodore really be able to pull through a year pretending to be in love with no strings attached?

His hand slid beneath my dress, fingers curling around my thighs with a possessive grip. "I always knew that scumbag couldn't treat you right," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly as his lips traced a slow path from my jaw to my neck. "Still can't figure out what you ever saw in him." I drew in a shaky breath as his hands moved higher, fingertips brushing the band of my panties, sending a jolt of heat through me. "Women like you are prizes, Sienna," he whispered against my lips, the words melting into my skin. My grip on his shirt tightened, knuckles white. "And prizes? They're meant to be fucking claimed. Owned." In the haze of intoxication, Alexander Grayson looked like the most beautiful thing on Earth—or perhaps he really was. "Can... can you make me forget about Ryatt?" I breathed, my voice trembling. A smirk tugged at his lips, dark and predatory, as his hand slid inside my panties, finding the heat of my wet, aching pussy. A soft moan escaped me, and I clung to him, every nerve alight."I'll make you forget about yourself, flower," with that he crushed his lips to mine. *** From the moment I met Alexander Grayson, I despised him with everything I had. But when with fate's cruel sense of humor he forced his way into my life, everything changed. He was everything I loathed—a womanizer, a violent monster, a spoiled heir with an ego larger than life itself. He should have meant nothing to me. Yet, I learned the truth the hard way: nothing about Alexander Grayson was ever simple. Alex dragged me into the hell he'd created, where he sat as the devil on the throne of darkness And the most terrifying part? I didn’t want to….escape.

I couldn’t cum ,not once in two years with him nor with someone. Then Sophie,my best friend….slid a card across the table. Dr. Vincent Kane; Specialist in women’s sexual dysfunction. The man who could fix what felt permanently broken. She didn’t mention he was her ex-husband Or that his “program” meant thirty locked days at his private estate. No sterile exam rooms, Just silk-draped suites, candlelit treatment spaces, and a discreet staff who vanished when he entered. In our first session he asked me to undress behind a screen and i did. When I stepped out in the thin robe, his gaze dragged down my body,slow, deliberate,before snapping back to my face. His throat worked. “Lie back,” he said, voice rougher than the day before. His gloved fingers parted with me for the exam. Clinical and professional until they lingered, circling my clit with the lightest pressure, testing responses I didn’t know I had. My hips jerked. A gasp tore from my throat. He froze, knuckles white on the table edge, breathing hard through his nose. He didn’t stop….Night after night the sessions grew bolder. His mouth replaced fingers, tongue stroking in slow, deliberate circles until my thighs shook and my back bowed off the massage table. When I finally shattered, clenching, crying out, soaking his chin, he pulled back, lips glistening, eyes black with something feral. He pinned my wrists above my head one evening, cock hard against my thigh through his trousers. “This is still therapy,” he growled, grinding once, twice. “Tell me to stop.” I arched into him instead, nails digging into his shoulders. My ex is threatening to leak photos, ruin us... Sophie keeps texting: How’s the retreat? He’s helping, right?

The mafia coalition’s family banquet had reached its liveliest point. Someone started stirring things up and steered the conversation toward the youngest Don of the Fumagalli family, Dante Fumagalli. “Dante, before you came to power, all those old Dons from the major families were falling over themselves to push their daughters at you. Was there ever one you actually wanted?” I stood half a step behind him, and my knuckles turned white around my wine glass. Dante did not answer right away. His gaze swept over me, cool and indifferent, before he turned toward Viviana Lombardi, who still held the crowd’s attention. “I wanted her.” Viviana spun around so fast that wine splashed from her glass onto her wrist. “Then why did you not come when I gave you that hotel key card all those years ago?” The calm on Dante’s face finally cracked. He frowned. “Your key card? Was that not for Enzo Ricci?” “How could it have been for Enzo?” Viviana’s eyes reddened. “He is my first cousin.” One question led to another and the truth emerged. That hotel key card had been handed to the wrong person by a Soldato. Because of that mistake, they had missed each other. Viviana burst into tears on the spot. Regret shadowed Dante’s expression. Just then, someone laughed softly. “What a coincidence. Was the key card really delivered to the wrong person, or did someone make sure it ended up in the wrong hands?” In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me. Everyone remembered me. I was the woman who used to trail after Dante Fumagalli like a lovesick fool. I turned to look at Dante and hoped he would say something for me. I hoped he would tell them we had been secretly married for five years and that he had been the one who pursued me back then. He said nothing. He did not defend me. He did not deny anything. He stared ahead in silence as if none of this had anything to do with him. In that moment, I pulled off the wedding ring I had worn for five years.

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."