Shameless Setting Novels & Stories

I finish eating, feeling bad about all the leftover food. “I’ll have it taken to a homeless shelter,” Liam reassures me. Then he comes around and takes my hand. I rise and go with him. Liam takes me to a large, formal ballroom where… … the man has set up an entire spa! “Liam!” I gasp. “Oh my God!” “You can still just call me ‘Liam,’” Liam jokes. I swat him. “This is … unbelievable! I mean … wow!” Liam leads me behind a screen, where we both get naked and put on robes. I’m pretty sure the only reason Liam didn’t jump me then and there was because of the listening audience outside.

he hisses. I start to dress after our moment of passion because we have been here longer than we agreed. Yes...! I can't imagine someone walking in or Lucero finding out. God, please swallow me whole! This is what it means to be shameless at a God level.

I could walk out into the darkness and disappear before anyone realizes what happened. But I can't move. My feet are lead. My knees are water. I look at my hands. They are shaking. They look... dirty. I rub them against my jeans. Rub. Rub. The friction burns, but the feeling doesn't go away. It isn't dirt. It is shame. It is a thick, oily film that coats my skin. It seeped into my pores when Aureliano looked at me with that expression of pure, unadulterated horror.

Sarah had arranged for her to pair up with Jammie, while she was still awkward about facing Jammie after what happened last night. Shanon looked back, looking at the truth or dare board which was still spread out on the floor with the pillows having been tidied up. Last night, everything looked messy. People sat irregularly. Snack crumbs were scattered on the carpet and the pillows were scattered everywhere. Any mess was cleaned up quickly. Shanon hoped that her strange feelings for Jammie would disappear quickly. That was if her feelings were just a bunch of dirt that was easily swept away. Meanwhile, her feelings were more like stubborn dirt that was difficult to clean. She felt bad for An

Shameless. I paused, pressing my ear against her door—maybe I shouldn’t have, but curiosity burned hotter than shame. The door creaked open slightly as I leaned forward. The moaning grew louder. Not in the room. The bathroom. I stepped in. My hand pushed the bathroom door open— And my heart stopped. My jaw hung open. “What the f—”

But as the realization sank in, their astonishment transformed into joy, though it was quickly overshadowed by a profound sense of shame. Even without a single word spoken, I could read the expressions on their faces with absolute clarity. Shame hung heavy in the air as they grappled with the realization of how they had mistreated and inflicted immense pain upon their true Alpha. Among them, Allan, Vanessa, and Lisa wore the most conspicuous looks of guilt and remorse.

I dropped into a flawless, practiced slide-kneel—one knee on the floor, both hands holding up the scissors, loyalty written all over my face, my voice booming with shameless devotion. "Please, Your Majes—uh, I mean, Mr. Harrington, see the truth! Every fingerprint on these scissors belongs to Ryan! Just test them! My loyalty to you is as vast as the sky and as steady as the mountains—why would I ever destroy your gift?" The Sanders family's faces went green. Violet pointed at me in fury. "Pete! Do you have no shame?! Groveling like that brings nothing but disgrace to the Sanders name! What is wrong with you?!"

Just looking at what he held reminded me of the foreign sensation between my legs from the previous night. I touched my collarbone without thinking and was about to move down when he sent another message. "Don't touch yourself." I grew even more restless, but reminding myself that this was part of the treatment, I forced myself to endure it. Even though the fabric was chiffon, I couldn't stop feeling self-conscious about my breasts. Whenever I bent over slightly or sat down in public, I felt as if everyone was staring at me. At noon, Vincent sent a message. "Take off your underwear and send me a photo."

And just like that, the distance between strangers begins to shrink. Kimberly stretches her legs out, robe slipping slightly at the collarbone, a casual kind of sensuality that comes from comfort, not performance. “Let’s make a pact. No public personas, no filters. Just honesty. Spa rules.” Operah nods. “Everything said here, stays here.” “Like a sexy version of Fight Club,” Maggie says. I laugh, leaning back into the chaise, the tension in my shoulders dissolving inch by inch. Maybe that’s what I needed, not another doctor’s appointment, not another night spent trying to understand the universe’s sense of humor.

During Thanksgiving, my wife, Maya Golding, said that she had an important project to finish late at night and sent me to her parents' house to deliver the holiday gifts. As soon as I started my trip with the gifts, my phone rang. "Bro, move your car, please. My car can't leave the parking lot." 'Move the car? But I am already in the car,' I thought. I answered, "You must have called the wrong person." There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "Is the Audi in lot 695 not yours?" I tightened my grip on the phone as a bad feeling rose inside me. Maya had driven that Audi today, and she had a designated parking spot at the office. "Yes, where are you? I'll go move the