Shook Novels & Stories

His smirk deepened and he took another step toward me. “I want to fuck you.” His voice dripped lower, “As a dancer, you should be used to this by now.” I shook my head quickly, panic rising in my chest. “Yes, I do know. I mean, that’s what I’m meant for.” “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” He said, stepping closer. “I don’t have all night.” Before I could part my lips to answer, his hand gripped my thigh and lifted it. The fabric of my dress bunched up, exposing the fine lace of my panties. I gasped, trying to move away from him, but his other hand moved to the back of my neck, holding me in place. His mouth crashed into mine, claiming my lips with a hunger that left me breathless. Suddenly, I felt his hand slip under the elastic of my panties, his finger grazing my sensitive flesh. I whimpered into the kiss, trying to resist, but the sensation was too overwhelming. He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth as his finger moved further, sliding inside me with ease. I moaned in protest, the sudden intrusion causing a sharp pain as he broke the kiss, smiling wickedly. “Shhh…” he murmured, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. He knelt, his hand still holding my leg up. “I’m going to need you to open those thighs for me,” he ordered, his tone dark and mocking all at once.

[UNDERGOING HEAVY REVISION] Go ahead and check out my other complete and ongoing books. I personally recommend Contracted for the Alpha and Marked by Moonlight. You can thank me later. 😉 "Are you nervous, Miss Bologna?" What the fuck? Did he just read me? I shifted slightly in my seat. "Detective Gunner, you seem to think you know me. But let me assure you, you don't." He shook his head, an inky black curl moving down his forehead. "I might not know you, Miss Bologna, but all one point two million followers don't know you either." A cocky grin crossed his face, drawing my attention to those damn dimples again. I uncrossed my legs and then crossed them again. "It's a necessary precaution." He held his arms up and shrugged. "And I get that. Being the daughter of the wealthy, powerful, notorious Wall Street guru, Dante Bologna has its downsides, I suppose." I glowered at him from underneath my lashes. "Tell me what you want, Detective Gunner." He tucked his phone back into his pants pocket. "I want you to tell me what the fuck is happening in this city." * * * To Love A Bologna is a four-volume series about the trials, temptations, and heart-burning romance of the Bologna family. | This first volume is focused on Nessa, the last and only daughter of the renowned mafia lord, Dante Bologna, and her love interest, Detective James Gunner who is on a quest to catch and destroy the Bologna family. When detective Gunner discovers the truth about the Bolognas, will he be able to go through with his plans? Or will his stolen heart make the choice for him?

Please…” I begged wanting him to do more. My body shook when he increased the pace.I dropped my back to the desk and arched my back.His mouth found my clit and I let out a deep moan. I could feel the pressure building up. “Greg,I'm so…so close.” I whimpered. His movement slowed a bit. “No!” I cried. “Please.” I could feel the smile tugging in his lips as he continued to lick on my clit. “Please…” I begged even more,my voice sounding needy even to my own ears. He increased his pace.Fingering me faster and harder. My toes curled as I felt the pressure about to explode inside of me. “I'm going to cum..” “Then do so,show me how good you can be and cum for me.” Pressure exploded through me,my whole body shaking from it all.I let my head rest on the desk as I tried to catch my breathe. His arms came around me, lifted me up and wrapped me in his arms. “Thank you.” I whispered. He planted a light kiss on my shoulder and just held me. I pulled back and looked him in the eye. “That was my first orgasm.” I announced proudly,warmth filling my heart. He smiled and leaned in.”How about another one.” ******************************************* Sex. That was the only reason Emillia Winslow got married to the Mafia Billionaire, Gregory Densmore. Being deeply religious,she is thrown into a world that contrasts her belief. There is no remorse,no confessions and no forgiveness. Will She manage to bring light into the dark or will the dark engulf her,forcing her to bring out her shadow self.

On our wedding anniversary, I did not say a word to my husband. I simply booked a plane ticket and left town on a business trip with my supervisor. He grabbed my arm, anger blazing in his eyes. "It's our anniversary, and you're spending it with someone else? Have you lost your mind?" I frowned, impatient, and shook him off. Without another glance, I got into the car heading for the airport. In my previous life, everything had started with his so-called first love. After multiple abortions, her uterine lining had become too thin for her to ever carry a child. So, she stole one. When the child's parents tried to take their baby back, she hit the gas, knocking them to the ground and killing them. However, when the truth came out, the police arrested me. I protested my innocence. I appealed. I even demanded a public trial. In response, they produced dashcam footage that clearly showed me abducting the child and running down the parents. To make matters worse, my fingerprints were found inside the car. I was completely shattered. Convicted on the spot, I was sentenced to death. My parents, unable to bear the shock, both fell ill and passed away soon after. After my death, my husband remarried in grand fashion, with his beloved 'first love' by his side. Together, they even adopted the very stolen child, becoming a couple everyone praised as perfect. Only then did I understand. It had all been their scheme. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day it all began.

On the night of our engagement, the ward my family sponsored left without a word. She went alone to the Mexican border, a lawless land crawling with cartels, to become a combat medic. From then on, Dante and I tortured each other for ten years. He hated me for trapping him with my birthright as the heir, stealing the spot of the woman he loved. I hated him for humiliating me while still craving the power and wealth the Moretti family provided. In countless fights, we spewed the most vicious curses at each other. Until that raid on the underwater sanctuary. The base was rigged to blow and sinking fast. Dante didn't hesitate. He strapped the only oxygen mask onto my face and turned to jump into the swarm of sharks. He slit his own wrist, using his blood to lure the predators away. Moments before the sea swallowed him, he roared at me: “I don't owe you anything anymore, Sophia!” “If there's a next life, please, let me go!” After I was rescued, the family only recovered his mangled remains. Clutched in his palm was that charity case's cross necklace. That was when I learned Elena had died from a stray bullet years ago. And he, in the end, chose this brutal suicide to join her. Dante's death shook the entire Underworld. The family Elders took their anger out on me. I was accused of being a "Black Widow" who sent her husband to his death to save herself. I was beaten to death by a mob of angry thugs on the street. When I opened my eyes again, I stopped my father. This time, I’ll let them have their epic love story.

For six years of marriage, Cyran Valehart and I lived with measured respect, as if we were partners holding the same scale in perfect balance. For the sake of my equestrian career, I refused to have children. He shouldered the gossip, endured the judgment, and stood beside me without hesitation. But when I rode into what should have been my final international competition, he went back home with his first love—her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. "All these years, you chose the horses over me," he spat. "That damned competition meant more to you than our family ever did." His voice shook with righteous anger, but his next words cut far deeper. "Six years ago, I abandoned Celia once. Now she carries my child. I won't betray her again." In that instant, my marriage became nothing but a title. I was reduced to a wife in name only, a figurehead in his home, a shadow he no longer cared to see. During the very competition meant to crown my life's work, Cyran laced a sharp needle beneath my saddle, each stride of my horse a fresh stab of pain meant to break us both. I lost the match. My horse collapsed with a shattered leg. And in that fall, my dream and my marriage were crushed together—ruined by the very man who once swore to protect them. Later, he paid with everything he had, desperate to make amends. But no matter what he sacrificed, Cyran Valehart was already behind me, nothing more than a ghost I would never turn to face again.

On my 50th wedding anniversary, I took my worn, crumbling marriage certificate to City Hall to renew it. The clerk glanced at it—and froze. “This certificate is fake. Our records show you’ve never been married.” I stared. “Impossible. I’ve been married to Damien Slater for fifty years.” The clerk pulled up his file. “Well…Yes, Mr. Slater is married—but his wife’s name is Vanessa Grant.” Vanessa. His widowed sister-in-law. A military doctor who’d spent decades living among the troops. My hands shook as I returned home and confronted Damien. He didn’t even try to deny it. “I’ve treated you well all these years. Isn’t that enough? Vanessa is my true love. I only ever wanted her—our children, our life.” My son counseled me and said, “To spare your feelings, my parents kept it a secret their whole lives. You’re getting old now. What more do you want?” Only then did I learn the truth. The child I had raised with my own hands was never mine by blood. Decades ago, Vanessa and I gave birth on the same day. To ensure her child would grow up with intellect, privilege, and a future that I could provide, Damien switched our children. My own son? Damien drowned him in the pond the moment he drew breath. And I—fool that I was—raised Vanessa’s boy as my own. I even got him all the way to Claremont University. The truth broke me, and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes again—I was back. Back to the day I went into labor.

My wife Susan had the power to save lives, but when our son was rushed to the ICU and needed her help, she refused no matter how much I begged. While I was crying myself hoarse when I received news that our son was dead, I heard her purring over the phone, "Mark? Don't worry, your puppy's way more important. Of course I'll save it." There was a limit to her power that she could only use it once a month, but she nonchalantly used it for Mark's pet dog! Shaking with rage, I seized her by the collar and bellowed, "We're talking about a human life here, and your son at that! But an animal is worth more than that?!" Susan shook me off, smirking in disdain. "Mark has always been by himself—is there a problem that I took his side? And what could happen to our son when he has his daddy? Stop giving me that attitude!" Just two hours later, Mark posted on social media a photo of him with Susan kissing his pet dog together, with the smug caption: [Who had bet that a son matters more than a dog? Know when you're beaten. Now pay up!] So he had a bet with someone that Susan would choose his dog! Worst of all, Susan lovingly replied: [If Mark wants to win, I'll always be there for him.] Even as I felt heartrending pain, I was laughing coldly as I sent my own reply. [If you all love to bet so much, why not bet when you're gonna drop dead?]

My fiancé, Luca, dragged me along to a party with his crew. We had barely walked through the door before his boys were hounding him to play "Seven Minutes in Heaven." "Angelina, babe, come join us!" Fiona, Luca’s "best friend" from back home, called out to me with a smirk. I shook my head and slipped onto a barstool, my fingers nervously tracing the rim of my glass. I watched them huddle in a circle, drawing cigar bands with names scribbled on them. Luca drew Fiona. They shared a laugh before disappearing into the storage room behind the bar. "Seven minutes! Starting... now!" someone hollered, followed by a chorus of whistles. But seven minutes came and went. The door stayed shut. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty... I finally stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs, ready to see what was going on. Just then, I heard Luca’s friends whispering in a thick Sicilian dialect. "This American guy... her head is greener than a lemon tree in Palermo and she doesn’t even know it." "I bet Luca and Fiona are having the time of their lives in there right now." "Poor Boston girl. Look at her, sitting there like a loyal little dog. Hilarious." I froze. My blood turned to ice, and the air felt too thin to breathe. Suddenly, the storage room door creaked open. Luca walked out, wiping sweat from his brow, followed closely by Fiona, who was busy smoothing out her rumpled shirt. "Whoa, how was it? Seven minutes in heaven live up to the hype?" someone teased. Luca smirked, his eyes glazed with satisfaction. "Better. I didn't want to leave."

Five years ago, Mannie accidentally had a night with a man. In result, she was pregnant with 8 children! When she thought she was going to raise the 8 babies alone, she met him again... That man, or should she say the Alpha, who took her first time five years ago... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He stepped closer, hands in his coat pockets. “I think I know you.” “I don’t think so,” I said, annoyed. “You were at a hotel five years ago.” I blinked. “Excuse me?” He stared at me like I was supposed to react. “It was raining. You were wearing a maid’s uniform.” I took a step back. “Are you for real right now?” “You don’t remember?” I laughed dryly. “I’ve worked in hotels, cleaned rooms, mopped floors, but I don’t remember you.” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t remember anything?” I shook my head. “Look, I don’t know what fantasy you’re living in, but I’m not part of it.” “I’m not guessing,” he said softly. “It was you.” “Wow,” I muttered. “Okay, so let me guess. You walk up to women, tell them you had a special night five years ago, and hope they fall for it?” “No,” he said firmly. “You feel... familiar.” “And you feel insane,” I snapped. “Why are you even following me?” “I just thought maybe we had a connection—” “No,” I cut him off. “You saw me on stage and thought I’d be an easy target. That’s all this is. Another rich man thinking he can throw out a few charming lines and get what he wants.”