Silly Synonym Positive Novels & Stories

Valentina whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re two? Like two different men?” Massimo stepped closer with a dark smirk. “Took you long enough, little queen.” Marcello spoke in a low, slow voice. “Every night you screamed for ‘him’… it was us. Switching. Sharing.” Valentina’s eyes widened. “The bruises… the whispers… two different men?” Massimo grabbed her wrist firmly. “One hard, one slow. Both filling you. Both owning you.” Marcello’s fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back. “You came harder knowing deep down, didn’t you?” Valentina breathed shakily. “You monsters.” Massimo pressed his chest against her and moved slowly. “Your monsters. Say it.” Marcello brushed his lips against her neck. “Say you want both of us again. Right here. Right now.” Valentina’s thighs clenched. “I want both of you.” Massimo’s dark smirk deepened. “Good girl. Spread for your kings.” Valentina Ferraro was the invisible outcast until her jealous sister drugged her and delivered her straight to the Caruso twins. Massimo and Marcello, ruthless mafia kings, identical in looks and cruelty. They have watched her for months. Obsessed. Waiting. When scandalous photos explode across Italy, her father disowns her. The twins claim her as payment. Now she is their contract wife in a cliffside villa. One rule: every day she spreads for them until she carries their heir. Massimo takes her hard. Marcello takes her slow. They mark her. Fill her. Own her. But the twins knew she was drugged that first night… and they did not stop. Secrets bleed. Revenge burns. A rival strikes. When the real pregnancy test turns positive, the monsters kneel. From captive to queen, Valentina rises. In Naples’ shadows, she is no longer forgotten. She is bred. She is claimed. She is theirs.

The day the Thorne family announced our engagement, the New York underworld let out a collective sigh of relief. Because I was set to marry Daemon, the most straitlaced Don in the city, which meant I could no longer be the wild rose who tore up the racetrack. But I resisted with every fiber of my being, finding creative ways to test his limits. During his ten-million-dollar card game with a rival family's Capo, my hand "slipped" and sent a bottle of 1945 Romanee-Conti spilling across the ancient map that outlined their territories, sabotaging the entire negotiation. Daemon, however, just slowly and deliberately wiped the wine from the back of his hand. He didn't even frown as he cleaned up my mess. Then I "accidentally" let my spirited Arabian stallion loose in his immaculately manicured courtyard. The beast went wild, trampling his prize-winning rose garden into mud. But he arrived with his private doctor in tow, crouching before me as his long fingers gently traced the scratch on my arm. "Did the beast hurt you?" Just that one question, and my heart melted completely. "Daemon, I can marry you. But before that, has there ever been another woman who owned your heart?" "I don't share my man. Not in any way." He pointed to his heart, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes. "Before you, this was empty." After we married, the word on the street in New York's circles of power was this: If you angered Don Thorne, his Donna might plead your case. But if you angered the Donna, you were on your own. Even I began to believe that Daemon, that mountain of ice, would eventually melt for me. Until the day I went to find him, clutching a positive pregnancy test, bursting with joy. Only to hear the family's Consigliere ask him, from the top-floor study, what the best lie he'd ever told was. Daemon chuckled and said casually, "She asked me if anyone had my heart before her." "I told her no."

My CEO wife, Cassandra Solis, has high hopes for me. In fact, she has drafted an elite training program for me. I have to work over 20 hours a day, finish every meal within 3 minutes, and spend no more than a minute in the restroom. "Honey, elites must achieve what normal people can't. Only when you become a true elite can I entrust the company to you." I can feel the major responsibility weighing down on my shoulders. Every day, I devote everything I have to work. Five years later, I've successfully taken the company public. I've also completed Cassandra's hardcore training program. But at the end-of-the-year gala, Cassandra hands over the position of the Executive Vice President—the same one that she's promised to me—to her newly-recruited assistant. Upon noticing my displeasure, Cassandra explains to me smilingly while holding a bouquet of flowers, "Oh, silly you! Having a completely useless boss is the final trial I've set up for you! Once you've completed this trial, I can finally hand the company to you!" But lines of text suddenly flash across my vision. "Oh, poor Harvey! He still has no idea that Cassandra has been training him just so he can earn more money in order to clear off Xavier's debt! Not only that, but she also steals the position Harvey has been longing for and gives it to Xavier! Cassandra really has crossed a line this time!" "You're being too dramatic. Cassandra is just paying Xavier back for his benevolence. She feels guilty for what she's done to Harvey, you know. Once she's done paying back her debt to Xavier, she'll pay attention to Harvey once again and live happily ever after with him." I'm stunned by what I see. Is this the actual purpose behind the elite training program? I'm about to pull out the terminal cancer diagnosis report, but I quickly stuff it back into my pocket. It's a shame that I'm about to die. I suppose that I can't live long enough to see that day.