Taming The Tycoon Novels & Stories

Ty always amazes me with the way he goes from ruthless Gamma to a big teddy bear with his kids and his mates, he walks over kisses me, and says, "What's for lunch?" I said, "You should have told me you were coming here for lunch," but I would still feed my man and he walked up behind me, grabbed my ass, and linked, "This lunch is way better." I said, "Not a chance, you will knot me again," and he smiled, I looked around to see Tank, and Meadow came forward and said, "I am done having pups," and he backed off with his hands in the air smiling giving Ty control. I kissed him and he said, "I will pull out, promise," and I looked at him so he knew I was not falling for that again, not believing

Never asked him to forget. Felix worked like a shadow — cleaning, fixing, moving in silence. Loyal in ways words couldn’t explain. Ty had been trouble. Big, brash, always spoiling for a fight. He’d been kicked out of two shelters and arrested twice for assault before eighteen. The Boss didn’t just take him in — he tamed him. Taught him when to hit, when to wait, when silence hurt more than fists. Ty still had a temper. But it burned cold now. Controlled and dangerous.

“So shameless! You don’t even pay high taxes like we do.” I gritted my teeth. “Are you done?” “No! We’re not done! We’re just starting!” They started kicking my phone and bag. Like children throwing tantrums. “Stop it!” We’re already stealing attention, but I guess they won’t just stop. “I said, stop it! I will let this slide—’ “You’ll let this slide?” They looked angrier now. “How dare you talk like that? Just because you succeeded in seducing the wealthiest man in this country doesn’t mean you can act like you’re on our level.”

Hobby? "Tyler," I murmured, crushing the parchment in my fist. "You think you know me. You think you can predict me. But you've made a mistake." "You've made the mistake of underestimating me. And when I'm done—when I've conquered them all—you'll understand." The smile that curved my lips was dangerous and hungry. "You'll understand that I'm not a pup chasing fights. I'm a wolf building an empire. And empires are built on blood."

My presence anywhere elicited such emotions from anyone. “Where is Tyron?” The name belonged to the Rogue who owned the club and the one I had come there for. Tyron had been a part of Alpha Tauren’s pack. One of his warrior wolves who had allegedly being in love with one of the Omegas in Alpha Tauren’s harem. He was caught fooling around with her and was beaten to a pulp before he was locked up and left to starve.

Tyger casually said, "Young man, if you have the skills, race me. If you win, I'll let you all go. If you lose, these two women will become my spoils of war." Tyger remembered when he was young, he watched a movie where the main character, with his incredible motorcycle skills, defeated the villain and won over the villain's woman. The villain's woman fell deeply in love with the main character. Tyger believed that this method would surely make a simple woman like Jean and Fiona fall for it.

The cabin, usually a place of ultimate luxury, felt like a pressurized glass coffin. Killian sat in the deep leather armchair, his eyes fixed on the digital recreation of his family tree glowing on the wall-mounted screen. He hadn't spoken since they left the South London workshop. The "Ice Tycoon" hadn't just returned; he had solidified into something harder, colder, and far more brittle.

I acknowledge my mistakes and am genuinely trying to correct them, but I need her to allow me to do so. In the car, feeling terrible for storming out of my wife's house abruptly, I reflect on our complicated relationship. I managed to completely divert Andrew Smith from her path by suggesting a partnership with Joel Smith. Using my contacts in the business world, the newspaper owner sent his son for negotiations in various cities in Britain, keeping him busy with million-dollar deals.

Michael had fulfilled that wish. Ticked. Second on the list was to be fucked mercilessly from behind, with series of smacks to accompany the bounce of her ass. She imaged her nipples pinched and sucked by a man worthy of her, while ramming inside her missionary style. For some reasons, Tyrone didn't fit into that category, and she was grateful she listened to her inner voice. He was lean and of average height. Michael was the kind of man that knew his way around a woman's body. He had the physique of a Greek god, gifted with adroit skills characteristic of a playboy.