These Hollow Vows Smut Novelas e Histórias

, those were her exact words. Meanwhile, I sat with my legs outstretched, my robe pulled up, and my dick out. I rubbed my pre-cum over the head, but it wasn’t enough lubrication. Without a second thought, I grabbed the jar of holy oil I had carried with me to bless, uncorked it with one hand, and poured it directly over myself. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. Candy didn’t stop talking. I came hard into my hands right as she described how fast she was going to ride me. My breathing was ragged, my head completely disoriented, when I finally asked, “Are you done confessing your sins for the week, Candy?”

I arched off the couch, back bowing, free hand twisting my nipple harder. “Oh god,” I whispered, voice breaking. The actress on TV climaxed with a dramatic cry, but mine built slower, more real. Waves starting in my core, rippling out. I imagined their voices overlapping. Noah growling, “Do it.” Steve’s low, “Good girl.” Josh’s rough, “Come for us again.”

The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the empty church, profane and perfect. "Harder," she demanded. "Make me feel every broken promise." He angled deeper, grinding against her clit with every plunge. His hand found her throat—not choking, just holding, possessive. She clenched around him, milking his cock, eyes rolling back. "Come inside me," she begged. "Fill your sinner. Mark me as yours." The words undid him. He slammed home one final time, cock pulsing as he emptied into her—hot, thick ropes painting her walls. She shattered again, cunt spasming, nails drawing blood down his shoulders as she wailed his name like a hymn.

I echoed them—breathless, wet between my legs already. “I vow… to be pinned, to be fucked raw, to take your seed and swell for you. I’m yours… to wreck and worship.” Valentino last. Gentler grip, but his eyes were molten. Blood dripped slow as he spoke. “I vow, little rabbit, to tease that sweet pussy until you’re crying for release. To slide into you slow while my brothers watch—then hard while they join. To bind our souls so tight your orgasms echo in my chest. Heaven between your thighs, hell if you ever try to leave. You’re our forever.”

This was a sacrifice, a necessary evil, a lie I had to live to get my vengeance. Ethan groaned as he thrust faster, his hips were like a powerful, frantic motion. The sounds of skin colliding was making it sound so pleasurable as I moaned, biting his shirt. The sound was not of a woman in love, but of a beast in a cage. He moaned so loud as he dug his fingers in my ass as he thrust so fast. The pain, the pleasure, the hatred, it was all a frantic, beautiful, and terrifying mix.

It is the most sacred, and most painful, way for a werewolf to die. Three years later. "Elara, it's time to rest." The young Alpha's voice was as gentle as a spring breeze. I nodded, taking one last look at the full moon outside my window. I thought to myself: Soul-bound. 'Til death do us part. This time, I was the one who broke our vow. But life goes on. So be it. Let's not meet again... not in the next life.

His cock is thick, very veiny and leaking with precum, and I take it into my mouth like I’ve been starving, running my tongue over it as much as I could with it inside my mouth. But he doesn’t give me time to adjust, he grips my head with his hands and begins to thrust. He's slow for the first five seconds, then faster and harder, and I stay perfectly still on my knees taking it all like his good little bitch. Then I gag, and drool, and spit floods down my lips to my chin. “She’s perfect,” someone says. “She likes being humiliated,” another whispers. I do, and I love it. Gold Mask pulls out, and I gasp for breath, then he slaps his cock across my face.

The seduction bloomed unintentional: humidity making my skin glow, his drunk haze blurring lines, our the steam. He leaned in, nose grazing my hair, inhaling deep. "You smell... fuck, so good." Words accidental, but they ignited. I turned my head, lips brushing his jaw soft, unintended. His hand settled on my waist, fingers splaying over the bare skin where tank met shorts, burning through me. "Jax... we can't. Mia..." But my body arched subtle, traitorous, the ache between my thighs growing insistent. He groaned low, forehead pressing to mine, shifting his hips and there it was, the hard length in his shorts pressing against my hip, thick and unyielding.

The air was damp, moss brushing the stones like velvet. My routine was always the same. Haul water from the well until blisters bubbled across my palm. Scrub dried blood from the holy altar until the sting of it pressed into my knees. Wash linens for the warriors until the sting of vinegar felt like a second skin. The Hollow was built upon ritual and sacrifice, upon old gods and older promises, and it was the servants’ lot to witness and forget. To bear witness and bear silence.

Inside were flowers and a ring. "Be my girlfriend," he said. "If you don’t want to marry me, that's fine. We’ll just stay in love forever." The screen erupted in hearts and gifts. "Shipper fans are losing it! I knew they were real!" "Even if it’s scripted, I’ll take it!" I blinked, confused. Scripted? Then, I touched the ring. It was soft and tasted sweet. It was cake. When I ate it along with the flowers, viewership skyrocketed again.