Touch My Son Touch Your Death Novels & Stories

"T-touch me. Do it. Please." I pinch her nipple. Gardenia arches her back, groaning low in her throat, and then I'm cupping her breast, kneading it and weighing it in my palm. Fuck. One touch won't be enough. One taste won't be enough. Any foolish notion I had that this could happen just once, that we could simply get it out of our systems–it melts away into the heated air.

The second scene: his right-hand man, Paul, tied to a railroad track, the sound of an approaching train growing louder. Paul screamed in despair, "Marco! You bastard! You got us all killed!" The third scene: his cleaner, Vincent, being thrown into an industrial meat grinder as the machine slowly started up… The phone slipped from his numb fingers. His entire body trembled. "No… no… this isn't real…" The video kept playing. One after another, all of his key men. Some buried alive, some dismembered, some thrown into vats of acid… Each death was more brutal than the last.

Then, he tilted my neck to let the water wash it out. "You looked wrecked from practice, Char." "Mrs Anders almost killed us today." I hummed, closing my eyes as he moved to my neck, and shoulders. His touch was firm, knowing every inch of my body. His hands squeezed my tits harder than necessary, making me gasp as I felt my peaks harden. "Easy there, Luc." I laughed uneasily, ignoring the way my body hummed. He smirked, voice coming out rough. "Just making sure you're squeaky clean."

“Touch my son, and I’ll kill you this time.” Tristan crouches to Mom’s level, hands on his knees, with a mocking grin. Sweat glistens on Mom's brow. “I’m not scared of you.” “I never said you were,” Tristan chuckles, a low, dark glissando, turning Mom’s face blood-red. “Tell me, Delinda. Did you sell me out because I killed your husband….” His attention snaps to me. “Or because I fucked your son harder than you?”

Emotion surged up, thick and messy. Grief for the versions of us that had died. Relief for the ones that hadn’t. Gratitude that we’d both remember the same war, the same fragile truce, the same stupid in‑jokes the Game had never quite managed to twist into weapons. My fingers slipped from the doorknob. My hand hung there, inches from his chest, suddenly empty. I didn’t know if I was allowed to touch him now. If he’d flinch. If *I* would.

And I stayed exactly where I was, hands braced on the counter, breathing carefully through my nose. I didn't trust myself around Carol anymore. Didn't trust what I might do or say if I had to look at her again tonight, had to smell her perfume, had to see that flush on her cheeks and know exactly what had put it there. My dick was still hard. Painfully, insistently hard. It had been hard since the moment I'd realized what she was doing under that table, and it showed no signs of softening. I should be disgusted. Should be horrified that my daughter's nineteen-year-old friend had touched herself at my dinner table, that she'd been so bold, so reckless, so desperate for me that she couldn't wa

“Bull. Indifferent here. Got a hookup lined up anyway.” “Hookup?” Roan eyed him skeptically, prompting an eye roll. “Hookup. Fling. Same diff.” “It’s pota—whatever. Your call, kid,” Roan conceded. “Wrap it if you’re tapping.” “Naturally, pops,” Kingsley grinned impishly, winking though Roan’s focus stayed road-bound. “Dumbass.” “You teed it up!”

“She’s restricted.” “That wasn’t the question.” “You need to speak to Alpha Killian.” “Also not the question.” I took a step forward. He didn’t move his arm, so I looked at it again. “Do you want to keep that?” His hand came up and landed flat on my chest. I looked down at it. Then back up at him. “You touched me.” “Back up.” “You actually fucking touched me.” *Kill.* “Bit dramatic.” *Hand first.* “See, this is why you don’t get executive authority.”

My nipples tightened against the thin fabric of my tank top. “Liar.” One large hand slid under my tank top, cupping my breast and pinching the nipple lightly. I gasped, arching into his touch. “You’ve been wet for me since the kitchen this morning. I could smell it on you.” His other hand slipped into my shorts, fingers finding me already slick and aching. He stroked through my folds slowly, teasing my clit until my knees weakened. “Marcus… we shouldn’t..” “Call me Daddy when we’re alone,” he

“No Father wants to find out his daughter danced— in a bar banned for all women by the way— on a table seductively after they return from a run.” “Then yell and get it over with—” A shot rang. Not to the sky but right next to me. I didn’t flinch. Instead, I raised the gun and pointed at his head. “We’ve established my shot is better than yours. Wanna risk it?” He lowered his. “You’re so fucking cocky.” I did the same. “What the fuck do you—?” “I’ll kill Decker if he touches you.” He cut in then shrugged. “To be frank, anyone who touches here on this land will die. That’s fact. I’m not gonna be ashamed about that.”