Trembled Definition Novels & Stories

"Fuck, you're so tight for me," Ryder growled against my ear, his hips slamming forward in a deep, punishing thrust that made my back arch off the bed. I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled me completely, stretching me. "Harder... please..." He pinned my wrists above my head with one large hand, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. "You want it rough, baby? Then beg for it properly." My body trembled under him, slick and desperate. The words spilled out before I could stop them. "Please... Daddy... fuck me harder." A dark, satisfied rumble vibrated through his chest. He leaned down, teeth grazing my neck, voice low and filthy. "Good girl. Come all over Daddy's cock. Show me how much you need this.” *** On my wedding day, I caught my fiancé Dylan Voss and my step-sister Helene fucking each other in a room. Heartbroken and humiliated, I walked away from the altar. That's when Ryder Hawthorne—Dylan's powerful, ruthless stepfather—found me. He carried me to his penthouse, and in a haze of rage and need, I seduced him. We fucked like it was war: rough, and desperate. When Dylan walked in and saw me riding his stepdad—he felt betrayed and stormed out. I felt satisfied and vindicated. It was supposed to be one night. We were never supposed to see each other again. Until I desperately took a job at Hawthorne Prosperity Group to save my dying grandmother…and discovered Ryder was my new boss. One rough, forbidden encounter in his office, and he offered me to be his personal slut, in return he'd pay Gran's bills. I had no choice and accepted. Payback became obsession. My ex wants me back, but Ryder refuses to let go. Now I’m caught between revenge and surrender.

I had just given birth when the country sent me on a secret mission that kept me undercover for seven years. When it finally ended, I came home on leave. I was eager to see my husband and children, whom I had missed every single day. However, the moment my car stopped at the gate, I saw my two children—my most precious treasures—being shoved down the steps by a woman. They tumbled hard, and they were covered in bruises. The next second, three snarling wolfhounds were released from the house, and they pounced on the children with bared teeth. Fury surged through me, and I charged forward. I got the dogs away with a few swift kicks and punches. Amid the animals’ pitiful howls, my ten-year-old son instinctively shielded his sister. His young face was pale with fear. Meanwhile, my eight-year-old daughter snapped out of her daze and trembled as she urged me to leave. “Miss, run! You hurt her dogs, and if Dad finds out, he won’t let you get away with it!” I forced down my anger and gently said, “She set the dogs on you first. Even if your dad were here, he’d protect you just like I did.” I did not expect this to make their eyes instantly fill with tears. Alarmed, I was about to ask what was wrong when a woman’s arrogant voice rang out. “You vagrant! I have a close relationship with Martin Gray, and I’m also the lady of the Gray family! “You and these two brats who dirtied my house aren’t leaving in one piece today!” I froze for a second before I took a deep breath and called my husband. “Martin, who’s this woman proclaiming to be the lady of the Gray family? Where did she come from? You’d better have a good explanation for this. And tell me, when did the house I left for John and Katy get a new owner?”

A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son. The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints. Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests." I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own. When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen. My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes. Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?" The crowd quickly chimed in. "Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty." "Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?" "Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them." Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother." But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now." His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over." At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"