Romans & histoires Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

Victor pounding deep and hard, hips snapping, balls slapping against her ass. Jade grinding down on Lila’s mouth, fingers pinching her own nipples, moaning loud and shameless. The mirrors reflected everything—Lila bound and writhing, Victor’s muscles flexing with every thrust, Jade riding her face with abandon. Lila came first—muffled screams against Jade’s pussy, body arching off the bed as she clenched around Victor’s cock. Jade followed seconds later, flooding Lila’s mouth with her release, thighs trembling. Victor pulled out, flipped Lila onto her stomach, and entered her again from behind—deeper this angle, brutal. One hand fisted in her hair, the other reaching under to rub her oversen

Diane Volkov's violence is methodical. It's not passionate, it's punitive. Each thrust is a punch, each withdrawal a tearing away. He twists my wrists, bites the skin of my shoulder until it bleeds, turning my body into a silent battlefield. I don't cry. I don't scream. I count the seconds in my head, I take refuge in the cold accounting of horror. I am the marble he's trying to crack. When he finishes his work, with a grunt that sounds more like a groan of anger than a cry of pleasure, he withdraws brutally and gets up from the bed without a glance at me. He puts on his silk robe like armor.

The raw, suffocating aggression radiating off Valeria's small frame was so intense it was literally vibrating the air in the room. I stared at Vespera’s arm, twisted backward at a grotesque, unnatural angle. The bones were completely shattered. Instead of being appalled or horrified by my wife's brutal, unhinged actions, the absolute final threads of my control violently snapped. The magnificent, terrifying sight of her violent dominance sent my inner wolf into a completely intoxicating frenzy. She wasn't a victim. She wasn't a fragile political pawn who needed my protection. She was an apex predator who had just violently claimed her fucking territory.

"Vengeance, retaliation, retribution, revenge are deceitful brothers - vile, beguiling demons promising justifiable compensation to a pained soul for his losses. Yet in truth, they craftily fester away all else of worth remaining." - Richelle E. Goodrich, The Tarishe Curse * * * * Yuri’s eye twitched dangerously as she strode down the hallways of the dormitories of Hati, with a chatterbox, namely Tohya Tanigawa, talking her ear off beside her.

With a flash of nervousness which they got from the attack, they disappeared Moreover, he looked at the dead coyote. Guilt and anger blazed through him. Dante has never been one to condone violence because when triggered, he loses his stability. Most times, he excessively reflects on his privilege but not to the point of causing another person's death. Ever since the incident with Freya that faithful night, he gave up on hurting the weak unless when attacked by one.

This is the only thing that could ease my mind right now, the rain would make my worries go away just for a second so I tried composing myself. I clenched my fist, looked straight and aimed for those Dark Nights. Tonight, the Blood will come out and their flesh will be burned in the rain. I shouted and then there I felt all my bones cracking, feeling the burning sensation all over my body. I am now turning off what I should be, a wolf that is not scared to die for her people. I glared and ran towards the border. I could see them killing our people so I attacked them one by one, leaving no one alive. This is the pay of their actions towards us, feel the wrath of my raging emotions.

"Governments are talking nuclear options. Containment at any cost." Penelope's eyes glowed brighter. "Then we don't contain it. We change it." "How?" Christopher demanded. "The same way we stabilized before – connection. The evolved aren't violent because of power. They're violent because they're alone." "A psychic network?" Sarah understood. "Like what Diana tried?" "But voluntary," Penelope nodded. "We share our stability." "That's suicide," Ashlyn protested. "The strain could kill you." "Better than watching the world burn."

WARNING SIGNS: LANGUAGE THAT IS UNAMBIGUOUS CURSING VIOLENCE, GUN VIOLENCE SELF-INFLICTED HARM BLOOD, DECEASE, and GORE VALENTINA’s POV "I warned you not to do that, yet you went ahead," I growled as I reached for the fork still resting on the countertop. I seized her wrist roughly, pinning her hand down. She struggled in my hold, but I held firm.

A hand-carved instrument of supernatural violence, crafted and perfected for the sole aim of inflicting divine vengeance on the unjust. His gaze was drawn to the stands, where Miranda's slim figure stood out against a sea of black and crimson. Their gazes connected for one timeless, charged breath, and Caleb saw unwavering arrogance and violent entitlement in the reflection. She and he both understood that this night was already theirs by right; the only thing left to do was march into that court and violently seize what was theirs.

They were a kaleidoscope of ruthlessness and brutality, their faces contorted into twisted grins as they watched the dancers gyrate on stage. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat, as the screams of the tortured souls echoed through the room. Vicenta was one of them. Her body was wracked with pain, her feet bleeding and charred as she danced on the fiery blades. Her shrieks echoed through the room, the sickening sizzle of flesh on metal cutting through the heavy air. More than once, she fell to the ground because her legs couldn't carry her anymore, but then, a whip landed on her body, breaking her skin and drawing out more blood.