Vox X Valentino Novelas e Histórias

My cock has never felt so swollen, and my precious mate has never looked so damn tempting. The ground rumbles as unmated wolves stomp closer, ready to taste and take what belongs to me – just the thought of it makes me want to kill them all. “Brother, get her the hell out of here!” Grayson growls. As he reaches out to pass Valerie to me, I throw him across the field on instinct – no one touches her but me! “You idiot! She’ll fuck any male who touches her, and Jaxson will kill anyone who thinks they can!” Sophia explains, but I pay her no attention and snatch Valerie off the ground. The second my hand touches her, fire sears through my blood.

I speak while I respond to the text with my location. “After all,” says Valentina, “no one buys a car for a hundred and fifty thousand euros if they don't love the person, they are giving it to.” I choke on Valentina's comment, and the two bitches laugh at me. Fuck, how much is that in dollars?

Execution will be an entirely different battle. Just as I start mentally mapping out the structure, the sharp screech of tires pierces the air. I turn my head slightly, watching as an Aston Martin Superleggera comes to a smooth halt just a few feet away. And there he is. Ciaran Valente. He steps out of the sleek car, his movements unhurried. No blazer today. Just a dark shirt with the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled up as if he’s been doing actual manual labor. His dark hair is slightly tousled, strands falling onto his forehead.

Asher made an excuse, and it made Valencia feel bad. "Hmph! Reason!" Valencia replied sarcastically. "Valencia Addison. Although you use the Addison surname, I know you are not one of the members of that Family, and I understand your desire to find your true identity. I will help you with that." Vallen's heart stopped beating for a moment. He then looked at Asher with a sharp gaze. 'Asher knows everything? I knew he wasn't an ordinary person.'

The Valenti estate stood north of the city behind iron gates and old trees. When I stepped out of the car, my father was waiting at the top of the marble stairs. Lorenzo Valenti had aged in eight years, but not softened. His hair was silver at the temples, his black suit immaculate, his eyes the same dark gray that used to make grown men choose honesty. I stopped at the bottom step. "Papa." For one long second, neither of us moved.

In my right hand, a very expensive bottle of champagne, his favourite as well, which, I chuckled to myself, left me a little broke. I walked down the hallway of Montague tech, and then pressed the elevator button that would take me to the floor of my boyfriend's office. Today was Valentine's Day and I was going to propose to my boyfriend of three years. I know he was the one that was traditionally meant to propose to me, but he was pretty indecisive, and we had soulmate energy. Why wait any longer when we could tie the knot now? And knowing him, he'd be appreciative that I actually put my foot first, he'd say yes. We were too good together. I could feel it in my bones.

"I've been thinking about you all day." What followed was a conversation so explicit that Selena had to fight the urge to open the car door and throw herself onto the freeway. Xavier described in graphic detail what he planned to do with this Valentina later that night, his eyes occasionally flickering to Selena to gauge her reaction. Selena kept her expression blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her disgust. She had long ago learned that Xavier thrived on causing discomfort, on asserting his dominance in ways both large and small. This was merely another power play in their ongoing battle of wills.

“Even without the mansion and the fancy cars?” “Especially without those.” Valentina looped her arms around his neck. “Turns out I prefer motorcycles and men who know how to use a wrench.” His laugh rumbled through his chest as he lowered his head to kiss her. Valentina melted into it, still marveling at the ease between them, at how quickly they’d found their rhythm. The sound of a throat clearing broke them apart. Axel stood in the doorway, amusement written across his face. “Sorry to interrupt the romance, but we’ve got a customer waiting on an estimate, boss.”

The line rang twice. “Dr. Galante,” a calm, painfully alert voice answered through the speakers. “Good evening. I assume this is not a medical consultation.” “It’s an excision, Valerio,” I replied evenly as I reversed out of the parking space. “You saw the photograph.” Valerio Rossi was the Galante family’s premier crisis manager. He did not manage scandals so much as erase them from existence. “I did,” Valerio replied, the rapid clicking of computer keys sounding faintly in the background. “Very flattering lighting for the Porsche. The woman, however, remains unidentified in the initial reports. Several tabloids are currently crowdsourcing her identity online.”