He came for the debt. He stayed to claim her soul. Viktor Volkov rules Moscow's underworld with an iron fist and ice in his veins. As pakhan of the most feared Bratva syndicate, he's used to people paying what they owe - in blood, money, or broken bones. When Viola Isley's brother Liam steals two million rubles and disappears like the spineless coward he is, Viktor doesn't waste time chasing a ghost. He goes straight for what's left behind: her. Viola never signed up for her brother's mistakes. She's just trying to survive - long shifts at the café, cramped apartment in a crumbling Soviet block, nights alone with nothing but her thoughts and the endless Moscow snow. She doesn't know that for weeks, a predator has been watching her every move. Tracking her phone. Hacking her laptop camera. Sitting in the shadows outside her window while she showers, while she sleeps, while she touches herself and whispers into the dark like she's begging for someone to hear. And Viktor hears everything. He knows the exact way she takes her coffee (black, two sugars). He knows the route she takes on the metro every morning at 7:15 sharp. He knows the soft little gasps she makes when she comes on Thursdays, fingers buried deep, back arched against the bathroom tiles. He's memorized it all, jerked off to it in the back of his Maybach more times than he can count, and now the obsession has burned away whatever patience he had left.....

Close your eyes. Breathe in. Feel the air turn thick, heavy with cigar smoke and expensive cologne. You can almost taste the whiskey on his tongue, can't you? General Marcus "Reign" Blackwell is power wrapped in ink and royal blood. He commands armies, breaks enemies, and fucks whoever he wants-until he sees *her*. Dr. Aaliyah Monroe. Quiet. Brilliant. Curvy African-American goddess who codes weapons in the dark. Shy smiles. Soft voice. Vanilla skin that glows under fluorescent lights. One breath of her scent and the untouchable general unravels. He dreams of her every night. Strokes himself raw imagining her thighs wrapped around him. Watches her sway to R&B in her apartment through shadows he shouldn't cross. Calls her *dove*, *tiny momma*, *my wife*-long before she ever says yes. She thinks it's temporary. He knows it's forever. He kneels for her. Begs for her. Cries for her. Marks himself with her initials while she sleeps. And when she finally rides him-slow, commanding, glasses slipping down her nose-he sobs her name like prayer. This isn't love. This is obsession carved into worship. This is a man who would burn the world just to hear her giggle and boop his nose. But when the first fight comes... When she needs space and he needs her closer than air... Will his dove fly away?

He's the Devil of Milan. She hacked her way into his empire. Now he owns her silence maybe even her soul. Sienna Gonzales never meant to trespass into a criminal's digital vault. But one wrong code and she's dragged into the bloodstained world of Enzo Alvarez the most feared mafia boss . He should have ended her. Instead, he watches her. Protects her. Obsesses over her. Now she's locked in his estate, working for the man everyone calls a monster... while he unravels every piece of her past and rebuilds her future in his image. But some devils don't want redemption. They want possession. "You don't run from me, Angel. You stay. Even if it kills us both." Dark. Addictive. Obsessive.

♚ ♛ ❝Beloved. My beast growled. I quickly sprinted in the scent's direction impatiently to see my beautiful beloved and Queen. The scent lead me to a cell that is used for werewolves, silver bars, wolf bane enhanced smoke machine etc. I looked inside to see a small petite girl sitting curled up against a man, a sudden possessiveness came over me as I watched him hold her close. I sniffed the air again to calm down smelling a Rogue wolf scent mixed within, I suddenly remember the two Rogue wolves that trespassed onto my land last night. My Beloved is a werewolf.❞ ♚ ♛ Copyright © 2019-2020 ♚ ♛ COMPLETED ♚ ♛ Note: This book will be thoroughly edited later on, so consider this a first draft.

On his planet, women don't choose, they're chosen. When a male claims a life partner, it is final. Permanent. Absolute. Belle, a university student, travels to this uncharted world for research. But she's unprepared for Thraxos, the towering, pale-blue warrior who rules with unchallenged strength and sees her as the one thing he's been missing. He's never chosen a life partner. Never needed one. Until her. But Thraxos doesn't love the way humans do. His affection is possession. His protection is control. And Belle's fire only draws him closer. Now, caught in a place where her voice means little and her body is his to claim, Belle must decide: resist the darkness, or surrender to the one male she was never meant to survive.

"You're here," she murmured, voice steady. "Tell me two things you can see." His throat worked. "The tub," he managed, voice rough. "You." "Good," she said. "Now, two things you can hear." "The shower," he exhaled. "Your voice." "Two things you can feel." "The water." His grip tightened on her hand. "You." "That's good," she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. Sawyer Jones lives in a world of chaos-underground fights, illegal races, and the constant war inside his own head. His autism makes the world too loud, too bright, too much. Violence is the only thing that quiets the noise. Until Lia. Soft-spoken but relentless, she meets him in the tub in a party and refuses to leave. She steadies him when the rage takes over, pulls him back when he's drowning. But Sawyer knows better than to believe in peace. In his world, nothing good lasts. And the deeper Lia gets, the more he realizes-he might be her greatest danger yet. PLS GIVE IT A TRY 🌸🌸

I froze. A man was slumped against the graffiti-covered brick wall, blood blooming across his side. His white shirt was soaked through, and there was a gun just inches from his open hand. My heart slammed against my ribs. Run, Skye. You should run. But I didn't. Instead, I dropped my bag and took a cautious step closer. His head lifted. Piercing, icy blue eyes met mine, sharp even through the haze of pain. His face was all sharp edges and shadowed scruff, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. His accent was thick and rough, like broken glass. "Leave." I shook my head slowly. "You're bleeding. Bad." "Not your concern." His voice was lethal, but he flinched hard when he tried to move. "You're gonna die out here," I whispered, kneeling beside him. My hands trembled as I pressed a napkin from my apron against his side. "I'm studying to be a nurse. Let me help." He stared at me like I was something he couldn't comprehend. A stranger. A softness he didn't trust. Then his hand, heavy and warm, clamped around my wrist-not rough, but firm. "What's your name?" he rasped. "...Skye." A beat passed. Then another. "I am Mikhail." His eyes darkened. "And you shouldn't have found me."

Graham's a 30-year-old socially awkward nerd - a virgin with a head full of fantasies and a heart full of nerves. He's got all the kinks he's scared to try, all the desires he's never dared to explore. Marley's 25, plus-size, quiet but confident - the kind of woman who sees the real him, the messy, shy, freaky parts he hides from the world. When Marley starts to peel back Graham's layers, she unlocks more than just his secrets - she awakens a fire neither of them expected. From stolen kisses in the bookstore aisles to nights filled with whispered praise and raw discovery, they're about to rewrite what love and pleasure look like.

"What are you?" the older man questioned, his voice a chilling blend of authority and amusement, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Your wife," I replied softly, my tone laced with the submission he seemed to crave. "No," he murmured, his lips brushing mine, the words a dark caress that sent shivers through me. "You are my doll, milaya." He towered over me, his intimidating presence both suffocating and intoxicating. The nickname, spoken in that deep, accented voice, wrapped around me like a chain I couldn't help but love. "You are the only woman who is allowed to warm my bed at night," he said, his voice a dark melody, smooth but unnerving. "The only woman who's allowed to step into my office and bend over my desk, waiting for me to come home so I can fuck you." A cold, low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound as sinister as it was intoxicating, sending shivers down my spine. ♡ Dimitri Mikhailov, the russian mobster. His presence filled the room like a storm. He didn't have to move or speak to dominate the room. Broad-shouldered and imposing, his scarred face told a thousand stories that he'd never waste words on. He was my husband and I was his precious doll.

He's obsessed, insane even. He has to know her, watch her, touch her. She's his, and nothing will stop him. But she's smarter than he thinks.. ••• "You call me if he bothers you ever again, yeah?" "It's really nothing I-" he cuts me off "You'll call me." He says firmer "okay?" "Okay" I say softly, looking up at him. He's so fucking close to me. We just stand there for a moment and I'm having trouble remembering how to breathe. He leans closer, gently tilting my head up so that my eyes stay on him. "Good girl"