"You're sick. You need help!" I tilt my head, smiling while she panics over the blood on her hands. "I don't need help." A soft, manic laugh slips out. "I need you." She tells me to stay still. "If I die," I murmur, watching her eyes fill with fear, "it's on you, princess. So don't let me die." I smile wider. "Talk to me."

I cupped her face, planting a soft kiss on her beautiful lips. "Don't ever run from me, baby," I said softly, letting my thumb trace her jaw. "I love the chase." Her jaw tightened, her hands coming up to try and move mine. "Stop calling me baby, Ezra," she snapped, eyes flashing. I couldn't help but grin, dropping my voice to something low and dark. "Ohhh, now my baby has a problem with me calling her baby?" She shot me a glare, but I just tucked her hair behind her ear, pressing another kiss to her lips-gentler this time, lingering. "You don't get to tell me what to call you, baby." I leaned in closer, brushing my nose against hers. "You're whatever the fuck I call you."

The gorgeous and sweet, Asha Reynolds, just wants a happy and fun life with no drama, heartache, or pain. Which is hard to avoid when that's all life seems to give her. Soon, her troubles become too real when she's wanted by the highly feared and powerful Stone Murello... who has some secrets of his own.

Take a military father and a carefree mother...you get Zena Weston; a beautiful, don't back down, around the way girl with a heart of gold. Then her heart is put to the test when she falls for Julien Laurent...genius and borderline psycho.

One wants to be good, One prefers a mess and horrid screams, The other has refined taste and prefers to savour all moments with any victim, And one sets his eyes on an unsuspecting pair of bamboo brown eyes. However, they all agree on one thing; She was theirs...all theirs. Her name could have been Ivy, but she was no poison Only sweet; their sweet, sweet Ivy

In the shadow of the mountains, Sofì meets Davide a man whose rough hands, dark eyes, and possessive touch leave her trembling . "I own you," he growls, voice low and rough, eyes dark with intent. "Not him. Me."Between stolen glances, fiery arguments, and moments of raw passion, she's drawn to him in ways she doesn't fully understand-but every time he looks at her, Sofì feels both fear and exhilaration.

The hurricane didn't just take my parents it took my voice. I was Grace Torres, Orlando's fiercest ballerina. Now, I'm the Crestwood family's 17-year-old charity case, a quiet, timid orphan clutching my mother's rosary. They gave me a mansion, a new life, and a spot at their elite ballet academy. But they also gave me him. Victor Crestwood. 20-years-old, heir to their marine empire, and my new adoptive brother. He's cold, tattooed, and intimidating, and he watches me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. He's the charming, perfect son in public. In private, he's determined to find my breaking point. He just doesn't realize that the more he pushes, the more he's awakening the fire he's so desperate to claim.

His golden eyes stared down at my tear-filled eyes with an evil smile plastered on his face. He leaned down by my ears, and a shiver ran down my spine feeling his lips brushing against my ear lobe, "If I want to fuck you, then I will. You can't do shit to stop me. You're mine." My body shook as sobs racked through me because I knew his words were the truth.