𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽，"𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾" 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌，𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽，"𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍" 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊!𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 x 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 𝐌𝐂𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋

"Stop apologising." So I did. Then I apologised for stopping. I'm the girl who eats lunch alone and tells herself she chose it. A girl who's never been kissed, who hides behind books and oversized jumpers and a smile that says please don't look at me. Malakai Vashko looks at me anyway. Six foot seven, Russian, with knuckles that never heal and eyes the colour of something cold and far away. He fights men twice his size for money and walks out of rooms without explaining himself to anyone, and his enemies have learned not to come for him. They come for the people standing next to him instead. He told me he didn't need a friend, and to stop looking at him like he might be one. I should have listened. But I'd already caught him trying to buy flowers for someone who couldn't receive them anymore, and something in me understood him before my brain caught up. He hides with silence and fists. I hide with silence and books. I didn't fix him and he didn't save me, but the night I grabbed an underground boxer by the hoodie outside a corner shop and told him to stop, something started that neither of us knew how to end. "I don't do this," he told me. "I don't let people in." He still doesn't smile. But he stayed. ------------------ ⚠️ Mature themes: violence, dark content. No explicit sexual content.

I don't do one night stands. I don't wake up in strangers' beds. I don't creep out of mansions at nine in the morning with my heels in my hand. And I definitely don't lose entire nights to alcohol and end up naked next to a man whose name I don't know. Except I did. All of it. **** "Do you have a boyfriend. A fiancé. A husband." "No." "Good." Just that. Good. Like it was information he'd needed and now had. **** Syrus King is dangerous, possessive, and used to getting exactly what he wants. I was supposed to be a mistake. A blackout. A bad decision. A name I'd never have to say out loud. But he found me. And he already knew things about me I'd never told anyone. **** ⚠️ Mature themes: violence, dark content. No explicit sexual content.

"Don't touch me" He said through gritted teeth, "I don't know what I'll do if you touch me" My heart dropped. "I don't want to see you like this" I frowned and hesitantly tried to touch his shoulder, but he grabbed my hand tightly but gently. "Fuck it" He murmured as he held my jaw and pressed his lips on mine. (The guy is 22 and the girl is 17 a few months away from 18. If you're bothered by that please don't read it.)

"He thought I was his fiance when he pushed me in his bed". She was just the quiet florist girl-delivering roses, not trouble. But when she stepped into the mansion with that bouquet, he mistook her for his runaway fiancée. And when the city's most feared mafia lord makes a mistake... he never lets it go. But was she really mute or pretending, it's still a mystery.

The Queen didn't rush her. She simply stood, close enough that the assistant felt her attention like a hand tightening around her throat. "You keep saying he's dangerous," the Queen said calmly. "It doesn't scare me." Her fingers closed around the assistant's wrist, pressing it flat against the desk. "Do you know what he does?" "I... this is a mistake," the assistant whispered, trembling. "A mistake is thinking your body lies to me," the Queen said. Her grip tightened command, not pain. "Look at you," she continued. "Shaking. Pulse frantic. Mouth opening like you're about to beg." "I belong to him," the assistant stammered. "No," the Queen said softly. "You were assigned to him." Her free hand moved to the assistant's throat not choking, just claiming. "Men like him confuse ownership with fear. I don't." Her thumb pressed. The assistant gasped. "I don't take what doesn't respond. And you-" Her lips brushed the ear. "-are responding beautifully." "I can't... if he finds out-" "He will. Eventually," the Queen interrupted. Her fingers moved lower. "That you weren't stolen. That you walked." She kissed her hard, claiming, silencing protest. Dominance. Erasing the shadow of him. "You're not innocent," the Queen murmured. "You're starving. I don't save women like you. I ruin them for every cage they've ever known." "Tell me to stop," she said. Stop. The word hovered. It never came. The Queen smiled slow, victorious. "Once I touch you, he doesn't get you back. Not loyalty. Not fear. Not nights. You don't belong to me. But you will never belong to him again." The door stayed closed. The assistant let herself fall.

Sophia DeLuca has spent years in the shadow of her family's feud with the Martinezes, but when she goes undercover at a nightclub to gather intel on the rival family, she finds herself drawn to the powerful and enigmatic Rosa Martinez. What begins as a mission of espionage soon becomes a dangerous game of desire and betrayal, where passion blurs the line between enemy and ally. As the rivalry escalates and loyalties are tested, Sophia must choose between family loyalty and the woman who has ignited a fire within her that cannot be extinguished. Will she stay true to her bloodline, or will love to lead her down a path of irreversible consequences?

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.....

A taste of melanin. Short scenes with black women and men of all races.

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