His Not So Innocent Wife (18+ ONLY)

His Not So Innocent Wife (18+ ONLY)

autumn-touched

4.9
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"Will you let me fuck you?" He asked, his lips getting dangerously close to mine. I closed my eyes in strange pleasure as he pulled me further into him till his arousal was rubbing against my already heated core. "And what if I say no?" I asked in a trembling voice. "Then I'll make you say yes." He smirked. I pushed him away and smirked back at him. "If you want to fuck me then you need to do something." "What?" I unbuttoned my shirt and found his lustful gaze lingering over my breast. He was desperate to touch me, to make me his. Licking my lips, I removed the shirt from my body. "You want this, don't you?" I asked, unclasping my bra. "Y-Yes.." He shuttered, talking a step closer to me. "Marry me."

Chapter 1 INTRODUCTION

EXCREPT-

"Will you let me fuck you?" He asked, his lips getting dangerously close to mine.

I closed my eyes in strange pleasure as he pulled me further into him till his arousal was rubbing against my already heated core.

"And what if I say no?" I asked in a trembling voice.

"Then I'll make you say yes." He smirked.

I pushed him away and smirked back at him. "If you want to fuck me then you need to do something."

"What?"

I unbuttoned my shirt and found his lustful gaze lingering over my breast. He was desperate to touch me, to make me his.

Licking my lips, I removed the shirt from my body. "You want this, don't you?" I asked, unclasping my bra.

"Y-Yes.." He shuttered, talking a step closer to me. His hands went up to feel the skin of my breast.

"Marry me."

••••••

Xavier Hiddleston was a naughty billionaire famous for his scandals and got a bad reputation when it comes to settling down. He gets whoever he wants until Stella Brown walks into his life. The head strong woman knows her worth. Despite having a strong sexual tension between them, she forces him to marry her before having sex with him.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
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I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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