Mature content[R-18+] NO RAPE~ ~What happens when a psychopath falls in love?~ The infamous wallflower and sole heiress of the Falcone empire, Abigail Falcone, was a loner, shy, and reserved. She did not know how to socialize or even how to love until she met him. Desperate to escape her scheming relatives, Abby sought a favor from her late best friend’s fiancé—a marriage of convenience. No one would have ever paired the shy, stammering wallflower with the sinfully handsome mafia leader. However, it quickly becomes clear that Abby is a woman of hidden strength—and Remo Quinn finds his dead heart beating once again. Wary but tempted, she struggles to get through the arrangement without stripping herself of her morals and losing her heart to her husband—a man so beautiful and broken, he will hurt her as much as he will love her. While seeking revenge and amidst the sultry heat of their forbidden desires and secret fears, will Abigail find the love that will change her life forever? Or will she face the punishment of falling for her deceased best friend's fiancé? What happens when Remo finds out his little shy wallflower wife is a little sly fox? ——————————— ——————————— Excerpt ~ "Beg me to use you, Abby," he growled, his voice husky with desire. Abby's breath caught in her throat as she struggled to comply with his demand. With a mixture of arousal and trepidation, she managed to whisper, "Please ...Remo..." But Remo wasn't satisfied with just her words. He wanted to see her beg, to hear the desperation in her voice. With a wicked grin, he applied a bit more pressure to her thighs, a hint of pain mingling with pleasure. "Words, little sweet doll. Beg me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. The sensation sent a jolt of arousal coursing through Abby's veins, her resolve crumbling under Remo's intoxicating dominance. With a whimper of surrender, she found herself uttering the words he desired, her voice trembling with need. "Please...use me," she pleaded, her heart racing as she surrendered herself to the delicious torment of Remo's touch. Trigger warnings; Self-harm, mental illness, rough sexual acts etc.
[COMPLETE] Can a royal Romeo and Juliet find their happy ending? Ayleth, Princess of Zenithra, is secretly trained in hand-to-hand combat, and collects swear words she doesn't know how to use. During the Festival of Peace, in which every royal son on the continent will be at the castle for a month, she is instructed by her parents to find a husband. Yet, Ayleth has never even been kissed—until the very first ball, when she meets the man in the Lion mask. Etan is a seasoned warrior, and the Prince of Summitras. He attends the Festival hoping to find a powerful wife who will help him conquer the dark sorcery of their bloodsworn enemies, the Kingdom of Zenithra. But at the very first ball, he discovers the masked woman who captures his heart is the Heir to the evil empire. Ayleth and Etan face an impossible battle. Will their love survive? Or will their parents' dark dealings keep them apart forever? [Mature content. No sexual violence.] ****** “You…” She stepped back. Then back again, her mouth dropped open. “You… You cannot be…” “I am,” Etan said, and his hair raked back as he pushed his mask off his handsome face. So handsome her heart raced. His hair was ebony black, his skin a warm brown that threatened to fade in in the winter months. He stared at her with glittering green eyes, over high cheekbones and a noble nose, his jaw tight and shadowed this late in the day. His chin was high over the pillar of his neck that she’d just touched with its hard lines and steel strength, so different to her own. And his chest... She gasped and covered her eyes. She’d humiliated herself revealing her stupid, childish curiosity. “No, Ayleth. This changes nothing.” “How can you say that? It changes everything!” She was horrified to realize she was crying. “Ayleth, please.” His voice cracked on the plea and she stared at him, shoving her mask up and off, despite how it would pull her hair out of the beautiful twist the maid had managed for her. His eyes locked on hers and she couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She had met her One. And he was the son of her bloodsworn enemy. She stared at him as he stepped forward again, offering both hands, palm up. “Touch me,” he whispered. “Hold my hands. This is real, Ayleth. I don’t know how it happened, but this is real. Please don’t deny it.” She couldn’t resist. She raised a trembling hand to his cheek, letting her palm catch on the scruff of his jaw. He blew out a breath and put his hand over hers, and that jolt that happened whenever they touched shivered through her again. “Please, Ayleth.” “I cannot deny it,” she whispered. [Cover specially commissioned and illustrated image by Same Van Rijn. See more of their amazing art on Instagram: @same.vanrijn]