WET DESIRES WITH MY KINGS
"You don't know what to do? Rub it, baby," he murmured, his voice sending tingling shock straight to my already aching core.
*****
The Silas brothers, all of them want me, and all of them need me. They take me brutally, wild and possessive, filling every part of me.
Even though it hurts and leaves me sore, I love it and the craziest part? I craved it even more than they do.
Every single day, I want them stretching me, digging into me, and owning me. But I never wanted this. My father forced me to work here to raise money for my sick sister.
I tried to stay focused on the job, but the moment Vlad touched me, I felt something I had never experienced before, not even the pleasure I found on my own fingers could compare.
I lost all control. Then came Rurik, he gave me a kind of ecstasy that nearly drove me mad, making me ready to surrender my virginity to him right then and there.
But then, there is him. Cold and withdrawn, he wants me all to himself. And I love him. He was my first love, the only one I ever planned to give virginity to.
But now I realize I can't choose just one man, I want him to join the Silas brothers and own me alongside them.
Little did I know, he isn't who I thought he was. A one shocking revelation that tore me apart.
WARNING: This book contains raw adults' scenes with mature words and flesh mushing. If this is your genre, hop in with your popcorn....
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Chapter 3
Chapter Three
~ MIRA ~
'Freya. No, she couldn't be the one.' I tried to swallow the bile rising in my throat. My father hated her. She loathed him. I was probably just imagining things, or my brain was still clouded by the lingering haze of last night's alcohol.
I tried to convince myself I had misheard as my father's hand fisted in my hair, dragging me toward my room while he let out a low groan of fury.
"How long were you standing there!" he roared and shoved me hard, sending me sprawling across the bed, and in one fluid, terrifying motion, he unbuckled his belt.
"Daddy, please! I just walked in when you saw me!" I lied, my voice trembling. I prayed the lie would be enough to shield me from the coming storm.
"You cheap whore!" He growled, the words sharp as glass. Then, the belt landed a heavy, stinging lash against my skin.
I screamed, begging for mercy, but he was a man possessed by cold rage. He must achieve what he wants when he's angry.
He didn't stop until his arm grew tired and then he backed out, locked the door, and left me in the dark.
Hours later, a heavy thud against the wood startled me. Before I could speak, the door swung open. My father walked in silently, the aggression from earlier replaced by a terrifying, calm look. He sat on the edge of my bed.
"You have to stop eavesdropping on conversations that don't concern you, Mira," he said softly. "If you don't want to be punished again."
I remained silent, staring down at my bruised fingers as they twiddled nervously in my lap.
"Mia is sick. You know that," he continued, his voice dropping to a manipulative simmer. "The hospital is demanding we clear the bills before they perform the surgery. We don't have the money. We need to raise it together to save her."
'We.' That word hit me like a physical blow.
He was doing it again. Another scheme to derail my life. Three years ago, the moment I finished high school, he had packed me off to work for a family to 'save for my education' . Two days in, I was framed for a theft I didn't commit and forced into three years of indentured labour to pay it off. While I was slaving away, my father bought a new house and took Mia on vacations.
I had only been home for twenty-four hours. My 'freedom' had lasted exactly one day before he told me there was no money for my college tuition.
"We?" I asked, finally lifting my teary eyes to meet his. "What do you mean, we?"
I wanted to be a surgeon. I wanted to be a woman of greatness, a career professional who owned her own life. But looking at my father, I felt that dream slipping through my fingers like sand.
"You're moving in with my best friend tonight," he said, standing up with an air of finality. "You'll work as his secretary. Your five-year salary will cover everything Mia needs."
The room seemed to shrink. I sprang to my feet, anger finally overriding my fear. My throat tightened so hard it hurt to breathe.
"No! I want to go to school! It is your job to save your daughter, not mine!" I screamed, my hands clenching so tight my nails drew blood from my palms.
"You're leaving now. Get your bag," he said, his voice cold and flat. He walked out without looking back.
I slammed my fist against the locked door, a silent growl tearing through my chest. I couldn't do this again. I had to run. I scrambled for my handbag and found my phone. The first person who came to mind, the only person I trusted was Freya.
She answered on the first ring.
"Freya, I need your help. My father is forcing me into another contract for Mia's bills. I need to get out of here. Please."
I waited for her to tell me it would be okay, to give me a plan. I always listened to Freya, even when my gut told me not to.
"Your sister's life is on the line and you want to run away?" Freya's voice wasn't comforting. It was irritating. "What are you even thinking, Mira?"
The flame of my anger flickered and died, replaced by a cold confusion. "I want a life, Freya. Five years? I'm twenty one already. I can't waste my entire youth achieving nothing. I already gave up three years for a crime I didn't commit, and now..."
"We are talking about Mia's life!" she yelled, cutting me off. "Why are you being so selfish? Would you really just watch her die?"
"Mia doesn't even like me!" I cried, the tears finally breaking through. "She treats me like trash."
"Mia says you don't treat her right either," Freya snapped. "Now is the time to prove her wrong. Trust me, once she makes it out of surgery, she'll never treat you badly again."
Click... The line went dead. My head spun. Mia says I don't treat her right? How would Freya know that? They had never met; they supposedly hated each other.
I tried to shake the suspicion, telling myself I must have vented to Freya about it and forgotten.
I scrolled through my contacts for Nora. Freya's words stung, but I needed a second opinion. I needed one person to tell me I wasn't crazy for wanting a life of my own.
The phone rang once. Twice. On the third ring, Nora picked up, but before I could utter a word, a hand snatched the phone from my grip.
I spun around. My father stood there, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with a dark, manic energy.
"Get your things. They're waiting outside."
'They?'
I moved like a ghost, hurriedly folding my few belongings into a box while my father watched me like a hawk. 'I have to save Mia, I whispered to myself', trying to find a reason to survive this. I'll show her I love her.
Outside, a sleek, black luxury car sat idling at the curb. It looked like danger crouching in the street. As I approached, the door swung open. The interior was shrouded in darkness. I couldn't see the driver's face, only the silhouette of a man who remained as silent as a tomb.
We drove in total silence until we pulled into a massive, gated compound.
"We're here, Miss Mira," the driver said, finally speaking as he stepped out to open my door.
I stepped onto the gravel, my breath catching. The mansion screamed wealth, the kind of wealth that bought silence and power. A servant appeared out of the gloom to take my bag.
"My name is Vick," he said. "Call me if you need anything."
He led me into a large living room and left. A moment later, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It felt as if the air itself grew heavier, bowing to an invisible pressure. A man stepped into the living room.
He was huge , tall and built like a heavyweight boxer. His face was a map of jagged scars, silver lines that spoke of a violent past. He looked like a nightmare dressed in a perfectly cut suit.
"You're welcome, Miss Mira Femriss," his baritone voice vibrated in my chest. "I imagine you know who I am, even if we haven't been properly introduced."
"I don't know you," I whispered, trying to stand my ground, but my legs instinctively shuffled backwards.
"My name is Blade Silas. Your boss," he said. A smile flickered across his lips, a brief, chilling movement that held no warmth. Suddenly, his eyes flashed deadly gold.
I blinked, certain it was a trick of the light, but I knew it was his eyes. Before I could look again, he turned and left.
I took another step back, trembling, and slammed into something solid. I shrieked and spun around. A man stood directly behind me, masked his presence just as intimidating as Blade's. The only thing I could see were his eyes, the same haunting bronze-gold as the Draven's.
A surge of suspicion washed over me.
"Nice to have you here, Mira," the masked man said, but his voice was different from Draven's, smoother, but no less dangerous. He didn't wait for a reply before walking away.
"Let me show you to your room, Miss Mira," a third voice spoke.
I jumped, nearly losing my footing, but the servant caught my arm with startling speed before letting go just as quickly.
"No," I gasped, feeling the walls of the mansion closing in on me. The air here felt strange, as if it were sucking the very little peace left in my soul. "Show me the garden. Anywhere but inside."
"As you wish."
He led me out to a sprawling, moonlit garden. I walked deep into the greenery, desperate for the scent of fresh air to clear the terror from my lungs. I was halfway down a stone path when my heart stopped.
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7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
9.0
Ashlyn was supposed to be just a fragile college student, selling her rare blood to a vicious crime syndicate enforcer to keep his dying sister alive.
But the dynamic shattered when Alex returned from a two-month disappearance. He stepped into the penthouse covered in dirt and blood, sporting a horrific, jagged knife wound slashed completely across his face.
Knowing exactly how to exploit his insecurities, Ashlyn played the role of the terrified victim to perfection. She screamed, pushed against his chest, and called him a terrifying monster. Humiliated and enraged by her blatant disgust, Alex violently smashed a marble table and kicked her out. He forced her out into a freezing, torrential rainstorm without a coat, vowing to kill her if she ever showed her face again.
What the ruthless enforcer didn't know was that her pathetic, trembling tears were a flawless, calculated lie. She wasn't a helpless, greedy girl. She was a cold-blooded corporate mastermind hiding from a family of elite assassins. She desperately needed his impenetrable penthouse fortress to stay alive, and she knew the only way to secure her place wasn't to ask for it, but to make him beg for her return.
Three days later, his sister's organs began to fail, and the hospital's blood bank ran dry.
"I'll pay you whatever you want. Just get here."
Listening to the desperate, broken voice of the monster over her burner phone, Ashlyn smiled coldly in the dark. The trap had snapped shut, and he had just handed her all the power.
8.0
"IS IT TRUE?" Grayson's voice thundered through the room.
"Yes!" Tessa said softly. "Yes it is!"
"So you've been cheating on me, haven't you?" He spat.
Her hands trembled. "No, I swear, it's not like that."
He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising her wrist as she squealed in pain.
"Then whose baby are you carrying, huh?" His voice was ice cold.
Tessa shivered, tears blurring her vision.
"I don't know."
**********
Pregnant with the powerful Roman Blackwood's child, while engaged to his unstable stepbrother - Tessa Quinn becomes the key to a ruthless inheritance war where love has no place.
As secrets unravel and danger closes in, Tessa must protect her unborn child while trapped between love, vengeance, and men who want to own her fate.
7.9
Rose was so naive that she didn't know Jonah, her ex-fiancé, was cheating on her even before her wedding day. On the night before her wedding, she caught him cheating on her with the last person she would ever expect him to be with, Rebecca.
Out of anger and spite, she cursed at them and left, then went and got herself drunk and made out with a mafia don, who, oblivious to her, was her fiancé's stepbrother and his boss.
On the day of the wedding, she stormed in and canceled it, calling Jonah out. After the embarrassment, Jonah vowed to make her life miserable. She tried to get a job, but it was almost impossible because of the influence Jonah had.
So she went to the greatest mafia don that her friend Lucy recommended to her. When she went to ask for his help, the don turned out to be the mysterious man who had been showing interest in her, but she had kept declining. Unbeknownst to her, he was her ex-fiancé's boss and stepbrother.
She asked for his help, and he offered it, of course, but on one condition.that she would be his mistress !.
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
8.7
My little brother's heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I'd saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team.
"I'm handling an emergency," he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead.
I found out what Dante's "emergency" was from his mistress's social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat's kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats.
When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed.
This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery.
I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in."