Dripping Roses Novels & Stories

I was born with a strange, painful condition. Women are strongly drawn to me, yet after I got married, I became allergic to my own wife, Quinn Rowan. Every attempt at intimacy left me covered in burning red welts, struggling to breathe. More than once, I nearly went into shock. Nevertheless, my desire to have a child was overwhelming. So one night, gambling with my life, I quietly slipped into the bedroom. Strangely, nothing happened to me that night. Soon, Quinn became pregnant. I naively believed everything would finally return to normal. Then, eight months into her pregnancy, a single accidental touch sent me into another violent allergic reaction, and I was rushed to the hospital. When I finally came to, Quinn was nowhere to be found. At the end of the corridor, I heard her whispering with her girlfriends, "Look how ridiculous he looked, all swollen and gasping. Pathetic." Quinn dangled the special tonic she had always claimed was meant to help me, her voice dripping with disdain, "I engineered this formula myself. I made sure he’d break out in hives the moment he touched me. That way, he’d never come near me. "But since he was so desperate for a kid, I decided to let him raise the baby Miles and I conceived together. It’s charity, really." My blood froze. The child I longed for, the baby I treasured, was never mine.

To the world, I’m the wife of Kael Voss. In truth, I’m the daughter of the Grim Reaper. I once defied death to save Kael Voss, the Mafia godfather. After ninety-nine proposals, his persistence melted my heart. I hid my divine heritage, abandoned the Underworld, and became his beloved Donna. After the marriage, he firmly kept his vows, turning our marriage into a fairytale. With our fifth wedding anniversary approaching, I wanted to get him a gift. Instead, I overheard a conversation between him and the maid, Luna. "Honey, your birthday is coming up soon. What gift do you want?" "I want you," Kael replied, his voice dripping with affection. "I want you by my side forever. I need to make sure Iris never finds out about us... and I want you to give me an heir." "Are you sure?" "Positive." Kael’s tone was unwavering. The grin slid off my face the moment I heard the answer and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The blood drained from my face. The hope I had cherished shattered into dust. The love he had sworn to me had rotted away in just five years, leaving nothing but a hollow shell. If he no longer wanted my heart, I would take it back. The full moon rose in two days. It is time for my return to the Underworld.

WARNING: This collection contains extreme dark romance, age gaps, possessive step-daddies, bratty step-brothers, shared mates, BDSM, Voyuerism, Exhibition, light bondage and other dark Kinks and zero limits. If you like your taboo thick, your men fighting over you, and your nights ending with you unable to walk... step right in. ~ ~ ~ Welcome to the house where 'Family' is just a word, and 'Sharing' is the only rule." You think you know what goes on behind closed doors? You have no idea. This isn’t just one story, it’s a collection of 40 Nights of Dripping Desires where bloodline doesn't matter, only the heat does. This is the ultimate forbidden anthology. It starts with just Him (The Step-Father), but it doesn't end there. By the end, you’re trapped in a web of possession, discipline, and double the trouble. WHAT’S INSIDE: Every story in this book is a collection of dirty secrets that gets progressively filthier: The Solo Sessions: Just you and Daddy. Pure, heavy, possessive "Daddy" energy. Zero limits on his patience, strict limits on your clothing. The Double Trouble: When they both decide you need to be "taken care of" at the same time. The Rivalry: Brother vs. Dad. Who gets to kiss you goodnight? Who gets to spank you? (Spoiler: You do). The Audience: Daddy teaches you a lesson while Brother watches... and joins in. Consensual? Yes. Forbidden? Always. Wet? No. It's soaking. You can dive in.

I fell asleep in my fated mate Alpha Zane’s office. When I woke up, a magical seal was branded on my face. “Blackmoon Pack’s Slut.” And there was Dahlia, Zane’s new omega assistant. She held an Alpha’s seal, a taunting smirk on her face. “Why is a porcelain doll like you meddling in pack business?” she sneered. “You should just stay in your castle and be the pretty little trophy you are.” My wolf snarled, ready to crush her with my aura. But just as a vase flew at her head, Zane was suddenly there. He shielded her with his own body, his own Alpha power flaring to meet mine. He scowled at me, his voice tight with fury. “Dahlia was just playing a prank. Don’t be so dramatic.” But my eyes locked on the exposed skin of Dahlia's neck, where she was nestled in his arms. There it was. A fresh bite mark. And it reeked of him. Dahlia let out a contented purr, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness. “My Alpha knows I never attended the academy, and I was getting so bored. So to entertain me, he let me play with his Alpha’s sigil to practice creating magical marks.” She giggled. “I was just playing a little game with the princess. You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?”

Underestimated… That is what I have been almost all my life just because I am a female, a woman, a lady... but I understand… this world is filled with egotistic and chauvinistic men that need to be taught a lesson and I am more than happy to do so… My life has never been all fun and roses… I still had my mum and brothers but it will never be the same without my father. I may be of age. Far past the finding your mate age but that doesn’t mean I am in a hurry to get a mate not that I don’t want one. I do but I’m just not in a hurry. But the goddess and fate as always did the exact opposite of what my heart desired… they brought my mate to my doorstep and I took it with a determined heart but I was in for a surprise. My mate wanted another yet he didn’t want to let me go. He wanted to eat his cake and have it. He welcomed me into his home and pack with a happy face yet I was being disrespected, and ridiculed behind my back. I may act ignorant but I’m no fool. I like to plan my actions before I take it so that I would be well prepared for the consequences that may follow. And as usual my new pack comes first before my needs but that doesn’t stop me from showing my mate that he messed with the wrong bitch. Because I was named CHAOS for a reason. I am going to tear into his conscience and torment the living daylights out of him for I may be a bitch. But I am nobody’s bitch…

I waited ten years to get married to Emily Stanton. We had applied for a marriage license seven times, and seven times it had been called off. In our circle, we were the golden couple. She had sold her own blood to help cover my hospital bills, and I had stood by her side as she built the Stanton family empire from nothing. On our tenth anniversary, I brought up the idea of finally having a wedding ceremony and making things official again. She just rubbed her temples and tossed her blazer aside. "We'll talk about it later. We've been together this long—why are you still hung up on something like this?" The words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat. Does every great love eventually fade into something ordinary? The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Then her phone buzzed with a notification. Against my better judgment, I picked it up. The contact name on the screen was impossible to miss: Honey. [Baby, when are you coming home? Jamie says she misses Mommy.] A storm of emotions crashed over me. That's when I discovered Emily Stanton had another WhatsApp account. The woman in those posts was nothing like the one I knew. At the top was a wedding photo—the two of them beaming, radiant. Tucked among the roses she'd received yesterday was a brand-new diamond ring, hidden between the petals. The water in the bathroom stopped. I clenched my fists. Then I forwarded the guy's WhatsApp info to my assistant. [Look into him.]

The day I was awarded the highest service medal, I got a call that my grandfather had died. My superiors approved emergency leave, and I rushed straight back to the family estate without stopping. The moment I reached the hillside cemetery behind the house, what I saw snapped something inside me. Our family burial ground had been completely leveled. My parents' graves had been dug open. Their urns had been turned into flower pot bases, with dark-red roses planted right on top of them. My grandfather's coffin had been split apart. His body was left exposed in the dirt, already starting to rot. And my younger brother, Jerry Horton, who was on the autism spectrum, was being ordered around like a laborer by my husband's assistant, Digby Wolfe, hauling construction materials back and forth. I lost it. I grabbed Digby and slammed him into the ground with a hard shoulder throw. "You touched my family's graves and made my brother do manual labor. Are you trying to get buried here with them?" Digby coughed up blood as he struggled to his feet, sneering at me. "This was Mr. Gray's decision. He said your family plot is in a good location, with plenty of space. It's perfect for building a golf course for the future Mrs. Gray. In Joule, Mr. Gray is the law." His tone was icy. "And who do you think you are?" I swallowed my rage and called Marshall Gray. "I hear you run Joule," I said. "Well, I'm about to change that."

“What do you think people would say if they found out you don’t have a d**k?” Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. “Or if they discovered these voluptuous br**sts you’ve been hiding so well?” A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened ni**les, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes. “Which do you think they’d call you?” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “A boy with t*ts… or a d**kless little fraud?” I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me. “The term you’re looking for is ‘girl,’” came Xavier’s smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. “So tell me, little girl… what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?” Christian’s smirk widened. “She wants to be devoured by boys like us.” His fingers gave my ni**le one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. “And I’m more than happy to give her a taste.”

My husband's first love had been trapped in a car for an hour. After they pulled her out, his rage shifted onto me. “It’s your fault she got hurt,” he spat, his eyes blazing as he grabbed me. Before I could make sense of what was happening, he forced me into a wooden box, slamming the lid down with a deafening crack. “You’re going to feel every ounce of the pain she went through,” he hissed, nailing it shut. I pounded on the walls, my screams tearing through the air. “Please, I didn’t do anything! Let me out!” My throat burned with the effort, my fists aching, but nothing stopped him. “Stay in there until you’ve figured out how to act like a decent human being,” he said, his voice cold, dripping with contempt. Hours passed. My body twisted unnaturally in the tight space, bones throbbing as blood smeared the wood beneath me. I whispered into the dark, the pain unbearable. "Please… just let me out…" But he didn’t care. A week later, he returned, his laughter echoing with hers as they entered the house, carefree from their trip. He finally opened the box. But by then, I was already gone. The woman he locked away was no longer breathing, no longer pleading. Just a cold, silent corpse.

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.