Ladybug Drive Novels & Stories

“Amara Cross, are you trying to drive me insane? I agree to go to a club and find you swaying like a pro whore, throwing your ass at hungry eyes, and you are proud of it too.” His grip crushed my arms, sharp and painful. My hand slipped between my thighs, pressing hard, pain mixing with heat, and he did not notice. But when he saw my bloodshot eyes, he let out a hot, frustrated breath. “Amara, are you drunk?” I nodded, confused. Tears spilled like a flood, driven by that brutal pulse burning deep inside me. “Dean Dorian, I am very drunk.” His eyes widened. Then they darkened even more. “What nonsense are you saying, little girl? What did you take to end up like this?” I was shaking. A soft moan escaped me as my fingers pressed harder. I could not hold it in anymore. I covered my mouth, then dropped my hand, speaking to him in miserable pleasure. “Dean Dorian, touch me.” I whispered it, begging. His eyes, drowned in darkness, searched my face like a man looking for salvation. Everything stopped when his hand settled on the back of my head. He leaned in and crushed his mouth against mine, hungry and savage. ------------------- Amara Cross did not enter university looking for love. She entered to survive. A quiet scholarship student with no one behind her, carrying a fragile past, dreaming of one thing only. Safety. But on a dark night, on a road with no mercy, a man saves her. A man who was never supposed to be part of her life. Dorian Vale. The university dean. Powerful. Cold. Controlling. Dangerous. What starts as silent rescue turns into attention. Then protection. Then obsession with no rules. He knows everything. Watches her. Decides for her.

Alexis Diaz is a sales representative who attends a conference at a hotel in a remote area. While attending a reception, she meets a mysterious and charming billionaire named Max, who is a werewolf. They are both attracted to each other and share a passionate one-night stand. The next morning, Alexis leaves without saying goodbye, feeling overwhelmed by her emotions. Max realizes Alexis could be his mate, as he was drunk and doesn’tremember whether or not he marked her. The details of the night are fuzzy except he realizes his drink might have been laced by an aphrodisiac for mates. He only remembers her honey/ginger hair Alexis goes through some roughening emotions/changes(heat intolerance/heightened sex drive including sex dreams about the mysterious stranger) but eventually gets used to it, she also gets a new scar in the place she thought she had a hickey that refuses to go. A month or two later, Alexis is sent to pitch her company's product to Max's business. When Max sees her again, he realizes that he can't forget about her and feels drawn to her, she feels the mark on her neck burning as she feels and undeniable sexual tension between them. During the meeting, Max and Alexis try to maintain a professional demeanor as they are with others but the chemistry between them explodes the moment they are alone. Alexis runs away again. Max searches for her and finds her this time around at her workplace where he realizes he can hear two heartbeats. What happens when Alexis decide to runaway? How would Alexis handle the truth of her existence? How would Max save his pack without losing the most important part of his life, Alexis and their baby? Find out in this intriguing story, Alpha's girl.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

I'm Kate Bamford, and I'm an EA (Executive Assistant), and I've just started a new job with - quite honestly the most gorgeous man I've ever set eyes on. This is a shame because men - gorgeous, sexy, or otherwise are completely off my radar! I can blame my ex for that, he's a controlling, miserable PoS! Weeks of being told what I can and cannot do would drive anyone to murder. Oops! The less said about that the better. No, I didn't stick a knife in his black petrified heart, but I did cause him major humiliation, which, thinking about it might have been even worse. My big worry is I have a secret, and the last thing I need is for my ex or anyone else to find out. Nobody will rescue me if my secret gets out. I'm Darius Graves, CEO of Graves and Son. I have a big problem, it concerns my mother - a matriarchal socialite who lives 3,461 miles away from me in New York. It's not far enough! My 'dearest' mother thinks nothing of getting into her private jet and popping over to see me in London as if she's going to the corner shop for a pint of milk. The thing is, she wants me to get married, but only to a girl she chooses. There is not a snowball's chance in hell of this ever happening. No way. No how. My two best friends are always coming up with various solutions to this problem. i.e. Sell the bank, or keep the bank and work from home in Katmandu. However, their latest idea is a fake marriage. But to whom? I can only think of one person, and that is my new assistant. She's beautiful and thinking about her keeps me awake at night.

BLURB "You drive me insane, Carla!" He growled, hoisting me on the desk. His lips brushed my jaw and my breath quickened when he slipped his fingers underneath my red dress. "Fuck, you are not wearing panties," He groaned, gripping my thighs possessively. I was filled with an unnerving amount of neediness and I had my fingers working on his belt in no time. "God, just fuck me already." I moaned, peering at him beneath my lashes. He muttered profanities under his breath, lifted me a little, and plunged into me swiftly. "Fuck!" I moaned, wrapping my legs around him to get more of what he was offering as he pounded into me, burying his head into my neck. "Mine!" He growled into my neck. ༆ Carla Jason and Dawson Walcott were the definitions of opposite attracts. Where Carla was naive—prim, innocent, and not ladylike, Dawson was the typical ruthless fuck-boy, who chased after anything in a skirt, especially the sexy ones. All his life, he had always hoped to meet his mate at his coronation ceremony of being the next Alpha of the Red Moon Pack, which was coming up in a few days but fate had other plans in store. Carla had walked in on him fucking another omega and she wasn't just a random omega to him. She was the omega he had always been in love with. Worse, she turned out to be his mate. Dawson knew how difficult it would be to make her his, given his history and what she had found out about him on the day he realized she was his mate. The complications weren't about to stop Dawson from claiming what was his before her twentieth birthday but was Carla going to allow herself to be vulnerable with a playboy?

Before my grandfather, the Don of the Rinaldi family, dies, he leaves behind a will. The five Principessas of the Rinaldi family are forbidden from using our family name. We must live like ordinary people until one of us gives birth to the first heir. Whoever does so will inherit everything. For three years, I keep my identity hidden. My husband, Oliver Wright, and I live in a cramped apartment to the south of Windmere. Every morning, we squeeze onto the subway to get to work. When we're short on money, we stay up late making plans and racking our brains trying to keep his small company afloat. I never think life is hard because I love him. One day, the doctor hands me my medical test results—I am the first one to become pregnant. Upon learning this, my whole body trembles with excitement. The life that Oliver and I have struggled toward for years suddenly feels within reach. I drive home with a happy smile on my face as I imagine how he will react. But when I push the door open, I see a woman wearing my favorite nightgown. She is sitting with Oliver, sharing the apple I left in the refrigerator with him. He takes a bite from her hand and glances at me casually. "My first love, Maeve Young, is back. Let's get a divorce." My fingers tighten around the pregnancy test report. Then, I smile and say, "Sure." What he doesn't know is that his penniless, patient, obedient, and endlessly forgiving wife has a last name powerful enough to open every door in Windmere. I will keep this child, and the family fortune will still pass to me. As for my husband, Oliver? I'm ready to let him go.

Love…. You could lose yourself in it or find yourself. It all depends on you. Jealousy…. It drives one to the edge of madness. It paralyzes the mind, and drains the heart, damaging the soul. It teaches you what it takes to care. That's what their relationship was made up of. His eyes made her shiver with pleasure, it took her to euphoria. That's what she felt whenever she was with him, but not every day was sunshine and rainbows. He made her cry, he made her feel pain. He taught her the real definition of love; pleasure and pain. She liked how cold and rough he could get and he liked how innocent she played. He liked teaching her new things and she liked learning from the best. They'd survive the intoxication of each other. They made it further than they thought they would on the grounds of love, jealousy and pain. "What are you looking at?” he asked looking in the direction she was looking, “So... That's your type, huh?" he whispered in her ear with his hand on her thigh, clearly pissed. Siana moved away slightly from his warm breathe blasting on her face and his hand squeezing her thigh firmly. "Everyone out now!" he shouted then a smile came bursting through it all. She was alone shaking with fear and anxiety. She knew how he'd get whenever he was displeased, she knew the kind of psycho he was. He pulled her up from the chair and pushed her up against the wall, her hands enfolded in his and her breath breaking. He looked down then back up at her with a tiring look on his face and sighed "You know you really drive me crazy." his lips hovering over hers.

My mother-in-law could not understand me. Before my business trip, I repeatedly told her not to touch anything in my study, but she mixed up the contract I needed. As a result, I lost a million-dollar order and was fired from my company. To make up for her mistake, she promised she would take care of my child and help me find another job. I froze my milk, labeled everything with notes, and gave her detailed instructions on timing and measurements. However, when my baby ended up in the hospital, I found out that she had thrown out all the milk and fed my baby expired formula instead. Even worse, she fed my baby peanuts behind my back, causing my baby to suffocate and die. Afterward, she wailed, "That was my granddaughter! How could I not care? If I could, I'd die with her..." My husband slapped me, shouting, "My mom worked so hard to take care of the child, and you want to drive her to her death? She's an old woman. It's not easy for her!" My sister-in-law came over too, calling me ungrateful and blaming me for treating an elderly woman badly. She claimed I deserved to be childless and alone. However, they did not know how many times I had stopped my mother-in-law from causing trouble and harm to them. I was driven to depression by them and eventually sent to a mental institution, where I was tortured to death. If I had the chance to do it again, I would protect my child and myself and stop preventing my mother-in-law from causing chaos for others. I would watch her bring equal destruction to each one of them!

In my last life, my brother Leo—the heir to the Moretti crime family—stripped our estate bare of every last soldier, all for a Vegas jaunt. All because his new flame, Scarlett, had a jones for the high-roller tables. The Volkovs—our rivals, the very ones Leo had just pissed off—saw their opening and stormed our gates. My mother, Sofia, took a bullet meant for me. Died protecting me. I blew up Leo’s phone, my pleas turning to screams. He didn't answer. He waltzed back in after the shooting stopped, bringing our men home, but far too late for it to matter. Then, the news from Vegas. Scarlett was gone. A suicide note left behind. In it, she painted me as the monster. The one who’d leaked our weaknesses to the Volkovs. The one who'd orchestrated a fake kidnapping and torture plot, all to drive her to despair and lure Leo home. A perfect, tragic lie. Leo read the letter calmly. Then he burned the letter and told me, "Forget it. It's handled." Father tore into Leo for abandoning his post, for leaving his family to die. And me? I was named the new Consigliere. But after the celebration, Leo cornered me in the wine cellar. His face was a mask of cold fury as he pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead. "This is for family traitors," he hissed, his voice pure venom. "The throne is my birthright, not some backstabbing bitch's prize!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Right in the middle of the fire and the blood. This time, I shoved my mother behind me, dragging her toward the panic room. And the bastards who were too blind to believe me? They’ll regret it.

I made a deal with the Devil. My soul, in exchange for seven days on earth after I died. The eleventh hour after my death happened to fall on our third wedding anniversary. The moment I walked through the door, he had just come home from another woman's place. He had an anniversary gift waiting for me. A set of sapphires. But the card tucked beside them bore another woman's name. I spotted a pale lavender hair tie in his hand. Once, I would have fought him over a hair tie like that, all the way from the front hall to the study. This time, I said nothing. It was him who froze instead, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You didn't used to be like this. I almost miss the way you used to fall apart over everything." He was right. The old me would have thrown a fit over something as small as him forgetting to cut my steak. But ever since the miscarriage, my heart had been dying by slow degrees. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I wanted him to be the first to know. But I couldn't reach him, no matter how many times I called. I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged. That very afternoon, while I lay on the operating table, a photo of him and that woman hit the entertainment headlines. He never even knew I had carried a child. Now there was only one last thing I wanted from him. To drive me up to the northern coast, and bury me with his own hands. But when he realized I had truly vanished from this world, he came undone.