Masters of Corsica Series by Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Masters of Corsica Series by Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Mon, 24 Apr 2023 15:56:21 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Masters of Corsica Series by Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Possess Me (Masters of Corsica #3) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/possess-me-masters-of-corsica-3-read-online-jane-henry Mon, 24 Apr 2023 15:56:21 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/possess-me-masters-of-corsica-3-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Authors: Jane Henry Series: Masters of Corsica Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)

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Lyam Gerard is my mortal enemy….
And the father of my unborn baby.

I should have known he was a monster when I betrayed him.
I should have realized that in the ruthless world of the mafia, my actions would be met with punishment.
But I fell for the wounded bad boy who knew just what I craved.

Now, I am his possession, and he’s determined to make me pay for my sins…

On my knees.
Bent over his desk.
Tied to his bed.

I shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want him —yet part of me yearns to submit to his dark, depraved demands.

But in Lyam’s world, loyalty is everything. And when he uncovers the truth I’ve been hiding all along, I know that will be the end of us…

Because it will be the end of me...

Please This is a dark, anti-hero romance with elements of violence and consensual non-consent. Please read at your discretion.

This is a fully stand-alone novel in the Masters of Corsica series

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

Lyam

Boom.

A thrill goes through me when I pull the trigger. Always.

If I believed in superpowers, I’d know what mine is: I hit with the first shot.

Fuck flying or seeing through walls. Give me a cold, hard weapon, ammunition, and a target.

Sometimes I feel like my body’s connected to my gun, as if it’s a part of my actual being. An extension of my person. When I feel the weight of a gun in my hand, my body and mind fuse. Laser-focused.

You don’t know how heavy a body is until you watch it collapse. You don’t know how red blood is until you see it spill. You don’t know the power you wield until you look into the eyes of another person whose life you’re about to end.

Boom.

There’s something almost divine about watching your bullet hit the target. There’s nothing methodical or rote about it. Pulling the trigger and hitting a target makes me feel godlike. I have the power, right in the palm of my hand, to end life.

I’ve got a variety of places I like to go for target practice but today, I wanted to shatter glass. So I came to one of my favorite spots in Paris: a private, remote field on the edge of the city my family’s bought for this purpose. When it’s cold or snowing, I practice inside, but this, this is my favorite—a brick wall where I line up glass bottles. My friends who know my favorite hobby save empty bottles and give them to me by the bucket.

I love watching the glass explode. I love the boom of gunshots. The sharp crack of shattering glass, followed by a rainstorm of tiny, brilliant, sparkling shards.

I pull the trigger again and the cobalt blue bottle on the far right disintegrates.

“Jesus.”

My bodyguard, Philippe, shakes his head. “How far away is that target?”

I squint at it and shrug. “A hundred meters.”

“Mon Dieu.”

Some shooters routinely shoot fifty yards, but hunters and sharpshooters can easily hit targets at further distances, depending on the weapon. I like to practice long range. I don’t always have my target bound, on their knees in front of me, served up on a silver platter.

I aim for the next blue bottle and smile at the memory of Thayer handing me a case of empties after his honeymoon, when my phone rings.

God, I fucking hate technology. Obtrusive and obnoxious, a man can’t even take a piss in private without some kind of goddamn interference.

Speak of the devil. It’s Thayer.

“Yeah?”

“She’s ready for you.”

A different kind of thrill runs through me.

There was a time when I would have moved heaven and earth to be alone with Cosette, but she ruined that. What we had is gone, and in its place, I have another laser-focused target.

She’s earned the ultimate penalty for betraying my family: execution.

But Cosette is too beautiful for death. Her betrayal too deep to end things so quickly.

My brothers agreed to allow her to live, but she’ll suffer the consequences. Namely, she’ll answer to me.

My job is to keep her in my custody. Punish her for betraying my family.

I stand and slide my gun, the metal still hot to the touch, into a holster at my waist. I don't go anywhere without a weapon, which has made for some strategic planning.

I roll my neck and stretch my shoulders.

My plane is ready for me. Cosette’s been kept prisoner at Le Luxe, the private sex club owned by my brother Thayer. But I’ve already made my decision.

I won’t keep her there. What kind of a punishment would it be for her to be in a place familiar to her, where she has friends and acquaintances and the potential to escape?

I’ll bring her back to Paris.

Here, I can make sure that she'll never betray us again. Here, I can keep a closer eye on her.

And here, I'm closest to the people I need to ultimately destroy.

“Hey, man.” Philippe grins at me and shows me a bag of tiny glass bottles. He mouths, “You want a drink on the plane?”

I grin back and move my mouth away from the mouthpiece. “You fucking know it.”

Thayer doesn’t need to know. My older brother’s the most serious asshole I know, and he’d kick Philippe’s ass for drinking on the job. He’d roll his eyes at me and talk about the loss of control, the need for precision and focus, but I don’t fucking care. Sometimes, it takes the edge off.

I grab one and slide it into my pocket. I’ll drink it on the plane.

“For one goddamn time I wish you’d take a ride,” Thayer says. “Do you have any idea how much easier that would be for us?”

I clench my jaw. “No.”

I drive my own cars and I like it that way.

“For Christ’s sake, Lyam. You should really consider trusting the people we hire. You know we vet the fuck out of them.”

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Master Me (Masters of Corsica #2) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/master-me-masters-of-corsica-2-read-online-jane-henry Fri, 24 Mar 2023 15:25:56 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/master-me-masters-of-corsica-2-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Authors: Jane Henry Series: Masters of Corsica Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >74

Savannah is beautiful. Brilliant. Brighter than a ray of sunshine.
She’s also way too young for me and practically family.
But she’s in trouble.
When she witnesses a murder at the hands of rival mafia, Savannah flees to the only safe refuge she knows — my family.
My life is ordered. Careful. Disciplined. But when Savannah needs protection, I can’t turn her away.
I offer her a deal: I’ll take her into my custody. Hide her in plain sight at Le Luxe, the club I own and operate for those who understand the pleasure that comes with total surrender.
I’ll keep her safe, no matter the cost.
In return, she’ll follow my rules. Masquerade as the perfect submissive.
Obey me.
Our ruse might save her life…but will it save her from me?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

Savannah

Paris.

Is.

Awesome.

I draw in a deep breath, close my eyes, and release it. The warm rays of the setting sun kiss my skin like a blessing, and I am here for it.

“Nicolette, I swear, the Parisian air smells different. It’s just so… cleansing.” It helps that we’re eating dessert in one of Paris’s finer restaurants, bathed in the scent of cheese and wine. One of the cool things about Parisians is that they eat cheese literally any time of day, but most especially as a little palate cleanser between dinner and dessert. On the table in front of me sits a half-eaten plate of crème brûlée, a dessert that’s as fun to eat as it is to say.

“It’s not exactly fragrant in the metro,” Fabien mutters with a grimace. True, true.

Nicolette smiles at me and winks.

Her husband can be grouchy, but he’s good to her, and that’s all that matters. Hell, I think the whole grouchiness thing runs in the family, because his brother Thayer’s not exactly a ray of sunshine.

With him it’s somehow… hot, though. All that brooding male power and testosterone. He oozes power with those corded, finely honed muscles, and that firm jawline I want to lick—

I catch that stray thought before it gets me into some serious Parisian trouble.

I decide I don’t care, not about grouchiness or what it would take to soothe that line on Thayer’s brow, or anything that might tamper with my current state of mind, because Nicolette and I are seriously living the life. The French are responsible for the phrase laissez-faire after all.

We live in Paris now. Thanks to my sister we’ve got more money in our bank account than I ever thought possible, and I’m in grad school.

What could go wrong?

“Savannah,” Nicolette says in that big sister tone I’ve learned to dread.

“Mmm?”

“We have to talk.”

Uh oh.

I try to avert the crisis of a serious conversation. I lean back and close my eyes, basking in the setting rays of the sun. “Girl, do not harsh my mellow.”

My sister raises an eyebrow. “Don’t harsh your what?”

“My mellow, babe. I am loving life, and I am not in the mood for a lecture.”

“When are you ever in the mood for a lecture?”

I open one eye to look at Nicolette, whose own eyes are twinkling at me. She reaches over and tugs my hair, just like she used to when we were little, and smiles. Ever since our parents died, Nicolette’s matured, and she takes her job as big sister pretty seriously. “I wasn’t gonna lecture you. I just want to… talk.”

I stifle a groan. I’m not sure there’s much of a distinction between lecture and talk, but okay.

I know Nicolette’s concerned for me. I know she worked her ass off to earn the money we have, and though I don’t know the intricacies of it all, I suspect it had something to do with Fabien’s business in Paris and south of here in Corsica.

What he does isn’t exactly legal, but sometimes ignorance is bliss. Since I like bliss, I’ve chosen ignorance.

“Alright, then,” I say, steeling myself. I sit up straighter and give Nicolette my undivided attention. I fold my hands in front of me. “What shall we discuss?”

I shoot a quick glance at Fabien, hoping he’s busy on his phone or something. He’s more of the lecture type, and his input will definitely change the course of this conversation. No such luck.

Fabien clears his throat. My brother-in-law’s the eldest in his family. With two younger brothers of his own, he’s easily adopted the role of big brother to me, overprotection free of charge. So I have a tendency to sort of wilt a little under his serious look. The Gerard family is well-respected—dare I say, even feared—in France, and there’s good reason.

Like his brothers, Fabien is huge and muscled, filthy rich, and hot as hell. My sister scored the whole damn package. But the point is, people pay attention to the Gerards.

Fabien speaks bluntly. “You need a bodyguard.”

Oh no. Not this again. I snort. “Bodyguard? Do we really need to come back to that?” I shake my head. I lower my voice, so we don’t draw attention.

I am pretty convinced that having a bodyguard for protection isn’t a normal thing. And even though I am all about the shopping, the super swanky little flat, and going to grad school debt free, I draw a line at the whole bodyguard thing.

“You guys,” I say, less resistant this time. “I really do appreciate your concern. You know I do. But I’m a grad student. I’m super careful. I’m not a party animal, and I’m rarely even out past dark. It’s just overkill, you guys.”

Both of them stare at me, unmoved. Nicolette sighs.

My sister, as beautiful and put-together as always, looks a bit older when her brow knits in concern.

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Own Me (Masters of Corsica #1) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/own-me-masters-of-corsica-1-read-online-jane-henry Sun, 15 Jan 2023 19:18:36 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/own-me-masters-of-corsica-1-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia, Romance Authors: Jane Henry Series: Masters of Corsica Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >80

Money may not buy love. But it can buy her.

One weekend.

She’ll be my accomplice.
I’ll be her master.
Together, we'll pull off a dangerous heist.

She’ll be my submissive.
My property.
I’ll teach her what it means to submit,
I’ll show her how I expect her to obey.

She’ll be my possession.
My plaything.
My treasure.
And soon…my wife.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Fabien

Her name is Nicolette.

Gray-green eyes as soft as velvet.

Rosy red cheeks and a heart-shaped mouth that—

“Fabien.”

I look up at my mother from my steak, fork and knife poised in each hand.

“Are you listening at all?”

I'm not used to eating with other people. This is the first time I've come back to my childhood home in three months.

“He’s doing it again,” Thayer mutters.

I work alone, I work long hours, and I work in quiet, unless I need to call in backup.

Except when I come home.

Today, though, my mind is a million miles away because of the security footage I saw before I joined them for dinner. They think I’m focused on work.

I’m not interested in eating. I’m interested in the woman with the delicate but proud features, and an abundance of dark curls that grace her shoulders. The woman with eyes both intelligent and strong but curious and compelling enough to make me wonder… how easily would she submit to me?

The woman I’ll buy.

“Fabien. Please. This matters. Did you hear a word I said?”

“I heard a few,” I say in protest. “Something about… wine, and appetizers, and a live band for Antoine’s wedding.”

“What’s on your mind?” Maman asks curiously.

I will own Nicolette.

I’ve already sent a message to Gwen to cancel Nicolette’s clients for the rest of the night.

I definitely can’t tell her that. I won’t tell anyone. I don’t need anyone to stand in my way because I will have this woman no matter the cost.

“Crunching the numbers?” Thayer asks. “Where are we profit-wise?”

“Boys, if you’re talking about what I think you are…” Maman begins with a wince.

“Twelve million.”

“Compared to last year’s numbers, the tight business we run in Corsica’s booming, thanks to an influx of tourists,” Thayer says.

“It’s about damn time. Given that it’s one of many businesses we run, we’re in a good place. And if your plan to expand works, we could double our profit in two years’ time. The plan’s contingent on many factors, though.”

“Slipping under the radar?” Thayer supplies.

The ancient buildings and cobblestoned streets of Corsica, under the shadow of majestic mountains, aren’t the only things that are outdated. Hard to imagine the laws still prohibit paid prostitution. Brothel-keeping and pimping carry the heaviest sentences of all.

Goddamn Puritans.

Why people think sex should be so carefully guarded remains a complete enigma to me. Sex, like food, is meant to be consumed, and healthy humans hunger for it. If we’re honest, my job, then, as the owner and proprietor of La Maison de la Vallée Cachée, the most high-end gentlemen’s club in Corsica, means I’m basically no different than a restaurant owner.

“Fabien. We lost you again.”

Maman releases a belabored sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. I watch as she places her knife and fork down so she can give me a look best saved for an errant child. “Fabien.” She repeats my name, this time pouring a wealth of guilt into each syllable. “You’re the eldest. You should know better,” she chides. “Thayer, tell him, please.”

I take a large bite of steak and grind it with my teeth. Maman’s the only person on the planet I allow to admonish me without consequence.

“She wants you to get a date,” Thayer says. “No bouncing around the wedding venue like a damn ball in a pinball machine.”

I don’t bother to hide my look of disgust. “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

His eyes snap to my mother, then back to me. “In polite company, of course.”

“Of course.” I look back to Maman. The woman has the patience of a saint and a spine of steel, a lethal combination in our circle. Tonight, I notice bags under her eyes I haven’t seen before. I wonder if she’s sleeping well. She hasn’t been, not since my father died. Five years is a long time to go without sleep.

I don’t date. I take what I want.

I want Nicolette.

I will own her.

“I don’t want anyone to talk, Fabien,” she explains. “I’m just so tired of people talking.”

“Why do you care?” I shrug, take another bite of steak, and chew and swallow before I continue. “People talk no matter what you do. No matter what any of us do. And if anyone talks about you, they’ll answer to me.”

“And me,” Thayer chimes in.

“Yes, yes,” Maman replies. “I’ve no doubt that my sons will defend my honor to the death, and I thank you. Where’s Lyam? He said he’d be here.”

“Haven’t seen him,” Thayer says, cutting his steak methodically into neat little squares before he eats.

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