Novels by Keona

[Maddox]The rain wouldn’t fucking stopIt hammered against the hotel windows like it’s the end of the world.The outdoor field ceremony was canceled, and everything got moved inside the grand wedding hall downstairs. I stood in my room in a black suit, staring at the downpour while Daniel and Daisy argued over my tie.“You look like you are about to shit your pants.” Daniel said, yanking the knot loose again. “Shut up,” Daisy shot back, slapping his hands away. “He looks hot. Stop messing with him.”They had driven all the way from Alpharetta just for this. The only two people here who actually knew me. Their teasing was the only thing keeping my nerves from exploding.“I need to see my mom,” I muttered, slipping out before they could follow.Her dressing room was quiet except for the soft click of the door. The second I saw her, my chest tightened. She looked… younger. The white dress hugged her perfectly, and the smile on her face was real. This is what I’ve been working my ass

[Maddox]The twins dropped me off with quick hugs and a promise to text when they got home. I watched their car disappear down the highway, then dragged my suitcase toward the hotel where Mom was waiting. Atlanta felt the same, but everything inside me felt different.Mom opened the hotel room door before I could knock. She pulled me into a tight hug, smelling like the same lavender shampoo she’d used since I was a kid. For the first time in years, she looked light. Actually happy.“You’re here,” she whispered against my shoulder. “I missed you so much.”I hugged her back, letting myself relax for a second. “Missed you too.”We stepped inside the modest room. Two beds, a small couch, and her suitcase already unpacked. I dropped mine by the door and asked the obvious question. “Why are we at a hotel? I thought we were moving into the new house.”Mom smiled as she sat on the edge of the bed. “All our things are already there. Your stepfather wanted us to settle in together after the wed

[Maddox]I stabbed my fork into the pancake like it owed me money. At this point it definitely did.The little café just off campus was packed with students trying to squeeze in one last decent meal before winter break. Daniel sat across from me, red hair messy as usual, scrolling through his phone while shoving eggs into his mouth.“You still ain’t telling me about your rendezvous with Damian?” Daniel started putting his phone down, the corner of his mouth curling into a smug smile.I ignored him and sipped my mocha, trying very hard not to give in that easily.He sighed dramatically and launched into his usual mantra. “Oh, what has become of me? No fella to cry to...”I snorted. “You must have forgotten, but that doesn’t work on me anymore.”He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “How long until you consider me your best friend?”“You ain’t even my friend yet.”“Dude, we’ve known each other for three years, and I know all your secrets, your mother knows me, and I know your

[Maddox]He’s too close and he’s not wearing anything. He’s not even bothering to cover up.I blinked up at him, still crouched on the floor of his wardrobe. He stood tall and big in all his glory.He stepped closer, like he wasn’t close enough. His scent clouded me — sweat, arousal, that damn cologne. His eyes raked over me, amused.“I read every issue,” he continued, voice low. “Your stuff’s good. Really good. But…”He reached out and hooked a finger under my chin, tilting my face up. I couldn’t breathe.“Those positions you describe? The way the bodies move? It’s obvious you’ve never actually done them. They feel… fake.”“Want me to teach you?” he murmured. “The real techniques. That way, in your next chapter, readers won’t be complaining that the author’s obviously a virgin.”Heat flooded my face. Shame. Anger. Want. Everything. “I don’t need…”“Your latest chapter,” he cut me off, his thumb brushing my lower lip, “the part where the lead pins someone against the wall? The angle’s

[Maddox]I’ve always been the guy no one notices. Average grades, average face, average everything. On campus, I’m just a furniture — there when you need a seat in the lecture hall, forgotten the second you leave. That invisibility used to sting. Now? It’s my superpower. Because when the lights go out and everyone else is chasing parties or hookups, I’m in my tiny dorm room, fingers flying across the keyboard, writing the kind of stories that make people blush behind their phones. Anonymous submissions to the university literary magazine. No byline, just the pseudonym “Yours Truly.” Readers devour them. Comments flood the forums; filthy, hot and imaginative as hell. But there’s always that one recurring jab: “Bet the author’s a virgin. Those positions sound completely made-up.” It hurts because they’re right. I’ve never even kissed anyone properly, let alone done half the things I describe in graphic detail. My imagination runs wild, but reality? Locked and empty. That’s w