How Does A Guest In The House End?

Grace Anderson is a striking young lady with a no-nonsense and inimical attitude. She barely smiles or laughs, the feeling of pure happiness has been rare to her. She has acquired so many scars and life has thought her a very valuable lesson about trust. Dean Ryan is a good looking young man with a sanguine personality. He always has a smile on his face and never fails to spread his cheerful spirit. On Grace's first day of college, the two meet in an unusual way when Dean almost runs her over with his car in front of an ice cream stand. Although the two are opposites, a friendship forms between them and as time passes by and they begin to learn a lot about each other, Grace finds herself indeed trusting him. Dean was in love with her. He loved everything about her. Every. Single. Flaw. He loved the way she always bit her lip. He loved the way his name rolled out of her mouth. He loved the way her hand fit in his like they were made for each other. He loved how much she loved ice cream. He loved how passionate she was about poetry. One could say he was obsessed. But love has to have a little bit of obsession to it, right? It wasn't all smiles and roses with both of them but the love they had for one another was reason enough to see past anything. But as every love story has a beginning, so it does an ending.

“True love stories never have endings.” Dean said softly. “Richard Bach.” I nodded. “You taught me that quote the night I kissed you for the first time.” He continued, his fingers weaving through loose hair around my face. “And I held on to that every day since.”

In the third year since my husband, Axel Kramer, starts working as a rideshare driver, we finally manage to buy a home of our own. On the day we move in, he suddenly says to me, "Some friends want to come over for dinner tonight. I already said yes." I'm someone who values boundaries and doesn't like outsiders coming into my home. Even when we host relatives, we take them out to restaurants. "Can't we just go to a restaurant?" I ask. He looks helpless as he replies, "I already suggested that, but Lindsay said it would be more fun if we hang out at home. She said we should liven it up in our new home. And since everyone knows I'm a good cook, she wants to try my cooking too." One corner of my eye twitches with displeasure. Lindsay Brun is the female driver he's mentioned the most over these three years. She's also the only woman in their rideshare drivers' group chat.

He drew her close to himself and at that moment, she could swear her heart stopped. She looked into his mesmerizing blue eyes as she watched his hands run through her skin slowly. Karen never knew love could be this addictive.

Blindfolded and placed on his knees, August takes every pierced inch of the stranger's cock down his throat while his rough hands gripped his hair as cum spills hot inside him, marking him, owning him—another hook up at the club that leaves him sore, broken, and craving more. Accidentally, he gets a job as a live-in housekeeper in a glass house downtown, just a day after that hook-up. He encounters the hot, right-handed man Levi, whom he can't seem to resist. In the house, everything feels strange, as if eyes are watching and walls are listening. A stalker starts sexting him, and he plays along with them. Unknown to him, the house is always watching. Slowly, he started having nightmares, seeing things of his past again, a part he thought he had buried. The house was jogging his memories. He sees a piece of his past in the house, a piece that belonged to his supposedly dead best friend, making him start asking questions about the actual owner of the house. August is trapped with, the anonymous Sexter that doesn't stop making endless demands, Levi the sexy hot assistant, the flashbacks with the Stranger from the club, and an idea that his supposedly dead friend, might not be dead. This is a raw, unapologetically addictive dark erotica, where the only way out is deeper in.

"Mr. Kane, do you have any cucumbers at home? Can I have one?" The hurricane strikes, and my daughter's best friend, Lexie Cooper, is stuck in my home. She comes to ask me for a cucumber late at night with a flushed face. "I'm just a little hungry. I'd like to snack on some cucumber," she says. As I look at the pointy tips peeking from underneath her pajamas, a primal urge surges uncontrollably within me. I say deliberately and slowly, "I have something even better than a cucumber."