Who Wrote Percy Sledge'S 'My Special Prayer'?

For Adults+🔞🔞🔞 Only..Gracie never wanted to come back home—but the summer traps her in the house with the one man she both fears and craves: her stepfather. Cold, ruthless, and dripping with quiet disdain, he’s made it clear for years that she is nothing but a burden. Yet his every glare ignites something forbidden in her, a hunger she’s never dared confess. Now, every moment alone with him feels like a test of control. The brush of his hand, the gravel in his voice, the way his eyes linger too long—Emma can’t tell if he wants to destroy her… or devour her. The secret she carries inside burns hotter each day, pulling her closer to the edge of obsession. This summer, masks will shatter. His cruelty hides something darker, and her longing hides something even more dangerous. Between hate and desire lies a line they are both desperate to cross—where punishment tastes like pleasure, and love is twisted with sin. A raw, heart-pounding tale of forbidden lust, dangerous secrets, and the irresistible pull of the man she was never meant to want. But Gracie’s story is only the beginning. This book unlocks a collection of raw, taboo-driven erotic tales—each one more daring, more dangerous, and more intoxicating than the last. For readers who crave the forbidden, who ache for the edge where desire blurs with darkness, this is your invitation.

“God—” “Not God,” he muttered against my neck, biting the skin there. “Me. Say my name.” “Dorian!” I cried, back arching. “That’s it.” He stroked faster, his thumb teasing over the tip, slicking me up. “Good boy. Take it.” Ezra Monroe was raised to be pure. The perfect choir boy. Twenty-two and untouched—soft voice and eyes that have never looked too long at sin. But one man ruins everything. Father Dorian Vale. The moment his eyes meet Ezra’s, something snaps. And a good boy learns how to kneel for the wrong man. He was supposed to guide him to heaven. Instead, he’s teaching him how to sin. He’s not here to save Ezra. He’s here to ruin him. Slowly. Until every prayer sounds like his name.

My blood-bonded mate, Prince Dorian, despised me. I was just a mortal to him. A girl with filthy blood. His eternity was already promised to a pureblood—Cordelia. When she died in an accident, he blamed me. Hated me for ten years. But when rival vampires attacked our castle, he saved me. Bleeding out in my arms, he used his last breath to push my shaking hands away. "Odette... if only the Bond had never tied us together." At his wake, they kicked me out. So I climbed to the top of their family’s skyscraper—a place they arrogantly called "Heaven's Needle"—and jumped. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the night the ancient Blood Bond chose me as his mate. This time, I'm setting him free. And myself along with him.

Can Christmas magic help her hear the music again? Melody Murphy shared her love of music with her father, but after tragically loosing him on Christmas Eve two years ago, she no longer has any interest in music or Christmas. She returns to her hometown of Charles Town, West Virginia, to help her mother save the family antique business, content to stay focused on her work. However, when a chance encounter with an adorable five-year-old leads her to befriend an attractive single dad, Melody begins to realize she's been putting her life on hold, something her father would've never wished for her. Will she learn to hear the song in the falling snow again? Reid has recently moved to Charles Town to start over after his wife walked out, leaving him alone to raise their son, Michael. When Michael decides he needs Melody Murphy in his life, Reid needs to find out what it is that has his son drawn to the young woman like a magnet. The closer he gets to Melody, the more he begins to believe he might get a second chance at love after all. This is a sweet contemporary romance with Christian themes, perfect for holiday reading.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

My cousin, Kaylee Langford, pushes me down the ski slope when there's an avalanche. My boyfriend, Atlas Ferguson, lifts her into his arms and leaves. He seems to have forgotten that I'm buried underneath the snow mountain. He leaves me stranded at the valley for seven days. He's furious when he finds me. "You should be glad nothing went wrong with Kaylee's arms. Otherwise, the only way you could atone would be to die on this mountain! Our wedding is canceled—we'll have it once you realize what you did wrong." He thinks I'll cry or kick up a fuss, but I merely nod and say, "Okay." He doesn't know that I've made a deal with the Moon Goddess. In six days, I'll be giving up the things that mean most to me—my love for Atlas and my memories of him. Once that happens, I'll forget everything about him and start afresh somewhere new. What does a wedding matter when the Ember Sloane who loved him is now dead?