10000 Hours Theory Novels & Stories

In the middle of a small yet tidy room, Aurora lay fast asleep. Her pale skin, as well as her beautiful face, would immediately make one address her as Sleeping Beauty. It was ever so befitting of her because she actually answered the name of the fairytale character. The only odd thing in this picture-perfect tale was the way Aurora was restlessly writhing on the bed already downed in cold sweat. She seemed to be having a nightmare as her arms flailed aimlessly, and she groaned continuously. Her beautiful face was morphed into a frown as tears escaped from beneath her kids and trickled down the sides of her face. She was indeed a sorry figure, which was a far cry from the fairytale we all knew. Soon, her body froze before she jolted awake in a sitting position. She panted like she had just run a marathon, and her eyes searched the room frantically, looking but not seeing. Her eyes were dazed and unfocused as she seemed to not be mentally present. She soon regained her breath but kept staring at a blank wall facing her bed. She stayed in that position for what seemed like hours but was actually minutes. Ring! Ring! The alarm clock on her bedside drawer blared continuously, disturbing the eerie silence that had engulfed the room ever since Aurora woke up. That seemed to do the trick of snapping her out of her haze and reverie as she jolted, and her eyes finally cleared up. She shook her head and turned to the direction of her bedside drawer before reaching out and hitting the alarm clock. Silence.

Today is Morgan Franklin's 30th birthday. It also marks the day he brings up divorce in front of me for the 99th time. He doesn't sound guilty and tentative anymore, unlike his demeanor when he mentioned divorce for the first time. Instead, he has a cigarette dangling between his lips while looking at me mockingly. "I've already called the ambulance for you, Milana. Have you thought about how you're going to commit suicide this time? Are you slitting your wrist or overdosing on pills?" Everyone in the private room bursts out laughing. "I bet she's going down the sleeping pill route! She did that the last time, and she had to get her stomach pumped for three hours!" "Hell no! She's definitely jumping off a building this time! But she'll just wait for the firemen to lay out the safety mat before pretending to jump! She's not going to die at all!" "Nah… Ms. Brook is very creative when it comes to suicide. Every time she commits suicide, she always uses a different method!" Everyone is curious as to which suicide method I will use in order to get Morgan to stay this time. But when I notice the smiles on everyone's faces, I suddenly feel exhaustion weighing down on my soul. The anger that has been sustaining me for so long finally dissipates. I lower my gaze before stating calmly, "I'm not doing any of that. This time, I shall grant you your freedom."

On the flight home, the plane starts shaking violently. Certain I'm about to die, I call my husband, Rhys Callahan, to say my last words. He hangs up on me, and his auto-reply flashes on the screen. "Driving. On my way to pick up Daphne." I've taken 86 flights in our five years of marriage. Every time I'm about to land, I ask him to come get me, and every time, the answer is the same. "Daphne's getting in too. I have to pick her up." He picks up Daphne Langston all 86 times. The lowest point comes during a rainstorm. I drag my suitcase through the downpour outside the terminal for two hours, unable to get a ride. When I call him, Daphne's voice comes through, laughing. "Oh, Rhys is helping me with my luggage right now. He can't come to the phone." Now the cabin fills with screaming and sobbing. The plane spirals out of control at cruising altitude, the left wing shearing away as flames light up the windows. My phone buzzes with a message from him. "Just picked Daphne up. What time do you land? I'll come get you." I stare at the screen and let out a bitter laugh. After five years, he's finally offering to pick me up. But fire swallows the plane as it plunges toward the ground. He doesn't know I'm no longer coming home.

I never broke eye contact as he slicked his already hard cock up with it. It never did take him long to get hard in my presence, especially after working me open when we had stood under the stream of the shower. Shuffling his ass forward just a little, he pulled me close to help me slowly sink onto his cock. Once my ass was flushed against his lap and he was to the hilt, he sighed, and I could see the exact moment that all the stress left his body. “Thank you.” He whispered. ______ I got pregnant after a sizzling one-night stand. I didn’t know then he was the son of a billionaire mafia Don. That night, he walked over to me with powerful strides that announced to the world, that he owned it. The dim light dancing over his sculptured face, Teased me with a glimpse of perfection. His deep baritone voice vibrated thru my core, and before I knew it, we were back at my place, thrusting into ecstasy. For hours he took me to heaven and back, But on earth, he became cold as ice. Then, without so much as a name, He walked out the door and out of my life. I tried to forget him, Until I got unexpected news from my doctor weeks later. and before I had time to digest the information, I was snatched by two men. Now I’m in the presence of the Don of all Dons, congratulating me on my pregnancy. And the man that took me to heaven, is now tasked to keep me in hell.

I gave a stranger my panties on a plane. Not because I'm reckless. Not because I do things like this. But because Damien Cross looked at me like I was something worth destroying himself over, and I wanted to be devoured. Four hours at 30,000 feet. That's all it took for him to unravel every careful thread of the life I'd built. One look. One touch. One whispered promise that I was his. Then he vanished. No calls. No texts. Just a breaking news report showing him married to someone else, while I stood in a hotel bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test. Six years later, I've rebuilt myself. I'm a mother. A success. I've learned to survive without him. Until he walks into my photoshoot and recognizes the birthmark he once traced with his tongue. He says he never stopped looking for me. That his marriage was a cage he's finally escaped. That the twin boys I've been raising alone are his sons, and he wants his family back. But Damien Cross is a man who deals in empires and enemies. Someone close to him wants me gone. The threats start. The danger escalates. And I realize that loving Damien means walking into a war I never signed up for. He says he'll burn the world down to keep us safe. I'm terrified he means it. Some men are worth the fall but men are the wreckage. But Damien is both.

Since I've spent a few minutes using the toilet during work hours, I only receive 3500 dollars despite my salary being 20 thousand dollars. I confront my boss, Vivian Dune, immediately. Although she seems fair and just on the outside, she adopts a passive-aggressive attitude with me. "The security footage from last month shows that you've used the toilet for 40 minutes altogether. Don't tell me you're working there, right? "It'll be 500 dollars for every minute you spend in the toilet. That's the new rule of the company. Since you're a veteran employee, you should be the one taking the lead. Honestly, I already went easy on you." I'm a veteran employee who has been working at this company for ten years. Each business deal that I've closed brings the company at least 100 million dollars worth of revenue. But now, I get robbed of my most basic right as a human. Seeing my lack of response, Vivian flashes me a venomous smile. "If you really don't want to work here, you might as well leave. Do you seriously think we need you? Don't forget that your five-year contract isn't up yet. Who in this industry will want to hire you next?" I don't argue with her any further. But when my contract, which only has five days left, comes to an end, she's the one panicking instead.

"Get on your knees and fit my shaft between your filthy lips." "What?" "I'll finish if you do. I'll wrap my lips around this..." His fingers sink deep into the flesh between my thighs, and I relish his feel. "I'll let your legs hang around me, fall on my knees and sink my tongue into you." His words are tempting—not the teasing of his lips on my centre part, but the image forming in my mind of him on his knees before me. I want to see that. ** Ruby Mallory Clive loses her life only hours after being served divorce papers. By a stroke of fate, she wakes up days before her wedding, which, unfortunately, must go on. However, this time, she vows that things will be different—she will not, under any circumstance, fall for her husband, the Alpha, who hates her. Alpha Adrain Muaas Knox hates the 'Clive' family with all his heart; his contract wife is no exception. His plan had been to treat her with indifference, but the feisty little fox needed some training. When the lines between desire and hatred cross into obsession, will Ruby be able to let go of the repeating past, find her killer and await the inevitable divorce with her heart intact, or will she succumb to the Alpha's obsessive claim? ** This book can be read as a stand-alone; however, feel free to check out book one of the Lust & Hate Series: Bound to My Wicked Stepbrother.

“Don’t you want to cum, goldie?” Draven whispered harshly as his rough hands pinned her wrists above her head. Luca’s lips trailed fire down her throat, nipping at her pulse, while Mateo’s fingers dipped between her thighs, teasing her wetness as she wiggled desperate for friction. “No escaping this storm—or us.” She arched against them, a whimper escaping her lips as Luca claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss. There was no need arguing because she had known from the day they had walked in to find her naked in their bed that she was… Theirs To please. *** Soraya, a victim of abuse at the hands of her psychotic husband never thought that she would ever be free. She thought that she would wither away and die at his hands so when the opportunity to escape came, although unlikely, she grabbed it. She was free? Sadly, no. Mere hours into when her flight to freedom had taken off did it come crashing down. Literally!! She had barely had time to get over her narrow survival when she found herself trapped in a large mansion in the middle of nowhere. And worse of all, she's not alone. Have you ever heard the tale of Goldilocks and the three bears? The one where she stumbled into a cozy little cabin, ate their food and then got away scott free with three new friends. This is not that tale. In this tale, Goldie did stumble into the house of the three bears but she never went free. Instead, she discovered three psychotic brothers who showed her the consequence of trespassing.

I always had a weakness for handsome men, so I camped out online to grab one of the very first AI incubi. The brand's whole pitch was seduction tuned a hundred percent to its owner's taste. But every time I got within ten minutes of Lucien Crane, he'd force-start a system cleaning cycle, go dark, and idle out. "Master, please don't overuse me. Bacteria buildup can cause a malfunction." Left unsatisfied every single time, I finally went to customer service, and the rep looked as baffled as I felt. "An incubus unit would never break off contact with its owner. We'd recommend restarting him at home." But on the drive back, I happened to scroll past a livestream from my live-in housekeeper. The title sat right there in bold: How a Seasoned Queen Subdues In Her AI Incubus. The lighting was low. The man's earlobes were flushed, and he knelt on one knee, every inch of bared skin crossed with messy whip marks. My housekeeper wiggled her red-painted toes, all smiles. "This one's got real stamina. Five hours straight and he never once tapped out." As the comments poured in, envious, a chill ran through me. So the so-called "cleaning system" was just his excuse to slack off and idle. Behind my back, he was happily playing somebody else's obedient little sub. If he wouldn't serve me the way he was built to, then he could wait to get shipped back to the factory and scrapped for parts.

As the Don of Italy's most powerful mafia family, my father adopted two orphaned brothers to serve as bodyguards for my sister and me. The older one—tall, broad-shouldered, and watchful—fell for my sister the moment he saw her. That left me with his "autistic" younger brother. I didn't have the heart to send Edward back to the orphanage, where he'd surely be bullied, so I kept him. He never spoke, so I took him to the best psychiatrists money could buy. I spent two hours every day telling him jokes, even though he never once cracked a smile. He couldn't protect me, so I taught myself martial arts—and begged my father not to cast him out. I thought he was just deeply traumatized. That with enough patience, he'd come around. Then the cruise ship went down. He tore the last life jacket straight off my body. The first words he ever said to me: "Sorry, but Bianca's life jacket is defective." Bianca—my sister. He watched me slip beneath the waves, gripping my hand one last time: "I failed you in this life. I'll make it up to you in the next." Turns out his silence was never autism. Just an act—one he only kept up around me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we chose our bodyguards. This time? I skipped the bodyguard farce entirely. Decided to live my own life. But now it seems I've caught the eye of someone far more dangerous...