A Man Like No Other Novels & Stories

“Not all women look at a man’s appearance.” Porter gave her a look. So what does she mean? His handsomeness will not work on her? Good. Because he doesn’t plan to work his handsomeness on her. “Tss. At least you’re not like other girls.” He told her. Janine looked at him. “No two women are alike.” She beamed and Porter smiled weakly. “You think so?” He asked. Janine narrowed her eyes on Porter. “Yes.” She replied.

I'm the heiress of the Claremont family. Damon Johnson and I had a deal—we'd go to Oakwood High together. But the second my acceptance letter arrived, he and the rest of the guys in our class knocked me out cold. Why? Because Sophia Miller, the school's little princess, said she'd never seen a real mummy before. When I came to, I was wrapped head-to-toe in bandages, strung up at the front gate of the school. Students passed by—laughing, filming, some even spitting in my direction. I hung there for two full hours, on display for everyone. Finally, Damon showed up. Grinning, he untied the rope. "Sophia said she wanted to see a live mummy. It was just a joke. You're not actually mad, are you? W

Mimi asked worried. I stopped at the table, and turned towards them, and smiled innocently, but it was anything but innocent, Dan gulped looking at me he knew I was planning something really bad. I took a sip of the milkshake and it was really delicious too bad I was about to waste it, I walked up to Mr. Arrogant, a.k.a Austin Theodore, "Have you heard the saying never judge a book by its cover?"

He was still chewing someone out on the phone, his voice sharp and commanding. I leaned against the railing, pretending to admire the city lights. And waited. Because if I was going to throw myself into the lion’s den, I was damn sure gonna make it cinematic. I took the opportunity to give him a proper once-over. And holy. fucking. hell. How is it even legal for a man to be this gorgeous? Like, did he crawl out of a billionaire romance novel? Did God personally sculpt this man on a good day? His dark brown hair was slicked back to perfection—probably with the tears of lesser men.

He holds a similar energy just like his father's but I refuse to be intimidated by him. "I don't want to have anything to do with you, clearly you're nothing like the girls I like. You're simply not my type". he smirks as his grey eyes scan me, more like checking me out. Oh I definitely know how to deal with cocky jerks like you! "The feeling is mutual Mr..." I try to remember his name "Nathan" he completes "Nathan" I repeat. You can't be my type, you're too old for me, what are you like, 30?"

Woman 1 : Nxaa , am calling the police The King of handsomeness made way to my car holding a jarican .His hair neatly cut , no doubt that his barber is one of the best in the city .A symmetrical face making him alluring .Not to mention the defined jawline and prominent cheekbones which gave him a more chiseled look . Brawny chest , I bet it's even more comfortable than a soft pillow. His six peck was visible though his white nike t-shirt wasn't tight . Obviously the gym is his favourite place . I noticed a black mamba tattoo on his right hand which is a bit scary . It makes him look like those savage mafia kings . Well toned , straight and in continuity with the thighs were his legs which ar

“Everyone knows that he hates the company. While the first son actually shows interest, the second has been a photographer all his life. The direct opposite of what we do here.” “I don’t get it,” I whispered, more to myself. “No one does. And there is also the fact that he… he is a bloody player. I think he has successfully slept with half the women in the city.” “He has to look like a god.” “He does.” For some reason, I remembered the man from the bus station. Dark hair, dark eyes. He looked like a god, too. I guessed there were many gods roaming around New York. I ended up with one of them. Look where that got me.

I snap He subs, " I don't know, man.” He wails " He just introduced himself as Freando.” “Then what does he look like?" I ground out impatiently through gritted teeth. He sniffles, snot leaking down his chapped lips. “Mexican, bald, has a scar cutting across his hairline, and a beard. You can’t miss the scar, it’s pretty fucked looking.” I roll my neck, groaning as the muscles pop. It's been a fucking long day. “Cool, thanks man,” I say casually, as if I haven’t been torturing him slowly for the past three hours.

I mean apart from his usual job of ripping people apart. I don't need an introduction. I already know who this man is. He is Salvatore Morano—the one and only. He has long black hair that is neatly slicked back, and green eyes that are so intense they seem like they can see right into my soul. He is so massive he looks like he can cause a fuck load of destruction with just a snap of his fingers. I know it seems like I'm exaggerating things, but that is exactly what his aura gives. Power. Raw, unfiltered, and boastful power. Power that needs no introduction or announcement.

Sol Ming looked up to the sky, and then heard an angry roar of a man. “What do you think you’re doing to my partner?” Up the high-slope of the ground, there stands a tanned, colored man. He is bare-naked at the top with the similar animal hides down on his dog waist, eight-pack abdominal muscles look so majestic, and the long vertical scar made by a beast was shown all over him. The facial features of the man are seven-points, near perfection if only it weren’t for the beard on his face that wasn’t shaved hiding the lips of this person.