A Masterpiece Novels & Stories

"Here's a fact about women, son: When you find the one that was tailor-made for you, there will be no control over what you want. If she's not happy, you'll feel like crap. But if you are able to make her smile... partner, you will have conquered the world. Your world. Because everything will be limited to her and her existence. Always remember this: your wife is the only one who deserves to be placed on a podium where she has the first place in the priorities of her life. When you do this, my boy, you will know that she is the reason for every breath you take when you wake up for tomorrow. After all, without your particular paradise, how could you have some peace in this life?" Would Camila

He whispered. "Controlla te stesso e questa dannata sensazione. È solo una fottuta amante. Solo un'amante nient'altro!" He mumbled to himself nodding in his head. (-Control yourself and this damn feeling. She's just a fucking mistress. Just a mistress nothing else!) He made his mind. He wouldn't be bothered by whatever she does anymore. She can do the fuck she wants he wouldn't give two fucks about it like he was unbothered by his previous mistresses.

he said as they clasped hands. "Mushrooms," she said to him nonchalantly, "I checked their stew to make sure that the flavor would not be noticed, then I added some powdered and very deadly mushrooms that grow naturally here – Amanita Verna. I returned a second night to make sure I had gotten everyone in the camp. I’m glad it worked." She climbed out of the tree and headed back towards Mikail’s camp. She gave them the Destroying Angel. No wonder they died so quickly. Good choice. I wonder how much the captain realizes.

I looked around the big mansion trying to find the room. Finally, I found the room yesterday Lina told me about the directions but I was still not sure. I bit my lip still not sure about going in or not. But then finally I did. I was left mesmerized at how beautiful and luxurious it was. It was two times bigger than my room. My eyes fell on Master who was sleeping in his king-sized bed. And he was shirtless. God, I gulped heavily. I didn't want to see him like this but I have no other option.

"Just bare with Master Eugene, in the meantime. He is quite grumpy at times, but he is not always like that. He is really a nice man, believe me." Jorah said in his master defense while he tried his best to move the burnt casserole over the gas range towards the empty countertop. The casserole was almost as big as the size of the cat's body itself so the other party was having a hard time carrying it. Seeing this, Abby came to his rescue.

Cullen whispered. My heart was jumping, breath coming fast. I was both aroused and afraid. Afraid of falling harder. I feel so hot right now. Literally. I could feel the heat between my legs. “You are super hot as well, my master.” I responded it because he likes it whenever I call him my master.

“A portion of the Maestro’s estate will go to the upkeep and maintenance of this memorial garden, to keep it accessible to all walks of life.” One of the del Carmen’s suits attended the ceremony to ensure that their orders would be followed, and hearing the Maestro make one last defiant act caused his face to wrinkle up in contempt over the common folk that, for all of the Maestro’s wealth and influence, considered my grandfather one of them. Miss Salve passed the note to me, and after reading it, my eyes went wide. “The sword is my final masterpiece and lesson to you, Maximo. Wield it righteously.”

The glass table was a mess of honey, champagne, and the remains of the men's desire. Sarah lay there, unable to move. She felt like a hollow shell that had been filled with gold. Leo walked over to the main monitor. He pressed play. On the screen, a high-definition version of Sarah was begging for more. She looked wild. She looked destroyed. She looked beautiful. "This is the masterpiece," Leo whispered. Sarah looked at the screen, then at the three men who stood over her like guards of a secret temple.

Doris was clearly sidestepping my question, yet the onlookers seemed to interpret her behavior as an admission of my alleged degradation. Jennifer's voice rose above the murmurs, her arms waving with fervor. "Guys, if we turn a blind eye today, who will stand for us when our time comes? Today, we are the judges of the mistress! For this shameless mistress who wreaks havoc on others' family, we owe it to ourselves to mete out justice!" Encouraged by Jennifer's impassioned words, the students jumped onto their desks, their chant of "Expel the mistress and make it right" echoing through the hall.

It’s probably for the best that I’m not, though, because I’m pretty sure I’d clean out the bar just listening to the show’s patrons spew endless garbage in Conrad’s direction. The funny thing—and not “funny” as in “ha ha,” but funny as in, “let me know if you see a bridge nearby so I can jump off it”—is that I used to be one of them. I used to swoon over every piece Conrad’s brilliant mind created; I’d sigh and fawn and ooh and ahh. Especially the central piece of tonight’s showing. That one is his pièce de résistance, his magnum opus, the culmination of his life’s ambitions painstakingly poured onto canvas with all the love and adoration of a man worshiping his personal goddess.