Adult Book Boxes Novels & Stories

It all comes out rushed. “I beg your pardon?” “What… are you doing… that box, I mean, I need it.” “Oh! The Alpha has requested that the recent box be taken to his office. He’s going to arrange for some donations to the children’s wing of the infirmary–” “Those… aren’t children’s books,” I stammer. “I can get you some. Actually, the Luna is here–she’s in the kid’s section–not reading, I mean–I mean she can read, of course, just–”

"What more would I need for a six-month stay with you?" Ignoring her jab about the end date on this relationship, I walked over and opened the first box. It was all books. Everything from developmental and speech delays to a few raunchy romances. Her interest were vast, which impressed me. Beau didn't say anything as I grabbed that box and carried it deeper into my penthouse. Into my office and straight for the small desk I'd placed across from mine. Beside it there was a small bookshelf that looked similar to my own.

"Could you get Arabia’s basinet from the car?" "Be right back." Nodding, I watched as Asher headed out of the house before turning my attention back to the boxes lining the walls. Maybe I could go ahead and start helping him unpack. That wouldn’t be too much, right? Stepping forward, I run my hand along the first box I find and pull open the flaps, revealing the many books that are lying inside. "Hm," I can’t stop the curiosity that begins to flare as I examine the titles. Most are clearly spell books, but there is one in particular that draws my attention. "Artes Obscurae."

I imagined myself falling into an opened section of the floor, so I made sure that I was walking on a stable track, and that each of my stride were careful. But as I turned to my left where the old boxes of unused stuffs were made into a mountain, I heard a little squeak, and a colored rat ran pass my way. It startled me that I almost lose balance. I ignored the rat, and walked to the boxes. Every box had a label. There was a box of old blankets that was spotted by holes and stained. A box of more books that did not fit the shelves of the library anymore. A box of forgotten toys. And a box of our old uniform.

The windows faced the gardens, and the morning light was golden and warm and poured across the reading chairs like honey. She ran her fingers along the spines. Classics, histories, business books that probably belonged to Alexander. Nothing that looked even remotely interesting. “Where do they keep the fun books?” She moved to a different shelf where the light didn't quite reach. There were older volumes here—paperbacks mixed with hardcovers, spines cracked from actual use instead of just decoration. “This is more like it.” She crouched down, scanning titles. A thriller, a mystery and finally a romance with a cover so embarrassingly dramatic she almost laughed out loud. She reached for it an

Is that how much he loves reading? Hesitantly, I walked to the reading table and picked up one of the books. Surprisingly, the books were all about healing or trying to find a way to heal something. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was about. My curiosity made my eyes lead me straight to a big black box. It wasn’t locked, but it had a key on it. I tried to fight it, but I found myself wanting to know what was in the box, and the small dark room at the other end.

he murmured, his thumb brushing my swollen lower lip. I hadn't even recovered from the scorch of his kiss before he guided me toward another box—larger, wrapped in deep crimson. “Open it,” he commanded. My fingers shook as I obeyed. The lid creaked, and my breath fled. Inside were dresses of every shade, fabrics soft enough to slip through fingers like smoke. Winter shawls woven with thin threads of silver. Shoes adorned with tiny gems that caught the light. And so many books. Books I used to stare at from afar in the Thornspire Pack library, knowing I’d never be allowed to touch them.

sign. To distract myself, I turn back to the shelves. The smell of old books was like a drug to me now. It is a mix of cedar, dried ink, and a hint of the outdoors that people brought in on their coats. Having the freedom to browse these stacks is a luxury I hadn't enjoyed since I was a child. I reach out, running my fingers over the spine of a contemporary romance by Alyssa Cole. I lingered on the texture of the dust jacket, lost in the cover art and the weight of the story inside.

He’d introduced her to his full collection: leather cuffs, spreader bars, nipple clamps, a violet wand that made her scream and beg in equal measure. He never rushed. Never lost control. Every scene built on the last, pushing her further into surrender. Tonight—Christmas Eve—he’d planned something different. She knelt in the living room, naked except for the leather cuffs on wrists and ankles and the collar around her throat. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering light over her skin. He entered carrying a large black box tied with red ribbon. “Merry Christmas, Eliza.” He set it in front of her.

In the far corner is a sink and a crude-looking toilet. Hooks line one of the walls, all empty. The air smells like rust and dust. But then, something catches my eye. A shelf near the back, almost hidden in shadow. Not plastic packages this time. Books. Old ones. Their spines are worn, leather cracked. Some have gold filigree. Others are thick and bound in cloth. I move closer, squinting to read the faded titles. “Lineage of Power.” “The Lost Coronation.” “Treaties of the First Blood.”