Novel & Cerita As Written In The Lewd Notebook

She went as far playing a recorded audio of Anita saying how she had only been with him for the sake of her books and how she planned on leaving him when her books were finally published. She even goes as far as playing a recorded audio of Anita saying the same thing, and a video of a drunk Anita saying she'll leave him when she gets her books published.

“‘His fingers slid beneath the hem of her dress, tracing up her thighs like he owned her. And in that moment, maybe he did.’” Ava grabbed for the notebook, but Leo pulled it just out of reach. “Leo!” she cried, her voice panicked. “Give it back!” He finally stopped and looked down at her with a half-smile. “You embarrassed?” She swallowed, her throat dry. “That wasn’t meant for you.” “But you still wrote it,” he said calmly. “You wrote all of it.” Ava tried again, and this time he let go of the notebook. She held it against her chest, hugging it tightly.

ADRIAN Lena's laugh vibrated through my chest as she straddled my lap, her worn leather notebook pressing against my chest. The damn thing smelled like her—vanilla ink and that lavender shampoo she refused to replace. “Stop squirming,” I warned, my hands tightening on her hips. “Or I'll take you right here and right now.” She rolled her eyes but obediently flipped to a dog-eared page. “‘The first time you kissed me—’”

He set the glass down and crossed to me, stopping just close enough that I could smell his cologne dark, expensive, dangerously familiar. “Notebook?” he asked. I lifted the leather-bound book like a shield. My handwriting inside had grown filthier with every page he made me add. He took it from my hands, flipped it open to the newest entry, and read my words aloud in that low, commanding voice. “‘I vow to spread you open and taste how desperate you are for a man you shouldn’t want.’” My breath caught. I’d written it at 3 a.m. last night, fingers trembling, shame and arousal warring until I gave in and put it on paper.

The way he looked at me after the kiss, the way the bond pulls when he is close and the way I have to press my nails into my palms to keep from reaching for him. I write about the elders and the two weeks they gave him. The way they spoke about doing what is necessary, for the pack, as if those words make anything acceptable. I write until my hand cramps and my eyes start to hurt. Then I close the notebook. I hide it at the bottom of the drawer, under a stack of old letters no one will look at. The maid will not find it there. No one will. I lie back on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling above me. In this room, with the candles burned low and the door locked and the notebook hidden in the

After changing, I picked one of my old novels. It was a steamy novel that had a lot of mature scene more than actual conversations. The novel was so old that it was already so brown and had a lot of dog ears. I opened the page to one of the favourite chapter I like in the book. This time I imagined it was Me and Adrian instead of the characters in the book. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I laid on the bed, eyes concentrating on the page. * "I want everything off your body, except for that lingerie you sent in that picture." Leo said to Gabrielle as he walked into the room.

Chapter 2: The Canvas The drop cloth beneath Julianna was already ruined—smudged with charcoal streaks from the earlier sketches, streaked with her own arousal where it had soaked through during the first chapter of their encounter but Alexander didn’t care. The fabric had become part of the work now, a living record of what was unfolding between them.

At the very bottom of the container, which now felt less like a hidden treasure and more like a claustrophobic coffin for my shattered heart, lay a small notebook bound in silver leather. ​It was Lysander's personal journal. A meticulous, handwritten record of my damnation. ​With tears continuously streaming down my pale cheeks, burning hot against my cold skin, I roughly flipped open the fragile pages of the journal. My breath hitched in my chest, a desperate, choking sound echoing in the empty study as I searched for answers to the absolute madness I had just uncovered. ​The handwriting on these pages appeared messier and more rushed with every turn, reflecting the unstable emotions and ma

There was only a single, leather-bound notebook. The title embossed in gold foil read: How to Build an Empire From Nothing. ​Beneath the notebook lay a handwritten letter. Dizer unfolded the paper carefully, and the very first line caused tears to immediately well up in her eyes: ​My dearest Dizer... If you're reading this, it means life has already broken your heart... but I know it has not broken your spirit. As Dizer struggled through her tears to continue reading the letter, a loud, violent crash suddenly echoed from right outside the warehouse.

When he looks at me like he still can’t believe I’m real and he’s going to ruin me for anyone else just in case. Last week I showed up at his place unannounced and found the notebook open on the table. All those early entries. The ones from before I knew his name. He wrote about standing in my dark bedroom and smelling my pillow. About coming into my underwear and then washing them so carefully I never noticed. Reading it made my clit throb so bad I had to sit down. I touched myself right there on his couch while I flipped the pages. Came twice before he got home. He walked in, saw the open notebook and my shiny fingers, and didn’t say a word. Just dropped to his knees, yanked my hips to the