Beauty

“For someone who’s soon to be married, you sure look miserable, Mr?” “Creed,” the man replies, his words slurred, almost like he’s absent minded. “Alexander Creed.” He completes. . . . Two days to the wedding. Two days to Alexander’s wedding, his path crosses with a girl who makes him feel like himself. Evangeline. They share a dance at a club, and that dance led to a steamy night together. A steamy night that somehow left lingering emotions. When Alexander decides not to push through with the wedding, his bride-to-be reveals a heartbreaking information. Evangeline’s and Alexander’s meeting was never a coincidence. For Evangeline, it was just a job, but for Alexander, her name has refused to evade his memory. What will happen when she returns three months later with the resulting factor of their affair? Read to find out.

“Tell me to stop, Adaline," I whisper. "Fuck me, Michael. Please... I need you..." Fuck me... When I sink into her, I lose the ability to think. . . . Adaline Daniels is a spoilt young girl born into one of the prominent family in LA. Michael is a man who was trained as child soldier, meant to follow orders and kill. Although he's trying to legalize his business, he cannot avoid the one request his partner had made before her assassination. For her daughter to be protected. After years of having someone else do this job, Michael crosses paths with Adaline and discovers that she's the daughter of his partner which he's meant to protect. Now, there's no turning back. Michael wants Adaline for himself, and there's nothing that can stop him from having her. Their relationship is messy, partly because of the secrets Michael keeps from Adaline, and partly because of how much Michael and Adaline disagrees. But what happens when the enemies close in and ruin Michael's found happiness? Will he continue to be the level headed good man for his Adaline or will darkness consume him? What will Adaline do when this loss rocks her life to the core? Read to find out more!! There's age gap, dark themes, light heartedness, a sassy but focused female lead, a controlling but kind and thoughtful male lead. Although this story has a lot of moments that'll throw you off, it's also packed with lots of moments that'll make you blush. Can't wait to see you all engage!

"Are you wet enough?" He questions with hooded eyes. I nod curtly. "Only the sound of your voice and my pussy jumps in excitement." "Good. Turn around." He orders as both hands grip my waist, flipping me around before I can argue. "Sit on it and go crazy." *** She's a liar. He's a sociopath. She's patient. He's impatient. She's kind. He's a monster. She's desperate. He's powerful. When love ignites between two worlds forced together, tragedy arises, hate becomes and resentment settles in. They fight. They struggle. They almost push through. But the blood and bones hidden in a perfectly designed cupboard are discovered and the truth of the imperfectly perfect union destroys the desires of the heart.

***Explicit 18+*** "I've missed the warmth of your pussy, the feel of it. God Ginevra, you're so fucking perfect." I rasped and tightened my grip on her. I began rocking her against me ever so gently with parted lips. Her tight pussy very often gripping unto my dick, taking me hostage with each rock against me and a loud scream finally escaped from the back of my throat. *** The game of chess is one love cannot salvage. When the king and the queen come out to play, they have no other goal set before them if not going at each other's throat for the kill until a winner emerges. This is the game of the mafia, the game that'd never allow Love exist between two rivals. They want to love and care for each other but don't know how- all they've known all their lives is loyalty to their famiglia and name. What would happen when the only option becomes death?

This is the biography of a 21-year-old young woman, Victoria Carlson. To her, her stepfather's massive manhood is her best coming-of-age present. "Vicky, Daddy just wants to give you a surprise," my stepfather, Charlie Kramer, says as he rips my dress off me roughly.

I crave excitement in my life. To do that, I send my deskmate a video of me pleasing myself with a toy. Bit by bit, it awakens his desires…

My roommate won first prize in the national lottery, a full 100 million dollars. She quit her job on the spot, blocked her boss, and said to me, "Amanda, from now on, we'll live in Luxuria Heights, eating the best food and living it up." We went on shopping sprees at Hermès and treated Michelin restaurants like our daily canteen. On moving day, she told me to go ahead to the top-floor luxury apartment and wait for her. She said she needed to pick up a package. Excited, I entered the password she had given me. "Beep. Incorrect password." I was just about to try again. Then, the door opened. The person who came out was not my roommate but a stranger in a suit. He looked at me and frowned. "Who are you? Why do you have the password to my home?" I was stunned. "This is Lydia Zaydn's apartment. Who are you?" The man's expression turned strange. "Lydia Zaydn? I've lived here for five years. I've never heard of that name."

During an elective class, the campus belle, Jemima Ford, who is our senior, describes her ideal type with everyone egging her on. She says, "My future husband has to be at least six feet two inches tall. His parents must be college professors, and his grades should be top three in his major…" The room buzzes with teasing chatter and gossip. At the same time, I snap up my head in surprise. Why does Jemima's description of her ideal type sound like my boyfriend, Elijah Sanders? The next second, the professor standing by the podium smiles obsequiously and says, "Very well said. If Eli hears this, he'll definitely be very happy! Later, the two of you can meet. That way, he won't get tricked by some naive girl into going abroad." Amid the burst of laughter from the class, I lower my eyes and look at the message my parents sent me. It reads, "Sweetheart, are you really going abroad with your boyfriend? There'll be no one left to inherit our company with you gone."

After being sent back in time to relive my life, I stopped standing up for the popular girl who got caught stealing. When she returned to college for classes, I dropped out. When she came to my house looking for me, I moved. I did everything I could to cut off all contact with her. Before I died in my last life, I knew she married me only for my family’s money, yet I still handed her my heart like a fool. The jewelry I gave her was “tacky.” Trying to get close to her was “annoying.” I held on to a cold, empty marriage, thinking that as long as I waited, she would eventually turn back to me. However, for more than twenty years, all I got was her indifference. I didn’t even dare touch the doorknob to her room. Then came the fire, and I risked my life to push her out the window to safety. Right before I died, I saw my wife, completely unharmed, run straight into the arms of our college valedictorian. Crying, she said she was finally free from the marriage that had made her miserable for decades. If life could start over, she said, she hoped to walk hand in hand with the person she truly loved. In that moment, my heart went dead. I let the fire swallow whatever remained of my life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the bar where the popular girl was working part-time and stealing money from a customer. This time, I chose to call the police.

As the male lead, Henry Johnston, forces himself on me, a row of comments suddenly appears before my eyes. "Henry is about to misunderstand and think Aria drugged him! The angst is about to begin!" "I'm thrilled just thinking about Henry regretting dearly after Aria dies!" "Keep up the act, Henry. After she dies, you'll be hugging her corpse and crying every day." That is when I realize that I am the tragic female lead in a story where I am destined to be tormented until I die. The readers treat my death as a highlight to push the plot forward. They are counting down to my death. As I look at Henry, who is panting on top of me, anger courses through me. I grab a table lamp and smash it into him, killing him on the spot. Who says that the one who dies in a toxic romance story must always be the female lead?