Best Advent Devotionals Novels & Stories

“ This is the greatest gift I have ever received.” SEX WITH THE DEVIL

Andre, things will only get better from here. I smiled faintly. My eyes closed. Just a short nap… My body had no strength left. My thoughts drifted back to him — but I pushed them away. Please… whoever is listening in heaven, guide me through these 100 days. And keep Andre alive. Tears slipped down my cheeks as sleep finally claimed me.

Her voice faltered as she blinked. "My fault!" He whispered, wiping her tears. "it okay, stop crying" he dropped, his voice soft and calm as she gasped in disbelief... ★ QUARTERS* Tatiana raced into her room locking the door behind her, she was still trying to process what earlier happened but she can't believe it. He stylishly apologized to her! What the F*ck. Does a devil apologize? She can't believe this! Tatiana inhaled and exhaled slowly.

She asked in shock. "Anyone knocking? Deliveries? Maintenance?" Mrs. Lim shook her head. "No." Before Teresa could ask another question, Emma's bedroom door burst open. "Mommy!" Emma ran toward her, her ponytail bouncing with every step. She clutched a brightly colored storybook against her chest so tightly the corners bent beneath her fingers. "Look what I got!" Teresa smiled automatically and bent to hug her. "What is that?" Emma held up the book proudly. "The Little Star That Found Home."

I pulled myself together and apologized over and over, the man I ran into said in a deep husky voice, “Good morning, I’m Logan McAlister.” ———————————— I was about to yell at whoever just ran into me off the elevator until I looked into those exotic green eyes, they reminded me of a storm in the Bahamas I had seen. I cleared my throat and could only get out, “Good morning, I’m Logan McAlister.” I felt like an idiot, I should have reprimanded her for not looking where she was going. “I assume you are my new assistant Miss Peters,” I said this a little too sarcastically hoping to seem irritated due to her running into me.

He scratched his head using the mouth of his gun, "I definitely look delusional, if someone could hear me right now." "The thing is, Bulan, with all of these changes, curiosity, and rapaciousness--where people heedlessly scramble their way to the top, heartless and all--I live, I get stronger, and I continue existing. And that's not even the best part yet. With all these revising and adapting, I learn and replenish. It's so nice to be evil yet untampered rather than being untampered per se but benign."

He clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Don’t worry my children, for He will be punished for his sins and The Source shall take care of you now.” He jumped down off the stage and started running through the crowd, stopping every now and again to look people directly in their eyes. “Who is The Source, you wonder? Can he really save me, you hope?” He threw his arms up wildly into the air. “I am here, my children, welcoming you home to The Source, because I am The Source! I am the one and only! All others bow down to me, and you, my children, will benefit the most from coming home today. Behold the gifts that await you. And there’s more when you pledge your faith and souls to me.”

Awaken your spirit to adventure; Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk; Soon you will home in a new rhythm, For your soul senses the world that awaits you ~ FOR A NEW BEGINNING by John O'Donohue ¶¶

Just quietly supporting her from a distance, expecting nothing in return. Three months of silence. He was hurt, that's all. Enough time's passed. Of course he still cares. Of course he still loves me. The more she turned it over, the more convinced she became. A self-satisfied smirk crept across her face, something close to contempt flickering underneath it. You act like you hate me, Grant. And here you are, still circling back to me like you always do. Twenty years of devotion doesn't just disappear because of one bad night.

--- THE FIRST DREAM — BLOOD AND PROMISES I’m kneeling. Not weak — never weak — but controlled. Intentional. There’s blood on the floor, streaked in dark arcs like spilled ink. Someone groans behind me. Someone else is praying. I don’t turn. I already know who matters. He stands in front of me. Nicholas. Younger. Sharper. Colder in a way that feels cleaner, less fractured. His suit is immaculate, but his eyes are ruined — dark and burning, locked onto me like I’m the axis the world spins on.