Novel & Cerita Best Book Of Short Stories

TABLE OF CONTENTS Prologue CHAPTER ONE – ROAD TO RIYA CHAPTER TWO – APEX PREDATOR CHAPTER THREE – HUNTING PARTY CHAPTER FOUR – TRAPPED CHAPTER FIVE – CAPITAL’S TRUTH Bonus story  A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO DIE YOUNG * CHAPTER ONE – THE INVITE TO DEATH * CHAPTER TWO – BAD FRIENDS, BAD * CHAPTER THREE – CRUMBLING FLESH OF CHILDREN  THE BIRTH OF ERIC KANE  BLOODY METELE  WRONG TURN  MYSTERIES OF FATE  DOCTOR BROWN  LATE KATE FOSTER You are about to journey through a story or should I say stories of suspense and survival. The story of Roxanne, Eric Kane,,, Ariana, Thieves, and A Christian and an Atheist

"Did you crawl out of a sewer on the way in? This is a Fortune 500 company, not a bus terminal bathroom." "I had car trouble, Mr. Graham. And then a shoe incident. And then a puddle..." "I don't pay you for your tragic life story, Wanda," he cut in, slamming his tablet onto the desk. "I pay you to function. Bare minimum expectations. Coffee that's hot. Bagels that aren't stale. You failed at both. Congratulations." "I'm sorry, I—"

I stood up and held the table's divider while looking over at the boy and girl that were about to drive me insane with their fornication in a prestigious place such as a library. Libraries were meant for smart people, brilliant people who were trying to embrace their full academic potential and become the next big person in history. Not for people who wanted the thrill of testing their ability to make out in silence and distracting the rest of the clearly sensible people. “Do you two mind? Some of us actually come here for important busin—” I stop halfway in my whispered complaint when my eyes landed on the boys huge veiny dick grabbed tightly in the brunettes fist. His hand was underneath h

Anyone would… But no one understands how my body shakes when Mike gives me the most slightest stare One Thursday evening my mother came home from work and told us she had to go on a long work trip on Saturday. She would be gone for one full week At that moment, my heart started beating so fast I thought it would jump out of my chest. One whole week alone in the house with Mike

Liam's P.O.V. I should have known better than to talk to some locals about boxing. I've been so excited about this trip and watching Karalee in person that I let my mouth run like water. We were talking about the best male boxers, and of course, I said Muhammad Ali. They said that the greatest of all time was Les Darcy. I have no idea who that is because I'm from Philadelphia, not Australia. Well, telling them I had never heard of him was the wrong thing to say.

Not a fortress. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. The bookstore is quiet. Just us and the hum of the fridge behind the counter. He holds something. A book. He sets it on the counter. The Art of Letting Go. Used. Corners bent. “I read it,” he says. His voice is rough. Unused. “Didn’t help.” My throat closes. “Dominic—” “I wasn’t okay,” he says, like he’s continuing a conversation from six months ago. “When you asked. On the phone. I wasn’t okay. I’m still not.”

She poured herself another glass of cheap red, already on her third, and dropped onto the couch in her pencil skirt and blouse, buttons half undone. The city lights through the rain-streaked windows. Her laptop was still open on the coffee table, case files glowing like accusatory little rectangles. She should sleep. Instead she reached for the dusty old book she’d bought on a drunken whim two years ago at that weird occult shop downtown. *Daemonologie for the Modern Woman.* Stupid. But tonight it felt like the right kind of stupid. She flipped it open, scanned a page at random, and slurred the words under her breath. Latin? Probably, didn’t matter.

🫠Overdue and Overwhelmed 🫠 Thompson’s POV “Mr. Thompson, this is the third time this month you’ve returned books late.” I froze halfway through the quiet university library at 10:47 PM. Jolene Adam stood behind the main desk, arms crossed under her full breasts, looking at me over the rim of her black-framed glasses. The head librarian was the definition of sexy and strict. She was in her mid-thirties, wearing a tight pencil skirt and crisp white blouse that struggled to contain her chest, and dark hair pinned up with a few rebellious strands falling around her face.

I whimpered, trying to type the next sentence. He chuckled darkly and thrust up slowly, grinding deep. “That’s the point. Read what you have so far. Out loud.” I moaned softly as he rocked me on his cock. “The… symbolism in the novel represents… ahh… the struggle between desire and morality…” “Wrong,” he interrupted, thrusting harder. “Symbolism doesn’t ‘represent the struggle.’ Be more precise. Fix it.” I gasped, trying to correct the sentence while his thick cock stretched me open. “The symbolism… illustrates the internal conflict between…”

This is a lesbian story of soaked panties, and pussy on pussy. ************ This happened a few weeks ago. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. It’s been playing in my head, over and over, like my body needs to remember every second. I had to write it down. I had to let it live somewhere outside of me.