Best Short Story Books For Adults นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Without you, the readers, I wouldn't have been able to tell their stories. Please feel free to reach out to me through my social media pages. On my Face book page as Maramartha. And on my Instaagram as maramarthaa. While keeping an eye out for Calum’s story: To Seduce My Stepbrother, you can check out my other completed stories; 1. Mr Reluctant Billionaire. 2. Mrs Reluctant Billionaire 3. Erotic Shades Of Passion: a short erotic anthology. (This one is just 42 chapters).

Granny completed the story for us not minding my presence maybe cause am her in-law or just another way around. " So that's how you lied to us all" A young man walked in without a knock to give permission, he just made his way through the conversation.

He said she was not to worry the Doctors had said it would not be forever and she would soon start to feel herself again. Belle was lost, and empty she did the small tasks her Father asked her to do, cleaning, washing and even preparing food she appeared to know how to do these things but something told her she had not done them for some time. She had too much time to think that was the problem, when the weather was good she walked around the garden trying desperately to find whatever it was that was missing inside her. Sebastian watched her hidden in his room and it broke his heart he could sense her distress and he longed to comfort her but she did not know him. When the weather turned col

To my new readers, if you want to read my other stories, below are all my books on Goodnovel: Lucas' Story: Gone Too Long, The CEO Becomes A World-Class Doting Husband The Wright Family Series: Mommy, Where Is Daddy? The Forsaken Daughter's Return (*) Flash Marriage: A Billionaire For A Rebound I Kissed A CEO And He Liked It (*) The Devil's Love For The Heiress I Fell For A Boy His Daddy Was A Bonus (*) I placed an (*) on the books with the most reads or my bestsellers. Each book is a standalone. You can skip any books as you see fit.

Now that I’m an adult, I don’t care about Santa, gifts, or Christmas. It’s just another day for me, nothing special. I pick up a few more groceries from a corner store and head back out. By now, the street is darker, the sky a deep purple behind the lit-up houses. Fireworks pop somewhere in the distance, little bursts of color reflecting off the snow. I quicken my pace, hurrying home. As I pass an apartment building, I see kids leaning out of a first-floor window, writing on small pieces of paper and stuffing them into socks.

But no one knows about the other side of me. At night, when the house is quiet, I hide under my covers with my phone and read the kind of stories that would make my mother faint. Dark. Filthy. Full of dominant men who take what they want. Girls who beg for it. Degradation that makes my thighs press together and my heart race. I touch myself to those stories, whispering things I would never say out loud, and then feel crushing guilt the next morning. I’m supposed to be pure. Innocent. The perfect daughter.

“Now this one…” He shook his head, almost impressed, almost unsettled. “This one’s mad.” He leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge of the book a little tighter. There was something about this story that didn’t feel heavy like the last one. It was still intense, but cleaner. Sharper. “Man went in for a job… came out with something else entirely,” he muttered. Adam ran a hand over his chin, thinking it through. It wasn’t about control this time. Not like before. This one felt… equal. Two people walking into the same moment for completely different reasons and meeting right in the middle of it.

🫠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.

A faint, knowing smile touched his lips before he turned to the board. “Today we will discuss power exchange in nineteenth-century literature,” he began, his voice smooth and authoritative. “Particularly how submission can function as both surrender and rebellion.” My cheeks burned. He was speaking directly to me. For the first thirty minutes, he lectured normally. I took notes with trembling hands, trying to focus on his words rather than the plug inside me. Then I felt it. A low, gentle vibration started deep within me.