Bitter And Sweet Novels & Stories

Marjorie struggled and screamed, but nothing she did mattered. As she was dragged out of the ward, she looked back at Lorenzo in despair. Seeing the icy indifference on his face, she finally understood there was no escape. A surge of bitterness rose in her chest, and she cried out hoarsely. "Lorenzo, why are you acting so devoted? What good will killing me do? "Isabella is already dead! You'll never get her back! You killed her. You pushed her to her death with your own hands! "You are the real sinner. You will never undo what you've done!" Her words were knives, each one cutting straight into Lorenzo's chest.

This fucking Demigod looked like he had just walked out of a magazine. I had always wondered how he'd look while naked. Sorry, us. And here we were, clothes ripped off and ready for sin. “You'd be my stepsister in a few weeks, don't you care?” I shook my head quickly, almost like cutting him off. “No, I don't.” “This is forbidden.” He pressed a smirk on his lips. He wasn't just interrogating me, he wanted to know the level of my desperation—how eager I was for this. “Rotten Fruit tastes sweetest,” I mentioned, grinning like an idiot. “Soren, now I don't care about fucking taboos.”

Eleanor I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe the taste of betrayal. Bitter doesn’t cover it. Acidic comes close, but even that feels too delicate, too poetic, for what it does to your heart when it detonates in your chest. It started with the scent.

I feel like dying! "Madam, can't you release the app? I want to use it now!"

What more proof did I need? But why was he after me? I couldn’t figure out his bipolar attitude. Once he was abusing me, judging me, and breaking my heart with his harsh words. In the next minute, he was nursing me back to health. Again, the next day he was after my business again, like the worst enemy alive! I would really go crazy trying to figure him out.

However, she had been giving in to the temptation all night, and it had grown more robust with each glass of wine she had consumed. Perhaps it was because this day was the death anniversary of her husband, and Michael Jensen was the polar opposite of Peter. She felt oppressed by resentment over fate's decision to deprive the world and herself of the gentleness and pleasantness of such a pious man. Fate allowed this one, a tainted sensualist, to live and sit opposite her, emphatically vibrating with a practically disgusting reputation.

If this man is destined for me, then please let me love him unconditionally, without doubt, hesitation, or fear. He chuckled, which tickled me, but here I was, tears rolling down my cheeks at the thought. And I know I'm losing this fight, even though it's not official. I am doomed that I let myself fall to this man, who only knows how to bury his member inside me. You are fucked up, Mayu! I just hope that what he shows is true so that I won't lose! "What about my midnight snack, My Sweetie?" he teased. I blinked and tried to push him away. He didn't put on weight and let himself lie on the bed.

I ask her impatiently making her nod, looking all cute like a little sheep just waiting to be eaten by a wolf. *** I can't believe we just walked two blocks from the penthouse at 2.30am to buy a popsicle. A freaking rainbow popsicle. Urgh, fuck my life for having to deal with this nonsense. "You see, the red color taste like strawberry," she licks the red part as both of us walk back home. "This yellow color is mango flavored," her tongue darts the part she's mentioning. "Those two are sweet but this green one taste a bit sour, but it's delicious. Do you want to guess what flavor it is?" She finally looks at me after all those useless information.

“A little sweet… and a little bitter.” He nodded. “That’s a cocktail for grown-ups. Life as an adult is a mix of sweet and bitter. And that’s what makes it just right.” Julissa thought of her relationship with Scott. It was just like that—sweet sometimes, bitter others. Yesterday was sweet. Today felt bitter. She was impressed by how spot-on the bartender was—not just in skill or looks, but in insight. How did he know exactly how she was feeling? But that wasn’t important right now. What mattered was figuring out how to recreate this drink for Scott.

He sighed. “I don’t drink alcohol except for a glass of wine sometimes.” She told him. “Oh yeah? Well, you devoured those two glasses like you were an expert.” She giggled drunk. “That is the worst alcohol I have ever tasted.” “Yeah well, it wasn't made for girls like you.” She hit his head. “Oww.” “Stop making yourself so bitter. I like the sweet you.” she told him. “The sweet me?” He asked.