Booktok Books For 13 Year Olds 소설 & 이야기

As soon as I get off the surgical table after my miscarriage, my husband, Presley Quinn, sends me a text message. "You were ten cents short when you paid your share of the power bill this month. Transfer the money to me immediately." I can only sit on the cold bench in the hospital on my own. The anesthesia has yet to wear out, but my belly is already hurting so much that I can practically feel it constricting on itself. The next thing I know, a new post appears on my social media homepage. It's a post made by Vivienne Ashford, the intern Presley is in charge of tutoring. In the photo, Vivienne can be seen holding a bouquet of flowers folded from money bills. A bright and radiant smile blooms on her face. The four-leaf clover necklace adorning her neck is the same necklace I've seen in Presley's purchase history two days ago. The caption of the photo writes, "I don't want a lot of money. I want a ton of love instead." Only then do I remember that today is Valentine's Day as well as my fifth-year anniversary with Presley. Over the past five years, Presley and I have been splitting every single bill, down to two decimal places. If I take a shower for more than 20 minutes, Presley demands that I pay extra for the water heater's power bill. When I cook myself some supper in the middle of the night, Presley wants me to split the gas bill generated by the stove. Even when my mom is hospitalized due to kidney failure and is waiting for her surgical bills to be settled, Presley refuses to lend me a single cent. Instead, he sends me a few links leading to web loans. As I stare at the social media feed, I chuckle all of a sudden. It turns out that Presley does know how to spend money. It's just that he doesn't have the heart to spend it on me. I smile once again as I leave a like on the post. Then, I transfer the ten cents to Presley. From now on, I don't owe him any single penny.

At dinner, Tiffany White grabs my fiance's phone and spends 100 thousand dollars on a designer bag. She even sticks her tongue at me. "Come on, Meredith. You're loaded. You won't mind such a small amount, right? Shawn and I share everything. His money is my money," she says. Everyone at the table waits for me to lose my temper or smile and let it slide like a saint. Instead, I calmly take out a voice recorder and my laptop from my bag and adjust my gold-rimmed glasses. "100 thousand meets the threshold for criminal filing. Since you said you two share everything, I have to ask—is this embezzlement or an illegal transfer tied to an improper personal relationship? "Oh, and what you just said about 'his money is my money'? I recorded that. According to the supplemental clauses in our prenup and the company bylaws, I'm officially initiating an asset-freezing order against Shawn Harrison." I turn to Tiffany. "Enjoy your free meals in prison, Ms. White." Shawn is livid. "It was just a joke, Meredith. Is it really necessary to ruin me over this?" I hit the "enter" key. "Sorry. In my book, there are no jokes—only bad debt."

I ran into my boss when I was complaining to my best friend about how he actively made the workplace hostile for me. He fired off a barrage of questions, "Where's the annual report? Where's the script for the speech? I can't believe you have the gall to enjoy a meal when you have a mountain of work to do!" That was it. I slammed the table. "It's due tomorrow! What's the rush? Are you going to hold a funeral for yourself tomorrow?" My boss stormed off in a huff. I asked for the bill, but the waiter came with two. My table came up to 60 dollars, but the other ran up to 3,750. "Your boyfriend said you're paying for both. Cash or credit, miss?" Shawn Goodall put that impossible bill on my tab and called himself my boyfriend? Unbelievable! I called him, utterly incensed. Yet, he had the gall to say, "Get the receipt and claim it from finance." Then, he hung up. The waiter was going to call the cops if I didn't pay up, so I had no choice but to accept this bitter defeat. I was trying to claim the money the next day, but the cops arrested me instead. "Shawn Goodall died at midnight and was found in his house. You're his girlfriend and the last person he met. You're coming with us."

My husband's cold, distant secretary, Ruby Kuntz, was so busy chasing a multimillion-dollar deal she hadn't even touched her food. Eric Tyler casually peeled three shrimp for her. Right in front of him, I called my lawyer. "Caleb, draft the divorce papers. I'm done." Eric looked at me like I'd lost it. He'd barely slept for days because of the contract. "You're divorcing me because I peeled three shrimp for Ruby?" "Yeah."

At twenty, she was taken to a night club for the first time. Now, at twenty six, she meets with the one man she has ever slept with. Christopher Allen. She had taken his money and ran. She always hoped to never come across him again. Now, he appears and wants to take his daughter or they get married. Yes, she had a child after just one night. One night of reckless abandon. Her first time. {"You make me laugh, I am here for what belongs to me and I think you know what that is," he said. My heart dropped to my feet immediately after he said that. I know he would want his money and I hope that is what he is talking about. "What do you want, your money?" I asked hoping he will say yes. "You are very funny... I want what belongs to me and you know very well what that is, yes, you took my money but, that's not what I am talking about... I WANT MY DAUGHTER!" } He had come demanding and she had no choice. She either agrees to be his wife or never sees her beloved daughter again. That was what bound her to him for life. A night had led to being his forever.

My mom is 71 years old. Thanks to her arthritis acting up, she's in so much pain that she can't descend the stairs at all. She tentatively calls me and asks if she can rent an apartment that comes with an elevator of its own. But my wife, Lucy Glaser, brings out the household ledger and points at the red numbers on the pages. "Last month, you bought yourself a tie, which is 300 dollars beyond our monthly budget. Yet now you're planning on adding another impulsive expense?" Only then do I realize that I don't even have the freedom to buy myself a tie despite earning an annual salary of tens of millions of dollars. My mom is still trying to explain herself in a humble tone over the phone. "Oh, please don't feel troubled about it, Caleb. I was just asking on a whim. I've already grown used to my old home anyway…" After I end the call, I feel rather stuffy in my chest. What's there for me to feel troubled about? After all, I'm a partner of a top-tier law firm who earns tens of millions of dollars every year. The one who keeps standing in my way is Lucy, who's only a mid-level lawyer yet insists on controlling my finances. She also calls herself the best candidate for the household asset allocation.

__________________ Ivy Reed, a twenty year old with a haunting past. Ace Romano, the Italian mafia boss and also Ivy's brother's best friend who instantly takes a liking in Ivy when he first sees her.

Late nights. Locked doors. Zero rules. In the glittering corporate towers, private yoga studios, and hidden after-hours offices, ordinary people surrender to their darkest, filthiest cravings. Innocent interns, ambitious assistants, stressed professionals, and powerful dominants cross every line — raw, unprotected, and addicted. This explicit 32-book collection delivers unrelenting heat across every dynamic: - MF – Ruthless CEOs and dominant men who bend their women over desks, breed them deep, and claim every hole with choking, spanking, and total ownership. - MM – Straight-to-gay awakenings where “straight” men are bent, stretched, and bred by powerful alphas until they beg for more. - FF– Sensual sapphic surrender that explodes into savage strap-on gangbangs, squirting marathons, and sadistic lesbian domination. - MMF & Group – Filthy threesomes and full gangbangs where willing sluts are airtight, double-penetrated, and pumped full by multiple partners until their bellies swell with cum. Every story is dripping with extreme kinks: heavy breeding (visible cum inflation & impregnation fantasy), raw double & triple penetration, intense BDSM (bondage, edging, pain play, collars, plugs), public risk, office power play, first-time corruption, and total surrender. No condoms. No mercy. No fade-to-black. From the CEO who turns his young intern into a collared desk slut, to the yoga mistress who shares her flexible student with a circle of strap-on-wielding women, to the executive team that transforms their assistant into the firm’s free-use breeding toy — each 5-chapter book builds from seductive tension to total, body-shaking breakdown. Lock your door. These stories don’t just turn you on — they ruin you for anything less. Perfect for fans of raw, no-limits erotica who crave graphic detail, filthy dirty talk, visible breeding effects, and characters who fall helplessly, irreversibly addicted to being used. **Warning:** Extremely explicit. Contains heavy breeding, gangbangs, BDSM, cum play, and zero restraint. For mature readers only.

Felicity McCarthy and orphan young girl who was raised by her aunt after the loss of her parents and was pampered and loved by her. But due to the shock she sustained in the accident, she was like a child even at twenty four years. Raymond Baldwin, a cold, rich, self centered aloof businessman who cares about nothing but his business and anything that will give him more money. Unfortunately, things got difficult when his grandparents refused to handover their multi billion dollar company to him unless he finds a bride. Raymond decided to rent a bride for a year in order to win them over. What will happen when a cute, childish bride marries a cold aloof groom?

All because of Leo Cullen’s words, I gave up a place at a top-tier university in Ceres and stayed behind to retake the entrance exams with him—three times. By the fourth year, a girl arrived at our cram school, and Leo forgot the promise we made. He started skipping class, picking fights, smoking—doing everything but studying. One day, I stood at the school gate, blocking his path with a textbook in hand as he tried to ditch class. He smirked, unimpressed, and blew a bubble with his gum, letting it stick to the ends of my hair. “Naomi…,” he began, “who still cares about studying these days?” So I stopped caring and avoided him entirely. When he fooled around in the classroom, I went to the library. When he played basketball, I sat in a quiet corner with my books. Even when I craved noodles from my favorite shop, I’d scan the room first to make sure he wasn’t there. “Are you avoiding me, Naomi?” he asked later, his face in a frown. I shook my head. “Why would you think that?”