Brushing Hair Cartoon Novels & Stories

"You should be scared," I whispered, brushing my fingertips along her spine, slow and teasing, then down over the swell of her ass. My palm lingered, gripping one cheek possessively. "Because you've just given yourself to the devil." I leaned down, my lips brushing her ear. “And the devil? He doesn’t believe in mercy." .... I should have known better than to sign his contract. My new husband was never meant to be real. He was supposed to be a name on paper, a shield against the vultures circling my late husband's empire. An arrangement with an expiration date. But Killian Cross doesn't let go. He's ruthless, obsessive, and dangerously possessive. The kind of man who doesn't just own his empire. He owns everything in his grasp. And now, that includes me. I thought I could play his game and walk away unscathed. I was wrong. Because my contract husband has made one thing clear. I belong to him now. But what happens when the shadows surrounding him become my prison? What if love isn’t enough for the hell awaiting us? Will I be able to save him when he needs me? Or will we both drown in the raging tempest?

Gage's lips crashed down on Nicole's, their tongues tangling in a passionate kiss. As they kissed, Nicole pulled back slightly, her eyes locked onto Gage's. "We neither want to be in a relationship nor can suppress our needs," she whispered, her lips brushing against Gage's. Gage's eyes burned with intensity, his lips curling into a smile. "So what do you propose?" he asked, his voice low and husky. Nicole's smile grew wider, and she leaned in closer, her lips touching Gage's. "Friends with benefits, just sex without any relationship boundaries." Gage's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't pull back. Instead, he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring Nicole's mouth. "Seriously?" he whispered, his lips brushing against Nicole's. Nicole nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yes, seriously." As they kissed, Gage's hands roamed over Nicole's body, his fingers tracing the contours of her curves. Nicole's hands were just as busy, her fingers exploring Gage's chest and abs. "I like your lips," Gage whispered, his lips brushing against Nicole's. Nicole smiled, her eyes locked onto Gage's. "I like your eyes." Gage's gaze roamed over Nicole's body, his eyes lingering on her breasts. "Your breasts," he whispered, his voice low and sensual. Nicole's smile grew wider, and she leaned in closer, her lips touching Gage's. "Your wide chest, and abs too." As they kissed, Nicole pulled back slightly, her eyes locked onto Gage's. "There are some rules, though," she whispered. As they kissed, Nicole pulled back slightly, her eyes locked onto Gage's. "What if we fall in love?" she whispered. Gage's smile faltered, and he looked at Nicole, his eyes searching. Nicole's expression turned serious, her eyes locked onto Gage's. "It can't happen," she whispered. "If it happens, then one will not force the other." "I'm in," he whispered.

Just then, he pulled her closer to him and placed his hands softly on her waist. Belle’s heart was racing faster than it had ever done before. She couldn’t believe what was happening. He was taller than her and she loves a man who was taller than her. Ronnie’s brain reeled from sensory overload. Belle’s honeysuckle scent,her red velvet lips, shoved him to the brink. It had been a long time. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman the way he wanted her. He leaned forward, looking into her eyes, he whispered in her ear with a soft voice; “Can i kiss you?” Belle was almost trembling but not because she was afraid. It was because she had waited for this moment and it was finally happening. She stared right back into his eyes and nodded in consent. Ronnie smiled at her softly. She could tell he was pleased by her approval. He pulled her closer again. This time, so his body was brushing against hers. Her boobs were touching his broad and chiseled chest. He could see her black bra through the dress she wore which showed off her cleavage. It drove him wild seeing them. She felt him nudging at her lower thighs. He felt really big she thought. He breathed deeply as he ran his hands through her hair and face. He softly held her chin up closer to his face so his lips could touch her soft moisturized lips and then he kissed her. Her lips felt so soft he couldn’t stop kissing them. She wondered if she had finally found the perfect guy to prove to her friends she’s a real lover girl and not a nonchalant girl who hates or doesn’t really care about love.

"Hatred barely scratches the surface of the disgust I feel for you, human. Why did the Moon Goddess mate you to me?" He gripped my jaw tightly, forcing me to meet his terrifying red-eye gaze as his hands explored my bare boobs, sending shivers down my spine. "I... I will gladly accept your rejection, Master. Please recite it once again," I stammered, struggling to hold back my tears. He scoffed, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered in a surprisingly soothing voice, "Over my dead body will I free you from my bondage, little fairy." From the moment Olena was born, she faced hatred from her family, the only human among the Crescent Pack. Her father hid her away, treating her as a slave, while her silver hair marked her as a mystery. With a cruel stepmother and a spiteful stepsister who wants everything she has, her childhood crush rejected and betrayed her by marking her stepsister. What could be worse than being sold as a commodity to the most brutal, ruthless, and cursed Lycan King ever to exist? Abraham, The Two-Times Cursed Lycan despises the concept of "fated mates" and loathes weakness in any form. Yet, there is something about Olena that he cannot ignore. Despite his hatred and the dark secrets he harbors, Abraham finds himself drawn to her in ways he doesn’t understand. But when a shocking truth is revealed, Abraham discovers that Olena isn’t human, she possess strong abilities and this changes everything. Will Abraham overcome the forces that threaten to tear them apart? Or will the reappearance of Olena’s childhood crush, who now wants her back, shatter everything? CONTENT warning!!! This book contains graphic sexual scenes, explicit language, violence, and disturbing themes that may be triggering to some readers. Strictly 18+.

“You wear these little skirts… are you trying to seduce me?” His eyes dragged down my body. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about” Before I could finish, his hand slid up my thigh, fingers brushing beneath the edge of my skirt. My breath hitched. He shoved my panties aside and pressed two thick fingers inside me. “Ahh. . . Kelvin. .” My knees buckled against the sink as he started slow, then thrust rougher, stretching me with every push. “You like that, baby girl?” he whispered against my lips. “Yes… oh God, yes.” His mouth hovered over mine, stealing the sound of my moans before he spun me around to face the mirror. My own reflection stared back at me wide eyes, flushed cheeks while Kelvin loomed behind, his heat swallowing me whole. “Watch while I fuck you,” he growled, shoving down his zipper. The heavy length of him slammed into me in one rough stroke, knocking the air from my lungs. “F-fuck!” I cried out, gripping the sink for dear life. He yanked my hair back, forcing me to look at myself as he pounded into me. “Be my slut today.” Dripping Wet is a collection of straight-up filthy stories about raw, no-limits sex. Bodies crashing together in hard fucks. Holes stretched wide, throats used rough, sheets drenched in cum and sweat. Each one dives deep into pure hunger, cocks slamming in deep, pussies taking it hard, asses getting claimed with no mercy. All the taboo stuff you crave, laid out in brutal detail. No romance. No sweet talk. Just hard, wet, pounding sex that leaves you spent. This book isn't about love. It's about need and giving in until you're soaked.

"Darby.” My name comes out as a low snarl and I struggle to think. “I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Alpha.”"That's how I like you.” This almost purrs. He shifts his weight to the thigh between mine, brushing against my clit and I tremble as agonizing pleasure spirals through me. His nostrils flare with his next breath and the purr is a low sensual growl. “The better to see to every pleasurable need you have.”Big bad devilishly sexy wolf. Oh shit.

After returning from a three-month business trip, I rushed to meet my fiancé and resolve our dispute over my best friend, Elena. Elena’s ex-husband left her penniless and broken. I offered her my apartment, helped her "find herself" and accompanied her through nights of tequila-soaked sobbing. My fiance, Julian, hated it. Or so he said. "She’s a leech, Clara," he’d snap, watching her try on my designer coats. "She doesn't even know how to make toast without calling for help. Are you her best friend or her maid? People like her don't want to heal; they just want a free ride." She's lost everything, Julian," I argued."Without her, I wouldn't have survived my mother’s death. Please, just be patient for me." I let myself in quietly. The house was still, the air smelling of expensive candles and something else—something sweet and floral that wasn't mine. I walked toward the master suite, expecting to find Julian asleep. Instead, the door was ajar. The wine bottle I had brought to surprise Julian slipped from my hand, leaving me paralyzed for a moment. Elena was draped across my silk sheets. Julian was hovering over her, expertly shucking oysters—my favorite—and feeding them to her with a look of doting, soft-eyed tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. "You're so much better at this than she is," Julian purred. "Because she’s cold, Julian," Elena whispered, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "She’s all business. She doesn't know how to satisfy men in bed." I stood in the doorway, my whole self trembling, not in cold but in pure rage and disgust. "I hope the oysters are fresh," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.

*Smut After her mate's brutal rejection, healing prodigy Sandra surrenders to a dangerously seductive stranger in a dark alley, only to discover he's her uncle Marcus. Trapped by blackmail in his isolated house, forbidden desire ignites between lessons. But Marcus harbors a deadly secret about her father's death. ----------------- “Fuck, Sandra,” he growled, thumb brushing over my nipple through the fabric until it stiffened, aching. “Vanessa’s right upstairs. If she hears us—” “I don’t care,” I panted, rocking up against him, chasing that thick pressure. “Make me forget today. Just tonight. Please.” I’m going straight to hell,” he muttered, then closed the gap. His mouth took mine slow this time, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of me. I sighed into it, hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. He tasted like black coffee and smoke and sin, and I wanted more. He tugged me closer, one hand fisting in my hair, the other splayed low on my back, pressing me against him. Heat flared low in my belly, spreading fast. I shifted, trying to ease the ache between my thighs, and he groaned against my lips, grip tightening. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth; I opened for him instantly, meeting him stroke for stroke until we were both breathing hard. He tilted my head back, lips moving down my throat, teeth grazing the frantic beat of my pulse. I gasped, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. “We should stop,” he rasped against my skin, but his hand was already pushing under my thin tank top, calloused palm gliding up my ribs. “We should,” I agreed breathlessly, then dragged his mouth back to mine, kissing him deeper, hungrier.

His fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back and expose my throat to him. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Mr. Turner,” I breathed, my voice breaking on a gasp as he found a sensitive spot just beneath my ear and sucked lightly. His growl was low and primal, vibrating through my skin as he pressed his body against mine. I felt every hard line of him, his heat bleeding through my clothes. “Why not?” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained need. I swallowed hard. “You’re… you’re my ex-fiancé’s father.” He paused. For a moment, everything stilled… his breath against my throat, the air between us, even the rain outside seemed to hesitate. Then he lifted his head, and our eyes locked. His were a stormy blue, intense and unwavering. “No one has to know, Catherine,” he said quietly, his voice was like a dark promise wrapped in silk. Then he leaned in with his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I can be your dirty secret.” A shiver ripped down my spine. His words settled deep in my gut, awakening something dangerous. I bit my lip. Every cell in my body screamed for me to walk away but I didn’t. Instead, I gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him hard. Desperately. He rumbled low in his chest, kissing me back with equal hunger, his hands roaming my body like he already knew every curve. When he finally broke the kiss, I was breathless. Then he dropped to his knees between my legs, with his eyes darker now. “I’m going to show you the world,” he said. “If you’d let me.”

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.