Camila Cabello Beach Novels & Stories

Everyone’s turning she had witnessed came with its surprise; Camila had passed out, and Gideon had released a howl that made the pack deaf for some minutes, but finding out she was a bastard on the night of her turning was the least surprise she was expecting. Asides from the humiliation that came with it, it meant she wasn't going to be alpha, not in Craw Pack at least. Then the surprises didn't stop as she watched the man she called Father slay her mum like she wasn't Luna, she looked him straight into his eyes while he sentenced her to a lifetime of bondage. The Wells family were fighters, and so she fought for her freedom but ended up as a slave in another pack, hiding her identity to save her life. The white wolves to whom she belonged were thought to be weak, but Isha was ready to change that narrative, even if it meant getting her white dirty. From betraying the one who learned to love her, to taking the lives of the closest persons to her, she avenged her mum's death, built an army, and got everything she wanted, except the trust of the Alpha who meant the world to her. They say you can't just have anything you want, but Isha was convinced she was born to break rules, but she underestimated who was standing on the other end of the line; Holly Smearson was not the girl to cross, not with an Alpha-in-line by her side. Isha would soon understand why the love of her life had wanted Holly by his side in the beginning. Too many lies, too many ties, a white wolf, insides too dirty.

His breathing kicked up a notch, his fist are in tight balls while he eye fuck her bareness. His manhood fought between his robes. He caused with all the demons taking possession of his body...he was a priest. Before he could inwardly remind himself over again, Camila rushed to grabs his hand, while she subconsciously direct his fingers in exploration. Starting from her right breast lump down to her harden nipple. "You can't deny you don't want this Father." She said in between frustrated moans. He hardly could look away, breaths cut short in anticipation on where her exploration takes his fingers to. But she only sucked on them, grinding it in her heat moistened saliva from root to the peak. All his body was in a sizzling heat now while she sucked on his bare neck and worked on doffing his rob from his shoulders. Her sex locked him close to the wall. To hell with the Devils, he needed this. He needed her right now. Never had she been his to own and explore but each ceaseless day always riled him up with the pleasure to have her, snatch her away from his vindictive drug lord Father and savor her with all manners of canal desires. Is this simply just lust of the flesh or fulfilling his deprivation of being acknowledged and loved. • • • • • Rated 18 guys.... Don't say I didn't Warn you, well except you can take the spice🤤

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

Heavy BDSM content at your own risk. ⚠️ ‼️ ~Camila~ I sat across him with my legs crossed as i stared into those dark gray orbs that always seem to have me lost and lust in its depth. "When am I going to leave, Luciano?" I finally spoke, breaking the silence that had stretched since I'd entered his office. He said nothing for a moment, then stood up and walked towards me. He leaned in close, his elbows resting on the armrests of my chair, trapping me between him and the back of the chair. His thumb pressed lightly against my bottom lip, and my breath hitched. "Are you really asking me that, Gem?" He whispered, his voice a husky caress against my ear. His gaze was intense, and I felt a heat spread through my body. "You lost your freedom the day you stepped into my life, Gem." He continued, his breath warm against my skin. "And I'm afraid to say I can't let you go, never." I bit my lip, swallowing the lump in my throat. Despite the cool temperature of the room, I felt suffocated, the heat pooling in my lower pantie making it impossible to ignore his presence. He was right, I had lost my freedom the day I decided to sell my soul to this monster. He had killed the angel in me and made me his own little devil. Accepting Luciano and everything he did was dangerous, like signing my name on a contract to burn in hell for eternity. He was the demon that tortured me, the reason I was living in this gilded cage. Accepting Luciano and what he does was dangerous, it was like signing my eternity to burn in hell as long as he was the demon that tortured me...

[Is it wrong to fall in love with someone who already belongs to another?] One day, a post I stumbled upon caught my eye. The most liked comment was a brazen boast from a self-proclaimed mistress: [Dating isn't marriage. If you can steal the heart of someone taken, you deserve to keep it. If they don't love their partner enough to stay loyal, their partner is the real outsider in the relationship.] [I took my husband from another woman. He was just a broke college student back then, but I knew who he really was. He's the only son of the country's wealthiest man!] [His ex only knew how to study and work. She had no idea how to keep a man. How unfortunate! I heard she never even got her diploma. Her life must be miserable now.] I stared at the comment for a long time because I recognized the woman who wrote it. Her name was Camila. She was talking about me. Miserable? I was now a famous attorney, renowned for never having lost a case, and I had also adopted a sweet daughter. My life was anything but 'miserable'. I blocked the author of the comment and assumed our paths would never cross again. However, fate had other ideas. While taking my daughter for her passport application, I ran into some people from my past in the most dramatic way possible. Camila used her position to make things difficult for me. My ex-boyfriend Alexander stood by her side and even threatened me, phone in hand. "Apologize to my wife, or I'll have my father hire that so-called 'Victory Queen'. We'll sue you until you lose everything!" I smiled and said, "Go ahead and call that lawyer." The next second, my phone rang.

After the college entrance exams, my parents left me at home and took their adopted daughter on a trip to the beach. A typhoon hit, and the three of them never came back. When the news reached me, I did not cry or throw a tantrum. I had their deaths registered right away and pulled out the life insurance I had bought in advance. I received one hundred million in compensation. My fiance scolded me for caring only about money. What he did not know was that I had been reborn. In my past life, after I learned about their deaths, the huge debts they had left behind fell on me. I gave up the chance to go to college and started working to pay everything back. I fought to protect our ancestral home from debt collectors. My fiance stayed with me and cheered me on when I came home late at night from delivery runs. But he never gave me a single cent to help. At thirty-five, I finally cleared every debt. On my birthday, I bought myself a ten-dollar cake to celebrate. Just as I was about to blow out the candle, the door opened. My parents and their adopted daughter, who should have died in the typhoon, walked in dressed in designer clothes. They smiled at me smugly. “Well done! We can finally believe that you aren’t greedy for money. You’ve passed the test. From today, you are qualified to be the daughter of the Jameson family.” “Jane, this brilliant idea was all thanks to you.” My adopted sister smiled. She leaned close and blew out my candle. The only light left in my twenty years of lifetime went out with it. My body gave in to exhaustion. My heart failed. I collapsed and died on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, they were about to head to the beach in the middle of the typhoon. I bought a massive accident insurance policy for them on the spot. This time, all I wanted was for them to disappear from this world forever.

During the holidays, my husband, Andrew Hartwell, flakes out on the vacation trip we've planned in advance once again. He has to go on a business trip in another state at the very last minute. But the next moment I know, I stumble upon a social media post uploaded by his assistant, Chloe Miller, that features a photo of them lying on the beach side by side while sunbathing. The caption reads, "Mr. Hartwell watched the moon with me last month, and he's now watching the sea with me on this vacation. Everyone, please help me brainstorm which location he'll have to take me during the next holiday! P.S. That location has to be super pretty for photo-taking sessions. After all, Mr. Hartwell looks super handsome in the photos!" Everyone begins throwing out ideas and suggestions in the comment section. I pause for two seconds before leaving behind a comment calmly. "Why not the city hall? Not only is it a nice place, but you two can also receive a marriage certificate of your own." The colleagues, who know about my marriage with Andrew, are stunned, to say the least. Soon, they quickly text each other and start harboring guesses on the way I'm about to get jealous and start a fight with Andrew. Meanwhile, Andrew is quick to call me on the phone impatiently. "Why are you this petty? What's wrong with me sunbathing with Chloe? Can't I take a break on my business trip? "So what if I skip out on spending time with you? Must you kick up such a ruckus? I want you to delete your comment right now! Otherwise, others might view Chloe differently! "Besides, we're already married! There are so many holidays in the future. I'll just spend time with you on the next one!" As I listen to Andrew's stale excuse, I can't help but scoff. There's no more next time. Once the holiday is over, we'll have already received our divorce decree.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to get scared again,” he whispered before returning his lips to my sensitive nipples. His hand slid lower, shifting my panties aside, the fabric brushing against my skin. “Someone might walk in,” I managed to say, though my voice was barely audible. “Forget everyone and focus on us,” he murmured. His fingers began to tease me, running over my clit with a deliberate slowness that made my breath hitch. “I love how you’re always so wet for me,” he said, his tone filled with raw desire. As his pace quickened, his words urged me on. “Don’t hold back your moans. I want to hear all of it.” The knowledge that his office was soundproof was the only reassurance I had, but even then, I couldn’t trust my own voice. My body arched in response as he trailed kisses along my neck, his fingers moving with an intoxicating rhythm. “I love how your body reacts to my touch,” he murmured against my skin. “I could fuck you all day.” “Yes,” I moaned, unable to stop myself. “Yes, what?” he teased, his fingers moving even faster, pushing me closer to the edge. “Don’t stop, Alex,” I gasped. ********************************************************** Six years ago, Alex broke me, leaving me humiliated, pregnant, and abandoned. He chose Camila, his flawless childhood friend, while I was left to pick up the shattered pieces of my life. But I survived, and for my son, I built a life I’m proud of. Now, Alex is after me, but stunned by the woman I’ve become, and the son who bears his resemblance. When he asked about his father, my son’s innocent reply said it all: "Mommy said he's dead." I couldn’t have said it better myself.