Collection Of Novels Novels & Stories

Iman's eyes widened at this new information. Dabir loves to read? She was the one who used to encourage him to read more, and sometimes she suggested herfavouritee books, but he never read them. "And this is my room..." Madiha was about to take Iman to her room when Zamin entered and called them for dinner. After dinner, everyone sat in the living room with cups of tea. Kashif and Kamraan discussed politics and business, in which Zamin also participated, sharing his opinion.

A smile crept onto my face as I adjusted my grip on the novel, its cover barely hiding the kind of story that made my heart race. A dark, depraved mafia romance. It had a male lead who didn’t ask permission so much as demand surrender. A man who played with consent the way a composer toyed with notes—artfully, deliberately, with the kind of confidence that made my skin prickle and my thighs press together. One that was over too soon. The kind of book I devoured in a fever and now I was in need of another. Most folks wouldn’t think of the local library as a treasure trove of scandalous reads, but I knew better. The librarians were in on the secret, intentionally filling the shelves with books

Her fingers, skilled and careful, had traced the spines of volumes on law, history, and war before they closed around a simple, unmarked book of vellum. It was not a history. It was a collection of letters, intimate and raw, written by Alphas to their mates across generations. The words were so visceral, so full of longing and possession, that she found herself whispering them aloud, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. “I would have you on your knees before me, not in supplication, but in celebration. I would teach your mouth the shape of my name until you forget all others…” A floorboard creaked behind her

I have no idea what it is he's offering them, but if it's to be shared I don't want it. Colt and Fox are different. They only wanted me to share between the two of them. Knox... I have no idea what Knox is going on about. Probably just complete nonsense. My heart would never survive it if he broke me. I'd be completely ruined for anyone else... including the twins. That wouldn't be fair to them.

The lock clicked open, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the silent, sun-drenched office. She pulled the drawer open. There, nestled amongst expensive pens and a signed first edition, was a small, unassuming black book. It looked old, the leather worn smooth in places. It felt heavier than it should, heavy with the weight of her husband’s trust, a trust she was about to shatter into a million pieces.

*A New Collection. .......... Tyler sprawled on his bed, sweatpants shoved down around his thighs, phone in one hand and his cock in the other. It was almost two in the morning and he was stupid horny. Lena hadn’t answered his last three texts he sent, the blue-light glowing from his screen made everything feel hotter and dumber than it was. He stroked himself slow, thumb brushing over the fat head where a bead of precum was already leaking. Looked good in the dim lamp light, it was thick, hard as fuck because it was already standing now, the way Lena always said she liked it.

He shrugged. “I didn’t say I would be yours.” I squeaked because I hadn't. All I had done was agree to spend some time with him. A few days, he said. I had never once agreed that I would be his any longer than that. Now in the books I devoured, the women in these situations were always offered money. It was something I had never really understood, but it was hot anyway. On paper. If The Judge had offered me money to spend a week with him, I would have found some way of hurting him.

My day job at the university library paid the bills, but it was these rare books that kept me alive. I set the package on my wide oak worktable in the living room, the one cluttered with notebooks, highlighters, and half-translated scrolls. The rain pattered steadily against the tall windows of my small but cozy apartment. I should have opened it immediately. Instead, I made myself a cup of chamomile tea, changed into soft black lounge shorts and an oversized sweater, and told myself I’d dive in after lunch. I never made it that far.

The dorm room smelled like instant ramen, vanilla body spray, and the faint metallic tang of nervous sweat. Finals week had turned the entire floor into a pressure cooker, but room 412 was quieter than most. Lights off except for the two desk lamps and the blue glow from Lena’s laptop screen. Textbooks and highlighters littered the floor like casualties.

His voice was like velvet rubbed against sandpaper—smooth, yet darkly rough. I swallowed. “Just finishing up the Cardenas deck. I thought I’d take another stab at the market insight section.” He stepped out of his office and approached my desk slowly, the soft thud of his shoes echoing through the empty space. “Cardenas wants bold ideas, not safe ones,” he said, stopping beside me. His cologne—something woodsy and dominant—wrapped around me. “Are you playing safe, Clara?” I forced a confident smile. “Not intentionally.”