Collection Of Short Stories Novels & Stories

Liora’s Pov The gallery was dark except for the spotlights. They were all there. Every painting he had ever done of me. The first one, the one of me sleeping in his bed. The angry ones, the ones where I was tied up and used. The one of me on all fours, my ass presented to him. And the last one. The final canvas. The one where I was laid bare, my secrets exposed but not shamed. It was the centerpiece of the collection. He called it Painted Forever. It was a private show. The only guests were him and me.

“Leonard told the golf story again.” “Crime,” I said. “Punishable by lemon tart,” she said, and handed me a shortbread like a bribe. “What are you reading?” “Medieval trade routes,” I said, as if that were a thing I do without a man in my closet. She squinted at me over the kettle. “You’re flushed.” “Kettle heat,” I said.

I'm not hater of luxury, I just thought it'd be easier if she had something her size because she literally gets lost in the sheets sometimes. She crawled onto her bed, and I crossed the room, taking out a random book. I was pretty sure anyone would do for the bedtime stories. I reached her bed, taking a seat beside her small frame. I adjusted the sheets over her frame while she stared at me with a smile that told me she was anticipating the story. “Okay so tonight we're reading adventures of Shellstrop the builder. Once upon a time, there lived a very short man with a bald head….” My lips continued moving while Lily closed her eyes. I continued reading the story, getting a little intrigued b

“Bend over the island, Zeeyah.” Her heart slammed against her ribs. She leaned forward, pressing her chest to the cool marble, ass sticking out. Her tiny shorts rode up, barely covering anything. Cole moved behind her first. He hooked his fingers in her shorts and yanked them down to her ankles in one rough pull. “Fuck, look at this ass. So round and soft. Perfect for ruining.” Blaze chuckled low, already palming his cock through his shorts. “Our best friend’s little sister, bent over like a good little slut. Bet he’d lose his mind if he knew.”

I wrinkled my nose and stuck my tongue out. "That's what you get. Put it back." I sat up and pulled the cardboard box closer. "What else is in here?" I asked, digging eagerly, my polka dress riding up my thighs. "Not what I was looking for. Let's go back downstairs." He began closing the boxes he had been rummaging through. "Oh, gud," I said holding some old magazines, my eyes widening. "Oh, gud, what?" he said. "Ancient literature. He shook his head as he looked at the naked airbrushed women adorning the covers of Playboy and Penthouse magazines.

Chapter 1 Jax’s POV. Late afternoon light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom, turning the whole place into a fucking furnace even with the AC humming. I was sprawled shirtless on my king bed in nothing but loose gray shorts, the new script for Raw Exposure open on my lap, and my cock was already rock-hard and leaking like a desperate slut just from reading the first few pages.

I slowly removed my hand, trying to change the subject. “Fancy!” He smiled. “I come here just about every Saturday. Especially if I’ve been working late.” “Alone?” I asked before I could stop myself. He leaned back in his chair. “That’s not the question you want to ask.” I felt caught in a lie. “What are you talking about?” “You want to know how many women I bring to my standing reservation at Marion’s. The answer is none that matter. Until now.” I stammered.

"My pussy wants you again. When can we fuck?" Rachel went to the store after breakfast. Princess showed up twenty minutes later wearing a tiny tank top and shorts so short they barely covered her ass. She walked straight into the living room and pulled the tank top off. Her tits bounced free. "Lock the door," I told her. My voice came out rough. Princess clicked the lock and turned around. "I have been wet since last night," she said. She pushed her shorts down and stepped out of them. Nothing underneath. Her smooth pussy already glistened.

The one she’d booked three weeks ago after we’d finally said the words out loud: “I need to see you in person.” We’d met in the most ordinary place possible, a subreddit for amateur writers. She’d posted a short story about a girl who was terrified of being touched. I left a comment that was kinder than most. She replied, I replied. One year later we were texting every single day, voice notes at 2 a.m., video calls where she’d hide half her face behind a pillow because she was shy about her smile.

"Good luck. She goes through assistants fast." I knew. I'd done my research. Five assistants in two years. None lasted more than a few months. The last one quit after three weeks. Perfect. They were desperate. Desperate people don't ask too many questions. The pack house was bigger than I expected. Three stories. Stone and wood. Flowers in the front. Guards at every door. This was where the Alpha lived. Where his Luna lived. Where I would live now, in a small room on the third floor, close enough to serve but far enough to be forgotten.