Crossing Lines Novels & Stories

Narrative POV Dai and Lia step out of the elevator with their hands roaming over their bodies, breaking the intense kiss to unlock the door as they continue their assault on each others lips. Kicking off their shoe at the living room as they make out. Dai getting impatient, picks up Lia bridal style to the bedroom.

Jaime reminded. Everyone lowered their heads. In a flash, they saw that although a thin layer of silver powder was spread on the ground below the curved lines, very thin lines were also drawn on the powder. Those lines corresponded to the ones in mid-air. As these lines were three-dimensional in mid-air, no one noticed the points, but when the lines were traced on the ground, everyone found that many of the lines overlapped. The overlapping thin lines suddenly converged into a prominent thick streak, and these thick lines curved and stretched to the other end of the main hall from the steps near the crowd.

I'm sure what they heard was just a stupid goat bleating. Sky lifted the book above his head and asked, “What exactly should I give back?” Since words weren't enough, then I'd have to do it the hard way—the violent taketh it by force! I jumped, trying to reach my novel, but he was far taller than me. I must look stupid right now. Sky stretched his hand sideways, and handed the novel to Quinn. Not him! I rushed to take the book from Quinn, but I was held back by Josh, who grabbed my backpack.

Nails left crescent marks in the skin. “I’m — shit — ” Marcus pressed their foreheads together. His breathing came in harsh pants.“Come on. Let go.” Ethan shattered first. His back arched. A choked groan tore out of him as he spilled hot and thick over Marcus’s fist, streaking their stomach. The sight of it — Ethan’s release painting their skin — pushed Marcus over the edge seconds later. He came with a low, guttural curse. Hips stuttering. Adding messy stripes to the mess already there.

The air turned cold, thick and pressing down on them like the storm cloud that would not burst. As they ascended, the ley lines appeared; not as physical things, but distortions in the air. The firmament above rippled incomprehensibly, hues running together in kaleidoscopic patterns. Odd whispers drifted around them, broken words spoken in tongues they had never before heard. “What is this place?” Lucas groaned, clutching the knife with tight fists. “A crossroads,” Selene said, looking out over the horizon. “Where worlds overlap. Where power flows unchecked.”

For three years, I used my family's mob ties and my own money to pave the way for Declan's crew. He was the boy I survived the streets with as a kid. But at this month's sit-down, his newly hired secretary, Roxy, tossed my casino ledgers and club records onto the table in front of all the guys. She accused me of skimming profits and slacking off. "These underground banks, these smuggling docks," she read the numbers out loud, her voice full of fake outrage. "Every time she bribes someone, she skims thousands of dollars! She's lining her own pockets." "I say the Boss strips her of her club manager title right now to save our cash flow." I glanced at Declan, the boss of the crew. He knew

Because some distances couldn't be closed with words. And tonight, they had both chosen to cross a line they had no intention of admitting still existed.

In my previous life, Patrick crashed and burned because he tried to climb the ladder through unscrupulous means: by playing the boy toy to his superior. Everyone in the company found out, and from then on, people made his life miserable. Finally, dinner wrapped up, and the main event of the day began. Patrick wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, smoothed out his designer outfit, and strutted onto the stage. At the same time, more than a dozen influencers suddenly poured in with cameras. Patrick gave them a nod. Clearly, this was planned. He pulled out the lottery ticket from his bag and turned to the cameras with a smug smile.

I also sent a message to my lawyer, telling him to include a clause that I would voluntarily give up custody of Naomi. For the next two days, Willow and Naomi didn't come home. I knew what they had been doing exactly because everything I had to know was on Willow's Instagram. In one post, Naomi sat on Luther's shoulders, grinning and holding up a cotton candy. Willow stood nearby, looking at them with a happy smile. The caption read, "Our simple happiness." At a bistro, Willow fed Luther a bite of cut steak, smiling the whole time. More glaring photos like these flashed past my eyes. I said nothing and simply hit "like".

It wasn’t something I could name, but it felt like something pulled in two directions and refused to tear. My fingers tightened slightly around the brush. “…I don’t know,” I said finally, dipping the brush into the orange and stroking along the canvas. It came out quieter than I intended. Behind me, I heard him shift, just slightly. “Mm,” Ernest hummed, like he hadn’t expected anything else. I dipped my brush back into the paint, dragging a darker stroke through the center; cutting through the softer colors like a line being drawn where it didn’t want to be. “He can’t do both,” I added after a moment. The words slipped out before I could stop them.