D C Books Novels & Stories

BDSM: Slave 24/7 Plus more bonus chapters of all the characters you've come to love. Brody and Kylie's Story is Book 3 right after Daniel and Natalia.

I squeak at the end. Damn it. He’s caught me by surprise, and it’s making me nervous. “Smut isn’t what I had in mind.” “It’s just a romance novel, Daddy.” I knew the cigarettes would get me in trouble, but I’m surprised he’s harping on the book. He’s always got his nose in a book—sometimes some classic, since he’s a lit professor, but just as likely a thriller, and he knows I love a good romance as much as he loves a good save-the-world-from-the-bad-guys adventure.

"If you find out anything...interesting, don't hesitate to report back to me. I'll take care of the rest." Weston nodded, his face grim. "Yes, master. I understand." As Duncan sat in his dark, dimly lit library, surrounded by shelves of ancient tomes and mysterious artifacts, he opened the usual special book. The book was bound in black leather, adorned with strange symbols and markings that seemed to shift and writhe in the flickering candlelight.

She just went straight in and it was as if the presence of the two was not noticed as she went without even glancing at them. Chel frowned because she knew it was a weekend today, but she just ignored it "Are there any new books, Sir Dan?" She asked and referred to the books she repeatedly came for. "There is. Look at the end, in Section C," Dan pointed to section C. Chel just laughed in her mind because she seemed like a normal customer to Dan. He makes it seem like she is new and doesn't know where section C is. Se has already made his way to section c. She looked through the books lined up. Occasionally she would open it and if she liked something in the book she would open, she would ins

Anna’s apartment was quiet except for the ticking clock and the soft patter of rain against the window. It was just past midnight, and she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor in an old tank top and tiny cotton shorts. Twenty-three years old, working at the dusty bookstore downtown, and tired of her boring, safe little life. No boyfriend. No excitement. Just books and fantasies that made her blush when she read them alone at night. Tonight felt different. She had found the old leather book two days ago in the basement of the store, hidden behind broken shelves. No title. Just strange symbols on the cover and thick yellow pages filled with Latin. Something about it called to her. She brought

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”

Just enough to see without turning on lights. I start systematic. Desk first. Files organized by year. Pack finances clean. Alliance documents legitimate. Territory maps current. Nothing suspicious. The cabinets next. More of the same. Records going back decades. Birth certificates. Death certificates. Treaties. The paperwork of running a pack. Then I check the places most people forget. Behind picture frames. Under drawer liners. The back of the filing cabinet. Nothing. I'm about to give up when I notice it. The desk drawer doesn't sit flush. A quarter inch gap at the back. Too precise to be warping wood.

Chapter 23: The Truth about Him Faith’s P.O.V “Here you go,” David pointed out to the isle that had all the books related to disaster management. “Try the books written by Heather Shaw and Kane Westwick, so far they are the most helpful ones you’ll find on the subject.” “Thank you so much, David,” I told him gratefully. “I’d be totally lost if you didn’t help me out here. This place is massive!”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I avoided them, starting from the coffee table and the stacks of books positioned on it. I smiled when I touched the books, looking forward to reading something here on the cream-colored rugs. But the smile dropped from my lips when I took in the titles of the books. ‘How to care for a Ducati.’ ‘Piercings and their Post Care.’ ‘The Symbolic Nature of Tattoos.’