Dj Cook Novels & Stories

Claire is a typical nerd at school but a club DJ and a performer during weekends. She has been bullied since she started school with a particular girl named Samantha, their academy's Queen Bee and Head Cheerleader. But little did Claire know that her bully, whom she hates the most, feels something special for her since the first time they met.

“Tell me, baby. Are you wet for me?” He asked as he licked the shell of my ear, his tongue lashing out deliciously. I stifled a whimper and shook my head. “You dirty liar,” he growled. “The next time you lie to me I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and spank the truth out of you.” *** When Manhattan’s most successful billionaire, Alessio Castelli, hires me to be his personal cook, I’m determined not to fall for him. Too bad he’s simply too hot to resist. He says I’m not his type, but he watches me like I’m his next obsession… and when his control finally snaps, he claims me as his, unable to stay away from me. What starts as temptation quickly turns into something far more dangerous; because men like Alessio don’t love. They possess. Just when I begin to believe I might mean more to him than a secret in his bed, a previous lover from his past returns… pregnant and claiming the child is his. Now I’m trapped between the man who refuses to let me go and the kind of heartbreak that will ruin me for good, because I’m already hopelessly in love with him. And the worst part? Walking away from him might be harder than staying.

Isabelle Dempsey, an up-and-coming chef, decides to leave Miami to spend a season with friends Zachary and Gwendolyn Monaghan in Alaska. What she didn't expect was to end up stranded at the North Pole in a race to prepare the perfect Christmas alongside Gustaf Bergqvist, the charming cook at her friends' inn. Follow this romantic story in a place where days last only four hours, the northern lights dance in the night sky, the Christmas spirit lives on all year round and broken hearts can be healed

Jack Cooke—my husband, who'd never so much as scrambled an egg—suddenly went full kitchen freak. He bought a ton of pots and spatulas, then spent all day just... polishing them. When I called him out, he shrugged. "I like things clean. That a crime now?" Behind him? A mountain of dirty socks. Then it got weirder. He dragged all the kitchen stuff into our bedroom. At night, he'd get weird with a dishcloth. Like, disturbingly weird. I was done. I asked for a divorce. Jack stormed into a private dining room and shredded the papers right in front of our investors. "You're seriously ending our marriage over this? Kinda dramatic, don't you think?" I didn’t blink. “I gave up my spot for your pots and pans. A little thanks wouldn’t kill you.”

I rented a house with a bloody history because it was cheap. On the first night after moving in, the faucet turned on by itself. I yelled into thin air, “Are you paying the water bill?!” The water instantly stopped flowing. I thought that was just the beginning of the ghost not bothering me. Unexpectedly, the next day, I saw a main course with two side dishes prepared on the dining table.

After the company's entire plane crashed and everyone on board died, we all found ourselves transported into a novel, tasked with winning the favor of a queen. The system's icy voice issued its prompt: [The queen's male consort possesses a voice as melodious as a lark's.] Our handsome secretary smiled with quiet confidence. That very day, he stationed himself along the queen's usual route and began to sing a modern pop song. The queen was thoroughly pleased. She summoned him onto her carriage. Our colleagues looked on with unconcealed envy. "Looks like the bonus is his." "How lucky. The queen is wealthy and beautiful. Not only does he get to spend the night with her, he'll make a fortune too." But the next day, we saw the secretary hanging from a tree in the royal garden. His body was completely naked, riddled with arrows, his eyes still wide open in death. The voice he had once cherished was now a vessel crammed with thick, crude bamboo spikes. At the same time, the system's cold notification sounded once more. [All challengers' lives have entered the countdown. Please complete your conquest as soon as possible.]

I sell handmade fortune cookies in the park. Each one costs $10,000, yet every day, people fight to buy them. That’s because what I sell are fertility fortune cookies. Eat one, and you can get pregnant instantly. You can even choose what kind of child you want. Slip in a double-yolk charm, and you’ll have twins. Seal in a perfect test paper, and your child will be a genius. A spayed female dog ate one and ended up pregnant with six puppies. Someone buried a fortune cookie beneath a withered tree, and by the next day, it had burst into full bloom. I sell fortune cookies to both women and men—anyone who wants to get pregnant. I turn no one away. Even animals, if they so much as make a sound, I’ll feed them. Until one day, a young woman, Mara Kessler, who had been standing in line from dawn until dusk, finally stepped forward and timidly said she wanted to buy a fortune cookie. I only took one look at her, then staggered back in terror. "I can’t sell to you. Leave. Now."

Growing up, you may have heard stories about magical creatures and other unknown beings that the grownups would tell kids to make them behave and listen better. These stories didn't start out as 'Once Upon a Time' instead would be told as a warning to not go to a place or be out past a certain time or else something would come and take them away. Most of the stories were passed on by the elders over the many generations. There is this one specific story you are about to hear, or I should say read is about a young woman by the name of Ashley who grew up hearing all kinds of these stories. She would come to find out that a certain story that she has heard many times wasn't just some made up fairy tale. Once she turns18, her will change forever.

I was unable to perceive the man before me. He was greater than expected, overshadowing me, every one of his muscles flexed and his jaws gripped, disdain and outrage all around his face. He resembled an incensed monster, his noses erupting and his eyes red. I was feeling pulled towards him, unknowingly my hands came to him and laid on his chest I could feel his body loosen up quickly under my touch, his breathing dialed back and his face mellowed. He resembled the sweet Karish I knew. "If it's not too much trouble, quiet down, "I said in a delicate voice. His eyes shot back to me and he folded his arms over my abdomen pulling me to him. I could feel him sniffing my hair then he established his head on the hoodlum of my neck. I lifted my arms and put them around his neck. We remained here briefly, embracing one another. It felt close, warm, safe, and agreeable like I was home like I was the place where I should be

While we were eating, Tristan Shaw suddenly set down his fork and looked at me. “Who is Fatcat Cook?” The fork in my hand froze midair. My heart skipped a beat. Fatcat Cook. That name was someone Lena Moore and I made up on a drunken night. We had agreed that if anything ever went wrong and we couldn’t reach each other, we would use “Fatcat Cook” as a code. No one else knew that name existed. Only the two of us. And Lena had been missing for a full month. She said she was going to Valoria for a trip. Then she never came back. I looked at Tristan’s calm, almost indifferent face, and felt my heart sink. How did he know that name?