Dragonball Christmas Tree

I prayed earnestly not to stumble upon my mate because I never wanted him to see the mate mark on my neck. A mate's mark is something to wore with pride but I hated mine. I suddenly sniffled the air I recognized the smell, Before I could turn around the petrichor scent hit my nose strongly. It's him! I need to get away from here, I don't want to see him. What would I say to him? I panicked and decided to dart towards the nearest exit which lead to the back of the Mansion but in a bolt he pulled me towards the nearest tree and pinned me to it. My burnt back gave me agonizing pain and I bite down on my tongue, I didn't want him to know about Sander's maltreatment, I don't know him well enough and what he might do if he finds out. "I..." My heartbeat goes wild, Drayce my mate is pinning me to a tree. My eyes met his fiery red eyes and I felt want all over me. I was so tempted to take a whiff of his scent but won't that cost me my senses? He pressed himself to me and the electrifying heat erupted between us. "Why were you trying to run away? Run to the end of the world and I'll find you there" he said in a threatening tone. Drayce leaned towards me his hot breath fanning my face and I shivered from it, his breath was so hot like flame burning my face. I looked away avoiding eye contact but I couldn't stop my racing heart and my drenched panties. *********** Lilac a chosen Luna for an alpha and a mate to the demon alpha king. ******* Novel full of sizzling Romance And breathtaking Suspense which you need.

They called him Father. She called him forbidden. Ayana Marcus thought coming home for Christmas would be simple—a few weeks of family dinners, church services, and small-town nostalgia before returning to her real life in Boston. She didn't expect him. Father Nelson has been her father's best friend for two decades. A priest. A pillar of their tight-knit community. A man who's supposed to be untouchable, unshakeable, holy. But when Ayana returns after four years away—no longer the sheltered girl who left, but a woman who knows her own mind—everything changes. One look across her family's dinner table, and she sees it: the way his dark eyes linger a second too long, the tension in his jaw when she speaks, the white-knuckled grip on his glass when she laughs. Father Nelson isn't just her father's friend anymore. He's a man on the edge of breaking. One stolen kiss beneath the mistletoe shatters two decades of self-control. What begins as a single moment of weakness spirals into a secret affair that threatens to destroy everything—his priesthood, her family, their souls. He tells himself he's corrupting her. She knows she's awakening him. In the cold December nights, between whispered prayers and desperate touches, they discover that some sins taste like salvation. That the line between worship and desire is thinner than either imagined. That love—even forbidden, impossible, unholy love—can be the most sacred thing of all. But in a town where secrets don't stay buried and the church sees everything, their passion will cost them more than they ever imagined. He's twice her age. Her father's best friend. A man of God. She's everything he's denied himself for twenty years. And this December, they'll learn that some gifts are too dangerous to unwrap… But impossible to resist.

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

Winifred Jaeger comes from an ordinary family. She meets Timothy Stringer, a rich heir who falls for her at first sight. He immediately starts pursuing her with gusto. Winifred knows they're from different worlds, so she keeps rejecting him. He doesn't give up, though. When she wants to have food from her hometown, he steps into the kitchen for the first time ever. He cooks for her, relishing in it despite getting scalded. When she wants to have candy, he lines up in the dead of winter to get it for her. The iciness and sharp wind don't faze him. She likes fringe tree flowers, so he gets seeds from all over the world. He covers a mountaintop with them for her. She likes making desserts, so he buys ingredients for her from various places. He's more than happy to test her finished products. When she's in a bad mood, he makes sure to cheer her up despite being sick. When Winifred graduates from college, Timothy spreads 99,999 roses on the field to propose to her. She finally realizes she's long since fallen for him, so she says yes. Everyone says she's lucky to have met a man who loves her so and thinks of her as his only one. Yet it's precisely this man who cheats on her when they're about to get married. He tells her he loves her, yet he almost manically tries to have a baby with his mistress. Heartbroken and devastated, Winifred chooses to leave. It's only after she's gone that Timothy searches for her like crazy. When he finds her, he does everything possible to beg her to go back to him. He paces outside her door and begs her incessantly, his eyes red-rimmed. However, she turns him down calmly. "It's too late—you're a closed chapter in my book, and I'm already on a new chapter." Winifred turns to look at a tall, handsome man standing nearby—Timothy's childhood friend, Cyrus Littrell.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."