Drawing Closer Novel Novels & Stories

HAVE FUN READING AND DON'T FORGET TO VOTE AND FOLLOW THIS ACCOUNT FOR MORE MIND BLOWING NOVELS. Yours Dearly, Successful W.

Her heartbeat quickened, not with fear, but with that strange kind of anticipation that only comes when something hidden is just within reach. She knelt down, slowly this time. Gently, deliberately, she pulled the drawer open fully. Inside: more drawings. Crayon sketches on yellowed paper — childish but full of detail. Two boys under a mango tree, one taller, one grinning with front teeth missing. Another of a house, clearly the Kareem mansion, drawn with careful precision and love. The name “Rami” was scribbled in the corner of one page. Zara’s fingers trembled as she lifted an old essay from a thin folder. It was worn at the edges, but the handwriting was neat, even, and emotional. At the

I sat at the kitchen table and opened it to a fresh page. I didn't draw the collection this time. I drew Clara in the doorway of the living room in the dress

Clara sighed and decided that maybe she could fix its bindings before returning them. She picked up the loosened page, and unlike the burnt one which she had read last night, this one did really belong to the book. And there she found an almost faded sketch of a gilded hand with fingers that were slender and nails that looked more like claws. It seemed to be holding a heart, dripping blood collected into a pool beneath it.

Anyway, watch out for some weird ass gun kink with our favorite couple. Have fun! P.S. My new book "His Dominant Sub" is out on GoodNovel now, featuring another couple from the Red Room. Do give it a try and let me know what you think. ~ Chloe is standing by the doorway with her hands resting on the straps of her bag and her eyes moving from the smeared blood on the floor straight to my face. Priya is right behind her, chewing on a piece of gum, her brow raised in that classic, investigative way she adopts whenever she smells drama.

Daniel's POV The drawing Chloe had given him still sat on the kitchen counter, catching the warm glow of the overhead light. The building with the open door. He kept glancing at it while the coffee brewed, the quiet hum of the machine filling the otherwise silent apartment. Steam rose in lazy curls from the mug he eventually poured. The lines in the child’s sketch were surprisingly confident for a five-year-old. The proportions were decent, the perspective intuitive. But it was the figure in the doorway that held his attention, no face, just a dark, solid presence. A sentinel standing watch.

A drawing hanging in the air between them like an open secret. "Can I see more?" I ask. He stops for a moment. Then he moves closer. Not all the way. He leaves a careful space between us, big enough for another person. But he is closer now. Close enough that I can smell that clean smell on him. He opens the sketchbook on his knee.

No lights were on, but the large, uncovered windows let the moon flood the space in silver. Nova stepped inside slowly. It looked like a study. Shelves lined the walls, some filled with books, others with notebooks. Near the far wall, a desk sat, cluttered but organized. Beside it, a tall cabinet with glass panels revealed rows of neatly stacked black leather journals. Nova picked one. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. It was a sketchbook. And every single page… was of her. Some drawings were full-body, her shelving books, sipping tea, walking down a rainy sidewalk with her hair wrapped in a scarf. Others were close-ups, her eyes mid-laugh, the curve of her cheek when she smiled, her fi

POV: Sienna Rhodes The sketchbook on my kitchen table has been open for three days. I don't close it anymore. There is no point in closing it because the drawings are in my head whether the book is open or not, and having them on paper gives them somewhere to be that is outside of me, which is the only relief available.

Sienna murmured, though doubt tugged at her. When the call ended, she sat on her bed, pulling up her notes and sketches. A notification pinged — a message from Alina, a picture of a crayon drawing: Sienna, Adrian, and the children holding hands in front of their house. Her throat tightened. She pressed the drawing to her chest, whispering, “I’ll make you proud.” Across campus, in the shadowed library, Chloe flipped through a thick pastry book. Her nails tapped against the page, eyes narrowed.