Fifty Shades Of Grey Cover Novels & Stories

everything. But when I pushed open the heavy oak door, the scent wasn't lavender. It was smoke. I choked for my own breath, my heart pounding so hard. What in the world was going on? Who could have done this? Scanning around, I saw a small, blackened pile lying in the centre of the floor. My sketches, the ones I’d drawn before I met Roman, were curled into grey ash. My degree was a charred remains of parchment. And the lavender? It was scattered, crushed into the floorboards by a heavy, deliberate boot.

My eyes widen as I saw his eyes landed on my front, his face frozen in shock as my tits stood like a fucking soldier ready for battle. Shit! Shit! Shit! To think that I did just have a cold shower! Since I'm not wearing any bra and the fact that I randomly picked a loose white shirt to cover my nudity, I am ninety-nine percent sure that he had a glimpse of crowning glory or whatever you wanna call it. And to my horror, Grey seemed frozen on his place as his eyes never left my body, my eyes catching the way he gulped like he just ate a big apple.

I turned, my face hot. His palm cracked against my backside hard enough to make me gasp. Laughter erupted from the crowd. "Five gold pieces," Scarface announced, grinning at me with yellow teeth. The trader's eyes lit up. "Five gold from Alpha Garrett. Do I hear—" "Ten." The voice came from the back. Deep. Cold. It cut through the noise like a blade through flesh. Everyone went silent. I turned and saw him pushing through the crowd. He wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled low, hiding his face completely. But the way people moved aside for him, the way even the other alphas stepped back, told me everything I needed to know.

He opened the black bag behind him, a leather-coated bag strong enough to stop the flow of oxygen in it. Countless grey papers crawled out of the bag, different imprints from different publishing presses on the headings. Though they mostly had the same news and sometimes copied themselves despite the copyright restrictions, it all felt different to my father. “Thanks, Mr. Hazel.” I collected the papers from him, giving him the spare change Dad had left on the dining table before heading for work.

I felt my cheeks burn as I took him in. Brian had chosen a delicate baby pink lace babydoll that barely reached the top of his thighs. Underneath, sheer pink panties hugged his ass, the front stretched tight over his clearly hard cock. He wore matching stockings with little bows at the top and had slipped on the spare set of 40D breasts. The soft pink color against his masculine frame created a deliciously taboo contrast. “Fuck, Brian…” I breathed, my inner wolf growling deeply. “You look incredible.”

Her eyes were red around the edges, as if she’d been crying at some point and forced herself to stop. “Sit,” Jessica said gently. Baylee sat. Melody didn’t. Instead, Melody laid a palm over the oldest book on the table — one Baylee had never seen before. It wasn’t Silverveil leather. It wasn’t Ironclaw parchment. The cover was gray, almost colorless, like stone worn smooth by centuries. The edges of the pages were inked in silver, and even that ink seemed faintly alive, like moonlight trapped in paper. “Where did you get that?” Baylee asked quietly.

My hands, which had been hanging uselessly at my sides, found their way to her hair, tangling in the soft, dark strands. She worked me with a kind of frantic, grateful energy. Her lips formed a perfect, tight seal around my length, and her tongue did sinful, clever things along the underside. I could feel the faint brush of her teeth, the deep, humming vibrations in her throat as she took me deeper. I looked down, the sight nearly undoing me completely: her, on her knees, her pristine white blouse now smeared with dark, blotchy fingerprints of grease from my coveralls. The contrast was utterly filthy and unbelievably hot.

"I see what you're doing there. Don't even think for a second that you'll be able to escape me that easily." Yvette Macklemore, Yve, a total sweet heart. Your classic black rainbow lollipop, with a bit of sourness: sweet, and feisty - just his type o' gal –light caramel skin, black hair with pink highlights at the sides, 5feet6, who still argues that she's still the tallest of them both. She can be too fucking cheerful, it's nauseating. McCleron made certainty to avoid her in public, with enough fortification to tune her out long enough when they are together.

I shivered as he drew out a rifle with a jagged bayonet. “You don’t have a Lunar Steel sheath, do you? You must not be particularly smart. Ah well. I suppose I’ll just add another hide to my collection. Yours is particularly lovely, too. Thick, soft gray. The color of an ocean wave in a storm. Hehe. I’ll enjoy cumming all over it at night.” He aimed at my forehead.