Forbidden Freedom Jasmin Miller Novels & Stories

Serena’s POV Lila’s words hung in the air like thick smoke and it was suffocating me. “Then you better be ready to bleed,” she said, her smirk sharp as she raised her whiskey glass. My hands trembled, as rage and fear twisted in my gut. The idea of surrendering to Daniel Hawthorne’s disgusting proposal to become his mistress made my skin crawl. But Lila’s insistence that I had no other way out slapped me even though it was the truth.

Jasmine looked into Jackson's eyes and said, "I am a girl full of shame and sin. This is my true place, and I hope you understand." "No! This is not your place; I will ask that man to let you go. Whatever it takes, I will pay him; the most important thing is for you to be free." "You're late; maybe when you came before I was here, I would have accepted your offer. But right now, I can't accept your offer. I am a despicable woman who has slept with many men. You can sleep with me anytime you want," Jasmine explained, and she walked away, leaving Jackson alone outside the club.

"The doctors said not to overwhelm you—" "Please." I grab his hand, this stranger who loves some version of me that no longer exists. "I need to know if you've ever heard of Marcus Henderson. Or Catherine Lewis. Or a little girl named Truth." His expression shifts to genuine alarm. "Sophie, you're scaring me. Those are characters from your book." "My... book?" Jacob reaches for a tablet on the bedside table, tapping the screen before turning it toward me. I stare in disbelief at the cover displayed: "His Forbidden Truth" by Sophia Winters. My name—or some version of it—attached to a fiction that mirrors my reality.

She hardly made her point clearly due to her stammering. "What's with this gir I looked at her attire. It was no where related toa staff dress. But what angers me is that if she is a maid, can't she fucking use her hands for knocking. How can she enter my bedroom without my permission. After Tania's incident, I started hating women to the core and didn't want any of them to be near me. First she was silent then something came into her mind and she fucking told me thatI was at fault. Then I remember that I must have forgotten to close the door but I did not let my expression changed to guilt.

18+ content, User Discretion requested, contains sexual content, abuse, violence, and self-harm. THIS IS A WORK OF FRICTION. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO A PERSON REAL OR DEAD OR ANY EVENT IS COINCIDENTAL. All rights reserved. No part of this story shall be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author. PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME. --------------------------------------------------------- Daisy’s POV I am waiting in my room, sitting on the bed, waiting for my customer to come in.

The world and all of its possibilities lay before her. Jasmin didn’t hear or see anything unusual, yet—suddenly--her body was being ratcheted to the side, a strong arm around her chest and arms, another clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t get anything out. A black-gloved hand restricted her breathing as well, and though she tried to pull away, her assailant was clearly much stronger than she. She attempted to dig the heels of her pink Nikes into the dirt, to keep him from dragging her, but she couldn’t get a grip on the slippery pinecone covered earth. He must have pulled her a good twenty yards off of the trail into the deep shrubbery before he said anything at all

The misfortune itself was not interesting to the young woman, it was too dense for it to be a cause for joy, even if it was a desperate joy. — You don't do anything unless I want to. — Geon's voice, Geon said, as he sat his hand on her face. The touch of the thing caused her pain, but she wouldn't care. — Freedom doesn't suit you, dear. At that moment Artemisia laughed, not how the thing had laughed, but she let herself be dewed by that moment. What was freedom? She's never truly been liberated, loose from those living chains that have tied her wrists since she was something she couldn't even consider life.

The craving tightened inside her like a knot, stubborn and demanding. That cock. Gosh! That 9 inches cock that fucked her mouth all the way to her throat until she was gagging and gasping for breath yet didn’t want him to stop. The vivid image blazed behind her eyes, impossible to push away. This was wrong. Very wrong. She was beginning to desire this a little too much and Jasmine feared that she might drawn in the desire to have the pleasure that existed only within the confined of Jerald’s red room. The forbidden allure pulled her in despite her better judgment.

The resemblance between us is faint a certain curve of the jaw, the shape of the brow but it is there. Jasmine was only sixteen when my father raped her. She was a waitress at a high-profile party, tricked into wearing a slutty uniform and serving men who thought they owned the world. My father was the worst of them. He forced himself on her, and when she got pregnant, she was thrown out by her family.

Let him call himself a good man in the mirror tomorrow morning. ECHO caught it all. Every thrust. Every moan. Every whisper he’ll beg me not to repeat. Because no leash is tighter than one made of secrets. Julian slides in beside me, sipping whiskey like it’s sacrament. His eyes scan the room—half-bored, half-calculating. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” he murmurs. “They think they’re free.” “Freedom is perception,” I say flatly. “We don’t control them. We just control the limits of the world they’re allowed to exist in.”