Forehead Bandage

Anastasia Kain and I were childhood sweethearts, but we resented each other for a lifetime. She blamed me for making decisions without her consent. I had awakened her memories and driven her first love to jump off a building. I blamed her for breaking her promise. She once swore she would love me forever, yet after losing her memory, she fell for someone else. We were married, but we lived like strangers who happened to share a roof. However, when I was diagnosed with ALS and the whole city urged her to divorce me, Anastasia carried me on her back and climbed 3,000 steps to reach a cathedral, praying day and night just for me to live a little longer. When the end finally came, she stayed beside my hospital bed all night, her forehead pressed gently against my cheek. In a trembling whisper, she said, "Mason, I've done everything I could for you in this life. If there's a next one, please don't make me remember again. Let me be with him." Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. Only then did I realize I should never have chained her to me with the love we shared in our youth. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I first found Anastasia. This time, I chose to let her memories stay buried so that the girl I loved could run freely toward the man she had always wanted.

Shawn Hansen, Wigston's most notorious playboy, always has a thing for dazzling women. This time, his eyes are set on Carrie Myers, my fiance Harvey Anderson's close friend. And now, he decides to marry her on the same day as my wedding. When I go to Harvey to discuss the wedding details, I walk in on him holding Carrie and promising, "Don't worry. I'll marry you. Our churches are side by side, and with your face hidden under the veil, I'll swap you in for her. No one will ever notice." Carrie sobbed, her voice filled with concern. "Angelina is clever. She will undoubtedly notice something is wrong." He kisses her forehead gently and comforts her, "I'll drug her so she won't be able to think straight or resist." Only then does she relax, yet she asks curiously, "You really don't mind letting her marry Shawn?" Harvey thinks seriously before replying, "I love you and must marry you first. Shawn is my good friend, so even if he marries her, he wouldn't touch her. I'll bring her back once he realizes the bride has been switched. By then, the two of you can serve me together." I can't bear to listen any longer, and I turn to leave with a broken heart. Despite the sorrow, I am determined to become Shawn's wife.

At eighteen, Diana knows she'll find her mate. She prayed to the moon goddess to have her most favorite person as her mate but what she didn't expect was a fierce rejection. The betrayal of spurning knocks her down, but she was not meant to be down for so long because the moon goddess had other plans for her. She was meant to bring light in the life of others. Following her journey she overcame every hurdle and got everything she wanted except the person she craved for....... ********* "Why are you following me everywhere? Why are you helping me out every time?" Diana raised her hand, taking a deep breath to touch his shoulder but the person in the mask moved with the speed of light. "I want to know who is the owner of this delicious smell." She purred but her eyelids became heavy. She tried to open her eyes because she wanted to know the person in front of her but the exhaustion of hunting the beasts knocked her down. Before she could touch the ground and engulf into the deep valley of slumber she felt his strong arms around her waist. The butterflies flew in her stomach while a shiver crawled down her spine. She felt safe in those arms so without any hesitation, she snuggled into his chest. "I want to know you." She mumbled in a voice, hardly heard and fell asleep. The person in the mask put her safely besides the rock. He kissed her forehead and whispered. "Sleep well Princess,"

"I believe we spoke on the phone today. I hope everything is in order?" As smooth in person as on the phone I turned and was met with the full force of his good looks. Just have me right now my inner wolf screamed. Dark rich hair, just long enough for a few curls to tease his forehead, coffee-coloured eyes, and olive skin. Several inches taller than me and was built like a Greek statue. Perfection. The crushing disappointment of his good looks hit me. He was definitely a shifter and therefore totally, immediately and forever off limits. Human’s just never look that good. Selene doesn't want a mate. She's ambitious, determined and independent. To end up shackled to a man who won't support her dreams like her sisters is her worst nightmare. The mate-bonds monthly heat, overwhelming lust-fuelled insanity terrifies her control-freak nature. Rocco doesn't want a mate either. Running a buzzing casino gives him ample opportunity to sleep with all the beautiful human women the city has to offer. Shifters are a hassle. Even beautiful, blonde haired wonders like Selene. Yet when their paths cross sparks fly. However the local Alpha loves taking proud women down a peg, his head Beta desires Selene and Rocco wants to kill them both. They are fighting against the very thing that may keep them alive as the cruelty of the pack's leadership turns against Selene. Her trick of hiding in a hotel and lying to her family every full moon can only last for so long...

*synopsis* "What is that?" he asked, pretending he didn't know. "The lingerie," I replied through gritted teeth, my eyes locked with his. "Wear it!" he commanded, his voice low and husky, his eyes gleaming with a mischief. I felt a shiver run down my spine as his grip on my waist tightened. What was wrong with him? "Now?" I asked to be sure I wasn't over thinking. "Yes," he answered defiantly. Beads of sweat instantly gathered on my forehead and I broke my eyes away from his, feeling embarrassed. "You realize I don't like repeating myself, right," he whispered, his lips moving sensually to my nape. He released my waist and I instinctively moved backwards to create some space between us. He followed me and before I knew it, I was pinned to the wall, his lips kissing my neck. ___________________ Melissa Wood had found herself in the hands of the man whom her father owed a debt. Williams had taken her hostage, when her father couldn't repay. In captivity, Melissa was mistreated and demeaned by Williams. She felt anger, humiliation and insulted as a human. But she soon became confused after she became entangled with her captor, and began to develop conflicting feelings. What would be her fate when the cruel williams learns about her feelings? Would he welcome it or would more hell break lose for her?

My Alpha mate's childhood sweetheart was a witch. She told everyone my blood carried a Cursed Bloodline — that bonding with Damon would kill him. On our anniversary, she drew a Curse Circle outside my door, claiming it would suppress my dark energy. At our Mating Ceremony, she disguised herself as a server and swapped our Bonding Tokens for a Curse Rune. Every single time, she'd kneel in front of Damon and cry: "I'm only trying to protect you from the curse. Everything I do is for you!" And every single time, Damon went soft. He said she just cared about him too much. Until the eve of our Marking Ceremony, when she drugged me, put on my Luna ceremonial gown, and crawled into Damon's bed. I woke up just in time and reported her to the Pack Enforcers. Damon went straight to the Enforcers' station to get her out, then turned to me and said coldly: "Serena was just trying to protect me. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of this?" Until I bled out during labor and fell into a coma, and she stood over me with tears in her eyes, telling Damon: "Choose me and let her go — this is the will of the Moon Goddess.." I left this world together with the child still in my belly. Then I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day of the Mating Ceremony, and she was about to slip the Hex Rune into our token box. This time, I didn't hold back. I ripped open the box in front of everyone and slapped the rune onto her forehead: "I think the one who needs cleansing is you!"

Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong. The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack. Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here." But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.​ She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..." But I didn't even blink. She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. There was only silence.​ Completely lost and scared, she found my phone. "Daddy, why is Mommy still sleeping?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.​ In response, Oliver sent a photo of himself having Christmas Eve dinner with his childhood sweetheart. His voice was icy cold when he replied, "She's just sleeping, not dead. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm busy. Tell her to stop playing games and come apologize when she's done sulking." Then he hung up.​ But when the truth finally hit Oliver—when the coroner's report came, when the police knocked on his door right in the middle of his laughter, when he realized I'd been lying dead for four days while he toasted—he broke.

“Desmond,” I breathed out, “don’t.” But he didn't listen to my plea. His lips found my neck, his teeth gently grazing the frantic pulse that betrayed my panic. My skin instantly lit up beneath his mouth, a complete traitor to my mind. When his hand slid lower, tugging at the drawstring of my skirt, a terrifying mix of panic and deep heat crashed together inside me. “Desmond, please. This is wrong.” “Nothing about you has ever been wrong to me,” he growled out against my throat. Clothes instantly fell away as if they had never mattered. My shirt. His shirt. My skirt. The last threads of my will to fight. He settled heavily between my thighs, a burning hot weight. I felt him hard against me, thick and urgently insistent. My breath hitched sharply when the blunt head of his cock nudged my entrance. “Tell me to stop, Ana,” he said, his voice ragged, his eyes desperately locked on mine. “Say the word, and I will immediately.” I opened my mouth to speak. No sound escaped. He pushed in, moving with agonizing slowness, stretching me open inch by painful inch. A broken, strangled sound left my throat as he filled me completely, buried deep to the hilt inside my most intimate space. My inner walls instantly clenched around him, shocked, aching, and intensely alive. He stilled his movement, letting me fully register every powerful throb of him inside me. “Fuck, Ana,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel completely like mine.” Then, he moved again.

We had been married for three years, yet my husband, Richard Thornton, who suffered from touch deprivation syndrome, still refused to consummate our marriage. Every time his condition flared up, he would only press his forehead tightly against the curve of my neck. I assumed he was saving himself for his first love, the woman who had left years ago. Then, I overheard him talking to his friends. "Stop teasing her next time. It makes her tense up every time." "Got it, Richard. But if you care about Valeria so much, why won't you touch her? It's been three years. Aren't you worried she'll leave you for someone else?" Richard shook his head. "You don't understand. The longer we're together, the harder it is to control myself around her. She's so delicate. I'm terrified I'll hurt her. As long as she's mine, I wouldn't care even if she slept with someone else first." His friends burst out laughing. "Richard, you're all talk. If you could really handle her being with another man, you wouldn't keep running to the hospital. You think we don't know what you're up to?" The next day, I found Richard's medical records. Visit after visit, he kept asking the same question, "How can I be gentler in bed? I don't want to hurt the woman I love."

My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby. Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul. I became invisible to him. Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times. He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media. [My little angel smiled today!] I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass. "I want a divorce." They all froze. "Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison. Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?" I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."