Gentle And Lowly Audiobook Novels & Stories

Forcing myself to find courage, I tried to gather my composure, though my hands trembled slightly at my sides. "Sir Riddle…" I began, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to sound composed. “Ambrosius,” he corrected softly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Call me Ambrosius.” His voice. It was elegant and mesmerizing, like the deep, resonant sound of a cello playing a solemn melody in a darkened room. The richness of the tone made every word he spoke seem deliberate, as though they were meant to echo long after they were said. There was a musical quality to it, reminiscent of a piano's D minor chord—both melancholic and hauntingly beautiful.

Settling back on my haunches, I watched my fingers disappear in and out of her. And it was the most erotic, most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Only made better by the desperate sounds she was making. If she liked it like this, then Gemma was in for a treat because this was me being gentle. Something I almost never was, even if my name was Gentleman. A gentleman in the streets, that was me. In the bedroom, though?

Slowly but surely-really almost in the fashion of a gentle caress-every morsel found its way to his throat, onwards to his belly, almost as if it were a seduction act. Much thanks, my dearest. The voice was so soft, and the words seemed so genuine that I can almost believe he meant it. Like a gentle stream, the words came from him, flowing endlessly, unabated, as if choking would kill their flow. Who are you? I spoke without delay, my tone firm yet coaxing, attempting to extract the truth gently without pushing him away.

So did the echo of her magic. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. For a moment, there was nothing. Just the low rumble of the mountain and the distant drip of water somewhere deep in its throat. Then, a whisper. Muffled by iron and stone. The gentle words were threaded with shame. Soft enough to be a breath. “I’m sorry…” Adelaide.

“DON’T YOU EVER TALK, BACK AT ME!’’ his eyes are red. his grip on my neck tightens. my eyes widened and I began to wonder whether the Rebellion was worth it right now. he freezes for a few seconds. his fingers remain on my neck and his eyes look at me with so much emotion. wouldn't it be great if things had actually worked out? would it not be great if his life had not taken this term? if I wasn't a servant? ‘’ I have waited for a mate and you, you've been the Direct disappointment of that. you are an insult to my title and I will not have you disrespect my authority. This is my final warning Audrey. don't think of returning back to me. when I give you a command you follow it mindlessly. you

he whispers against my chest. His long fingers slide down between my thighs, and my hips instinctively arch upward to meet his palm. I am already completely slick, my body naturally preparing for his entry, begging for his weight without needing to vocalize the desire. He possesses an intimate understanding of every micro-inch of my physical form, and he maps the terrain now with the profound reverence of a traveler finally returning to his native soil. He begins to murmur low, guttural phrases in the ancient tongue of the Northern Dominion—sacred words of ownership and adoration that I cannot fully translate, but feel vibrating through the very marrow of my bones.

The terrifying, ice-cold expression on his rugged features instantly vanished, replaced by a look of pure, gentle devotion that made my racing heart finally begin to slow down. “Come on, my beautiful little dove,” he murmured softly, his voice dropping into a warm, low rumble that was meant entirely for my ears alone. “Let’s go straight upstairs to our room. I need to get you out of the dust, and I need to spend the rest of this night reminding your sweet heart exactly who you belong to.”

“Easy, Andronika .” His voice was low and gentle. “The poultice will take away the pain.” I pulled in a strained breath. “Tristan,” someone whispered, “this is—” “I know,” he interrupted. “We need to hurry.” The haste intensified my terror, but I needed to see.

“But you need to stand. Today.” Lowell looks between them, his chest tightening. “I can barely breathe.” Nathan crouches beside him. “Then we’ll start with breathing.” For the next hour, the old man watches as Nathan leads Lowell through simple exercises — breathing deeply, holding it, releasing. Every movement is met with resistance from Lowell’s battered body. But Nathan’s patience doesn’t waver. “Again,” Nathan says. Lowell groans. “I can’t.” “You can,” Nathan says firmly. “You’re still alive. That means you can.”

Noel, Noelle, Mr, and Mrs Alexander Bellingham, Mr Gerold Bellingham, Nurse Kathyln, Gabrielle, Jacob, and Grey exclaimed, walking to the dining table which had a delectable feast arranged on it. Raina gulps, eyes squeezing with tears as the images on the screen transition from one cherished memory to the next, an audio recording of Jude's voice fills the room. "Uuh..." he cracks his voice. "To my beloved, who is as pure as a Dove, who had made life worth living. I don't want to stress you because of our little angel you are raising inside you. If I was to express how much I love you, we might be standing here for hours." his voice shook with emotions.