Hooked Book Fanart Novels & Stories

I know another place where I would like her to turn that red. "A random hook-up." I narrowed my eyes at her. Did she just call me a random hook-up? "Mmhmm." Francesca was clearly enjoying this. "Was he any good?" The tint on her cheeks deepened to a beautiful cherry red. Those cheeks looked so kissable right now. Wait, what am I thinking? The lips looked kissable. Not the cheeks. "He was... okay," I smirked. There, she had done it. . . . ___________________________________

I had figured that demons were more isolated creatures and it only made me more curious about them. The room was massive in a rectangular shape to fit the table and filled with numerous paintings and art, all different depictions of the underworld. Some had gore and torture painted, another one appeared to be of Adam and Eve and the serpent that convinced them to eat the forbidden fruit, the largest of the paintings was on the longest wall of the room and it looked to be of a war. Men with iron swords and shields clanging against each other and lightning bolts striking numerous fighters, the sight gave me goosebumps as I realized I was looking at a painting of Zeus and his brothers.

The men in my life have only ever taken, whether it was offered to them or not. “Jesus!” he groans as he pulls the cardigan I’m wearing down my arms. “Your skin is so soft” His lips trail along my collar bone. I need this singlet gone. I want his lips all over me. Reaching for the hem, I tug my top up and over my head, revealing my white lace bra. Damian looks at my chest. Usually the way I’m ogled by my clients repulses me, but in this moment, the look of appreciation I see on Brock’s face makes me feel beautiful, not dirty.

She pulled it out, sneezed once as dust motes tickled her nostrils, and lowered the book on the coffee table. The title was written in cursive gold letters, 'The Art Of The Body'. Clearly out of curiosity, she opened to the middle of the book, and her eyes nearly popped out in pure mortification. The book contained explicit diagrams of men and women in different, erotic, sexual poses.

"Master, there's still no word about her. Maybe we should." "NO!" The white bearded man's eyes flew open. "We can't give up." With an energy that belied his looks, he sprang up and walked to the wall on which a board hung. I was close enough to see it had pictures of children on it. None of the men had noticed me yet. I was close enough to see it had pictures of children on it. None of the men had noticed me yet. Either I was invisible or something weird was taking place.

I realized that the book was a printing of paintings and grinned. "Look through it and I'll explain anything you have questions about," he grinned and pulled the cork out with his side teeth, spitting it out into his hand. Offering me the bottle I raised a brow and took a swig straight from the bottle. I licked my lips and offered it back to watching him take a swig and sigh. He flipped open the cover and chuckled deeply as I looked at the young boy posing next to a handsome couple on a farm in an oil painting. "Is that you?" I questioned curiously and he nodded.

" Good luck. - Thanks. He brushed my cheek lightly, almost like he was stroking a amulet. “I'm glad you're here, Tezzie. I chose a chair near the back, leaving Damien's fans the best seats, and also curious to watch the audience. I grabbed a handful of bookmarks and I watched one of them; I saw that the design was simple, attractive, and effective. On one side it showed Wild Fire; O another brought the covers of previous books and a short synopsis of each one, in addition to talking about the

“unlucky contestants…shelf two, book thirteen.” It sounded oddly like a personal note. My curiosity won out and I skimmed my fingers along the spines of the books until I chose one at random. I pulled out a medium-sized book, a deep shade of navy blue. Earthen twine was wrapped around the book, and there was a picture on the front. A middle-aged man with chocolate hair and dark eyes smiled up at me. The cover of the book read, “Arthur Zimmerman, Game 71.

I blushed at his words. "There's also something at the back. I added my own touch to it." He held my hand holding the necklace, and he slowly turned the necklace pendant over, and there I saw the word 'MINE.' Clawed boldly at the back. "You're not only my full moon, Amara Lively, you're also mine, my human mate," Connor said.

And there it is, in all its glory— her masterpiece, Bonded, the very book that has thrust me into this surreal nightmare. As I scroll down, I gasp in anxiety as my gaze catches another book. Bonded II, it’s called, its art cover adorned with striking imagery that sends a chill down my spine. The cover has Hugh in it, behind him is his gray wolf, but unlike the first book, Yvanna isn’t in there with him. It isn’t just the artwork that makes my blood run cold—it’s also the name emblazoned across the bottom part of the cover, in an elegant script that strikes a jolt of recognition coursing through my veins. My name: Anastasia Sanchez.