Imogen Lucie Of Leak Novels & Stories

she softly whines after she leans her whole weight on him. "We could go back anytime, my doll. Lucy is already tired" he whispers back but his eyes were on his firstborn who is now being carried by Ben. "You must take responsibility, Mr. Wright. I'm painfully wet down there. It's desperately craving to be filled and pounded" to get even, Lexie leans near his ear to whisper her reply. However, not only did her words make him tense. The tip of her warm tongue snaps his sanity. "Prepare to leave" abruptly, Lucien Wright stand up and barked his order while Lexie is containing her giggle. ****😉😉****

A single broom scraped back and forth, brisk and efficient, sweeping the last confetti and crushed petals into neat piles. Lucien’s procession back to his chambers had been a study in restraint; he accepted the compliments, inclined his head to the elders and to the cheering crowds, and politely declined the fluttering invitations of well-meaning young noblewomen. His steps, however, were light with a private unrest. The memory of the fleeting figure at the garden’s edge — the golden hair, the blue eyes — was a small flame that refused to be snuffed. He lay down on the bed in his chamber with the incense still in his hair, the crown’s weight set aside in the antechamber, and let his mind rol

Squeaky groans and squeaks so much that Luc feared it will fall from the ceiling and slice her in her sleep but Squeaky did not get her, the Atlantic ocean beat Squeaky to it. There was a time that Lucinda was not Luc but Lucie. That was before she got admitted into the University, before she started wearing crop tops, mini skirts, lots of jewellery and nude makeup. It was before she started buying and hiding bottles of expensive alcoholic drinks in her wardrobe, before she started ignoring me and treated me like there was not a mere one year gap between our ages. It was before she met her soulmate, Joseph.

The figure’s red eyes glowed, scanning the swamp with horrifying precision. “It’s learning,” Lucien muttered. “It adapts faster than we can anticipate.” Junie swallowed, focusing harder, drawing strength from the swamp itself. Roots surged, vines twisted, water danced—an orchestra of subtle magic aimed at deception, not attack. She felt the rhythm of the swamp in her bones, the pulse of life around her, and the faint heartbeat of the real Celine somewhere in the shadows.

Why did he catch her… only to release her like that? Well, unpredictability was part of Lycan's blood. One moment smiling like a sheep, the next harsh without warning. Irene scrambled up from the floor. “I'm sorry. I won’t…” “Go and meet Edmund,” Lucien cut in. “Tell him to get me another personal maid. You're done.” “My prince… I'm sorry. This was a mistake… it won’t happen again…” She swallowed the rest under Lucien’s warning gaze. “Yes, your Highness.” She bowed and hurried away with the tray.