Jasinda Wilder Books Novels & Stories

No one has found the bodies yet, though, so theres still a lingering hope out there that they're alive. I sigh as I crawl under the thick quilt, flicking on the lamo beside me as I pull out my latest find at Barnes and Nobels: The Winter Garden by the famous Kristin Hannah. This woman's books are truly amazing. Then, after an hour long reading session, I find my eyes beginning to shut against my will, so I set down the book on the bedside table and shut off the lamp. ~ The next morning...

Jessica interrupts, "I don't care, where is Wilder?" "Oh, he is..." Again, Jessica didn't let Angel finish her sentence before barging in. Jessica walks in and there Wilder is passed out on the bed, naked, only covered up by the white rough sheets. Jessica shakes her head as she climbs the platform and goes for the window. She draws the window open letting the sunshine of the morning wake him up. "Ahh," Wilder shifts a little bring his hands to cover his eyes. "Someone had one hell of a night." Jessica comments as she watches the woman she met walk into the bathroom with her clothes.

I need to find her fast. The smell leads me to a clearing, a small feminine body crawled in the middle. “Wilda!” I shout. No answer. Her heartbeat, though erratic is there. I run to her and kneel beside her. She lays on her side with her hand twisted at a weird angle beneath her. I shake her. “Wilda,” I whisper. Still, she does not stir. She only twitches in her sleep. Her eyes are closed tight and her forehead is creased by a frown. She must be dreaming… probably having a nightmare. Who falls asleep in the middle of the woods at this time of the night?

Cassian finally stopped and looked at me, his face a mask of barely controlled fury that usually made world-class CEOs tremble, and he reached out to gently touch the bruising on my jaw with a hand that was shaking from rage. ​"I told you three years ago that these people were beneath you, Iridessa, but you insisted on playing the martyr because you thought you owed that girl your life," Cassian said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register as he pulled a tablet from his pocket and tapped a few icons. "The divorce papers have already been served to the Wilder mansion, and I’ve taken the liberty of freezing every secondary account linked to your personal trust, which happens to be t

Perhaps that was the real reason why her body had reacted that way towards his — knowing fully well that he was her boss and she was not supposed to date coworker let alone the man who paid her to work. Ella turned her gaze back to her father who was still talking about his work at the hospital. Even though her eyes were on him, her mind wandered elsewhere, wondering where the man with eyes as beautiful as the ocean and the hair as dark as the night was right now and what he was doing. * * * Dear Gentle Readers, if you would like to learn more about Jessica Williams, you can read "The Bad Nerd Boy" — a story about Javier's niece, Autumn Summers. The book is already completed and only availab

“ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE, DUKE!” She tried again. And again. Each time she heard the faint click, then silence until her tears turned to rage. “Coward!! YOU ARE A FUCKING COWARD!” she whispered, voice trembling. “You coward… You were supposed to protect him… You promised me... You swore on your life...” On the other side of the city... In a lavish suite draped in champagne silk, Lisa Zhou sat cross-legged on Duke Sallow’s bed, her hair spilling over his bare chest as she smirked down at the glowing phone in her hand. The name "My Woman” blinked across the screen like a dying light.

∞∞∞ The End THE END OF WILD PLEASURE❤️ Thank you for reading and supporting this novel! If you enjoyed this erotic journey, don’t miss my next book, LOST IN LUST. It's a novella filled with more blissful, steamy tales. Sit back, relax, and dive in. THANK YOU AGAIN! ️

A desk that looked untouched for years. I closed the door behind me. My fingers hovered over the spines of books, not really reading, just feeling. My chest tightened when I saw one with a cracked leather cover and initials burned into the corner: J.D.V. My mother’s best friend. Gianna De Vera. The one we’d just buried. I pulled the book down. It wasn’t a novel—it was a journal. Dates ran across the top of each page, shaky handwriting below. I flipped to the back.

‘You can borrow that if you like,’ Diamanda said, looking up briefly from the wafer-thin portable computer notepad she’d pulled out of her other pocket. ‘Er... Thanks.’ He closed the book, not daring to read further. The prose was inflammatory to say the least, at a moment when his senses were burning already. One of the strangest, most compelling women he’d ever met was consulting an electronic diary to see if she could fit him in for a sexual quickie! It seemed about as likely as one of his masturbatory fantasies, and yet it was happening.

I need to take time. I remember the small room I entered last time. I slowly opened the door and turned on the lampshade. The books on the table were still scattered. I tried to look and read each one of them. These are all interesting books. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a lot more. I tried to find something that might help me, but I found nothing.