Novel & Cerita Jealous Possessive Husband Books

he said in Hackett's stead. However, Skye took it personally and saw it as mocking and humiliating her. She had no idea the man in front of her was no longer her husband. She was furious and seeing that Theodore was on her side, she retorted coldly, "Hackett, you don't have to mock me. Yes, I am in a relationship with Theodore, but so what? What have I gained from you in the last two years of marriage? Did you let me live the life of a wealthy lady even for a day? Apart from gambling and drinking, you are nothing but garbage.

"No one's ever said anything like that to me before." "Then everyone you've known has been blind." Sebastian held out the journal. "This belongs to you. Your thoughts. Your words. But I want you to know that reading it made me prouder to be your husband. You're not just the mother of my children or the woman who survived Helena's cruelty. You're a thinker. A writer. Someone whose insights matter." Alessia took the journal, clutching it to her chest. "What do you want from me?" she asked quietly. "Knowing all this. What do you expect?"

"My husband wouldn't like it." A dangerous smirk curves his lips. The kind that makes my thighs press together instinctively. "Is that so?" His voice drops into that low, teasing register that always drives me crazy. "And what exactly would your husband do if he caught me looking?" I tilt my head, playing along, fighting the smile threatening to break out. "He's very possessive," I say innocently. "Extremely jealous. He's the kind of man who might pin me against the nearest surface and remind me exactly who I belong to."

Her fingers lingered there just long enough to mark her territory. My stomach turned to acid. I gripped my fork so tightly my knuckles went white. I stared at my plate and reminded myself over and over that Mia was still his wife. Legally. Officially. On paper and in the eyes of every person sitting at this table. I had no right to feel jealous. I had no right to feel angry. I had no right to feel anything about a woman touching her own husband. But I felt everything. Every ugly, burning, possessive emotion I had no business feeling.

“Chasing you out of this marriage, my intention actually. I never want you and I'll never want you. If you keep hoping for something that's never going to happen, I'm afraid you'll get old before you realize that you're never my type. I don't even know what my father was thinking when he chose you, a college student... Oh, dear. My reputation is really about to crumble because of you.” “I don't care about what you're going to do but I'll give anything just to ease my midterm in school and he's the only one that can help me. You don't want me to go to the public library, fine. But I won't leave my best friend for you. And the fact that you don't want me now doesn't mean you'd never want me. I

She leaned slightly toward him and whispered sharply, “Stop making a scene, Fabian. Stop acting like this is something it’s not — like we’re still a couple.” But she made sure her words weren’t lost in the din of the café. She wanted him to hear them — loud and clear. Still, Fabian didn’t loosen his grip. “We are,” he said, barely more than a whisper, but with unwavering conviction. “You’re still my wife, Cassy. No one’s ever replaced you. No one ever could.”

My body is unbearably sensitive. Just the lightest touch from a man unsettles me, sending ripples through my senses, sometimes… something more. Because of this sensitivity, my husband has started to see me as something he can simply hand off, like a gift or a present. My name is Desiree Lockhart, and I've been married for two years. My husband is a well-paid executive at a medical equipment company, and our life is comfortable—at least financially. But there's something about me, this sensitivity, that can make even a fleeting brush of contact feel like an electric charge.

The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Accompany me to business dinners. Manage my calendar. Handle correspondence. Basic administrative duties." His tone was perfectly professional, but something in his eyes made my skin crawl. "Nothing illegal or immoral, I assure you." "And if Derek wins the game?" "Then you go home. The debt is forgiven, and we never speak of this again." I looked at my husband. Really looked at him. The man I'd married was charming, confident, full of dreams. This Derek was a stranger - hollow-eyed, shaking, willing to bet his wife's freedom for one more chance.

“You could’ve just slept with my uncle and moved on. Instead you ruined everything. When people find out a man like him is associated with someone like you—” My hands curl into fists at my sides. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Or what delusion you’re living in,” I say evenly, even though my blood is boiling, “and I don’t care enough to figure it out.” I lean forward so we’re eye level. “But you will watch your mouth. You will not speak about my husband like that.” The word comes out sharper this time. “And you will never call him yours again.” My husband. Mine. The possessiveness in my chest surprises even me, but I don’t fight it.

I remembered clearly how she dashed out of the hospital when her husband called. What happened this time- She's slowing down, looking at the sky and sighing heavily. My hands itch to hold her hand and walk down the road like we're lovers but that much is hard for her to do. I only got lucky back there in her bedroom this morning. I couldn’t contain my own jealousy. I feared I might have beheaded that damn man if he put anything inside her. Just hearing her moans was enough to turn me possessive. Her body, heart and soul are all mine.