Journal For Books Read Novels & Stories

Red dots blinked overhead—cameras everywhere. The room screamed luxury trap: white oak floors shining, cream linen curtains puffing from vents, bed big enough to lose yourself in. My duffel sat open on the rack—empty. Every scrap of my clothes gone. In their place: one sheer black bodysuit on the bed, crotchless, backless, spotlighted like an altar. Cost more than my rent, hid nothing. Note in Damian’s handwriting on cream card: Wear this to lunch. Nothing else. –D

If she could be surrounded by books all day every day, she would. June spent so much time around the books that she was one of the smartest people Emily had ever met. Over the years she had probably read every single book in that place. And it was a huge building with thousands of books. She had read all the medical and scientific books, every nonfiction book they had, and encyclopedias. She also read all the history books. Not just the human history, but the werewolf history too. But even June would say the smutty books were still her favorite.

Enjoy reading I*- author_isaiah98

Help yourself to one of those. ‘You mean read?’ ‘That is what people usually do with books.’ With a short sigh of impatience, Theodore wandered over to examine the neat rows of titles which lined an entire wall of her sitting room. The only things he ever read were financial papers or contracts, or business-related articles he caught up with when he was travelling. Occasionally his attention would be caught by some glossy car magazine, which would lure him into changing his latest model for something even more powerful. But he never read books. He had neither the time nor the inclination to lose himself in the world of fiction. He remembered that stupid story he’d read at school—about some a

I see David at the corner of my eyes , watching us. “Oh trust me , I will not say a thing – don’t want any one else to be scarred for life…” I chuckle. “Oh please…you have been blessed to see such romance – better than any porn video you will ever see” I chuckle at her. “That is what you think… You know I came across a book called “ How to please your man properly?” I think I should let you borrow it , so you can up your performance…” she gasps at what I say.

Her drama with them never seemed to end. As Scarlet scanned the room, she noticed something, on the far end. It was a book she had never seen before, sitting on the end table, beside the other reading chair. It had unusual look to it, and it dew her in. It looked like one of her mom’s rare books, but it was smaller. Almost like…a journal.

Ancient books lined the shelves, their pages filled with forgotten knowledge, while relics of a bygone era adorned every surface. Curiosity led us deeper into the chamber, until we discovered an old journal, its leather cover aged and weathered. Lya carefully opened it, her eyes scanning the faded ink that adorned its pages. The words within were fragments of a lost history, a testament to the struggles and triumphs of those who had come before us.

Rachel immediately hide the journal she had been reading. " What is that you're reading? " He proceeded to asked her noticing her attempt to hide what she is reading. "It nothing Hon, just a piece of sad story I was enjoying reading. I found it with the things belonging to my grandmother Anna."

In the last two days, Liana finished reading ten reference books, and when she finished the last one, she didn't seem satisfied. " What is it Lilih? Is something wrong? " Jack asked worriedly. " No, there's nothing wrong with them, it's just that they're all textbooks for programming students. Does your school have anything for professionals?" Liana asked curiously, and Jack was surprised. " So, these readings are all recommended by my teachers, and I can't understand even half of them. " he answered. " I understand, but all these books are intended for classroom reading, and the information provided is only at a rudimentary level. Do you have somewhere in mind where you could borrow books o

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.