Jules Bond Nude Novels & Stories

Jules woke up and stretched sleepily, smiling. He felt wonderfully well rested— Because he was. Jules blinked his eyes open and evaluated his state. He did feel wonderful. Like he’d actually managed a full night’s sleep—and that hadn’t happened since... The bond. Jules carefully poked at the raw, achy thing he’d come to associate with the bond. It felt… better this morning? Not as painful as usual.

"Ginny? What are you doing out here?" The small, sleepy voice cut through the air. We both froze. Raphael didn’t pull away instantly, he let his thumb linger on my lip for one more agonizing second before slowly, calmly, releasing my face. I stepped back, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest as I turned toward the glass doors. Jules was standing there, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand. She looked between me—flushed, breathless, and trembling—and Raphael, who stood there in his black tactical gear, looking like a god of death caught in the moonlight.

“You look… edible. Seriously. If I were into dick, I’d be on my knees for you right now.” I laughed, a nervous, breathy sound, and ran a hand through my messy hair. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you love me. You can’t be objective.” “Objective? My pussy is pulsing, Jules. That’s pretty fucking objective.” She turned the screen to me. A picture of me, sprawled on my bed, stared back. I was shirtless, the low-slung jeans doing a terrible job of hiding the fact I was commando and already half-hard. My head was thrown back, the line of my throat exposed, a sheen of sweat on my collarbones making my skin look like polished gold. “Look at that. This is Fire. You should definitely send that to Le

“You good with that?” I nodded, hands settling on her hips. “Yeah. I want all of you.” Jules moved without needing to be asked. She slid behind Nova, her solid body pressing close, one arm wrapping around Nova’s middle while her other hand reached for me. “About time,” she muttered, voice low and direct. “Been waiting to feel both of you at once.” Her calloused palm slid down my thigh, spreading me open a little wider.

Watching me squirm. “You’re quiet, Nate.” “I’m tired,” I lie. “Bullshit. You’re spiraling.” I say nothing. And he knows it. Then he moves the phone. Casually. The angle shifts. Julian comes into frame. Naked. Behind a woman bound at the hips, face down against a mirrored floor. Her ass is raw. Rope cuts into her skin. He’s fisting her. To the wrist. And laughing like it’s a game. The woman is screaming.

“You look like you need vitamin D and dick pics. In that order.” Stella snorted into her coffee. I managed a tiny laugh despite myself and sank onto the couch, pulling Nicholas’s hoodie tighter around me like armor. For the first time in forty-eight hours, the air felt almost normal. Jules flicked through her phone, showing us photos from some dating app she’d apparently downloaded “for research.” Shirtless guys on yachts, guys with puppies, guys doing that obnoxious finger-to-the-lip pose. “Okay, but look at this one,” Jules said, zooming in on a bronze god with dimples sharp enough to cut glass. “Tell me you wouldn’t let him ruin your life for a weekend.”

Edward could already picture Lucille’s face the moment she would learn the bond had been broken, the shock in her eyes, the trembling of her lips. He could almost hear her cry out as the pain of the severed bond tore through her. She would be lost, confused, vulnerable and then he, Edward, would step in to comfort her. She would finally see that he was the better choice. His blood raced with excitement as the thoughts crept into his mind. Arthur raised the scroll a little higher and read. “Mitch Jones has written that he regrets the mark he placed upon an omega, Lucille Clinton. He acknowledges that such an action was reckless and dishonorable, and he apologizes to this council for breaking

Reality—the bed he shared with his wife, the photographs on the nightstand, the absolute and crushing truth of what they were about to do—hovered between them, a ghost of consequences. Júlia moved first. Her fingers, still black with charcoal, went to the buttons of her apron. She undid them with trembling but determined movements and let the heavy canvas piece fall to the floor with a dull thud. Then she grasped the hem of her loose T-shirt and pulled it over her head. There was no subtlety, no calculated seduction. It was the undressing of a worker at the end of the day, but infinitely more charged. The simple black bra supported her full breasts. The skin of her torso was paler, smoother

Celestine only nodded in response. Damien then lead her to his warehouse. He then opened the door to cell. Celestine was shocked to see the scene. Julie was crying, her eyes were swollen and dark shade of red. She was tied to a metal chair. Her eyes were looking at a particular direction. Celestine followed her line of site and froze. Amanda was laying naked and lifeless on ground. Her body was bruised and blood was dripping from her private part. Her eyes were lifeless.

Jules’s movements became more erratic his hands sliding up her body to her breasts as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Blair was determined to stay quiet so she buried her face in his neck biting down lightly to keep her moans at bay. That sure will leave a good hicke come morning. Jules was intoxicating in every aspect be it his energy, his devotion, his desperation to please her. It was a distraction she hadn’t realized she needed, a reprieve from the chaos of their lives. She doesn’t want to lose it. "Babe" he gasped his body trembling as he reached his peak spilling across her stomach in a warm, sticky rush. He collapsed beside her, his chest heaving a satisfied grin on his face.