Novel & Cerita Love Passionate Sketches

Skye Emerson sits at a wooden table in the Stonebridge High library, her sketchpad open to a half-finished design for the Valentine’s Day fundraiser. One she’s drawing as a sample for those who would be partaking in the drawing competition. She’s focused as her pencil scratches across the page, outlining a real looking living heart entwined with vines, but suddenly, her focus drifts away as it keeps slipping, her head occupied with some thoughts.

Larissa lowered her head in disappointment, feeling completely disheartened. Ambrose so desperately wanted to tell her that he had never left and was always by her side. However, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Resisting the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her, Ambrose quickly changed the subject. "What do you have in your hands?" "What?" Larissa's attention was immediately diverted. She said excitedly, "This is a sketch that Jasmine gifted to me. Doesn't it look like me?" Ambrose gazed at the drawing with a mix of emotions. He paused momentarily before saying, "Is this a love token from Jasmine?"

Emily couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, knowing that much awaited her after the Full Moon Feast. Observing Davies plant a kiss on Lois before departing, Emily concluded that she was truly content. Lois approached and settled beside Emily, wearing a satisfied expression. Nate joined them, holding a stack of sheets in his hands. He handed them to Emily, saying, "The sketches are ready," as he took his seat across from them. Emily sighed, slowly unfolding the sheets and revealing the first sketch. She gazed at it intently—a depiction of Fanny. Lois glanced over, her eyes falling upon the name scribbled at the bottom: 'Fanny.'

A real shot. As I dig deeper into the drawer for a portfolio folder, my fingers brush something familiar. The sketchbook. The one I haven't touched in months. I pull it out before I can stop myself, flipping it open. Page after page of him. Killian in profile, light catching his sharp cheekbones. One of him deep in thought—that furrow between his brows I used to obsess over. A rare smile, imagined from a magazine photo. My chest tightens, a sharp pang slicing through. God, I was so stupid. Three years of secret sketches, like some lovesick fan. And for what? To end up here, alone, while he moves on.

Her eyes alight upon scattered sketches strewn across the surface, drawing her in with an irresistible pull. Picking up one of the sketches, she is met with the striking image of a wolf, its form captured in intricate detail. As her gaze flits to another sketch, a closer view of the wolf reveals its menacing features—fangs bared and saliva dripping, an embodiment of primal ferocity. A series of similar sketches follow, each portraying the majestic yet fearsome creatures in different poses. A furrow creases Rose's brow in puzzlement as she contemplates the artist's apparent fixation on these lupine subjects.

One night. No names. No consequences—until the whole world sees it. Six months after being left at the altar, Celeste Hartwell is done being the beautiful sister everyone underestimates. So when she slips into London’s most exclusive masked club, she wants one thing that belongs entirely to her: an anonymous night with a stranger who asks no questions and makes no promises. Then footage of their encounter is leaked beside a £250,000 payment into Celeste’s account; and the man she is accused of sleeping with turns up dead. There’s only one problem. Celeste never slept with Sebastian Huxley. She slept with Michael Harbinger, the elusive operative who spent years inside the consp

And inside were three leather-bound sketchbooks. Her heart pounded, feeling like an intruder, but she couldn't resist. She carefully lifted one out. It was filled not with numbers or business plans, but with life. There were stunningly detailed charcoal drawings of the birds in the garden. Quick, expressive pencil sketches of the faces of the staff—the cook laughing, the chauffeur looking tired, Mr. Abernathy smiling. There were fantastical landscapes that seemed to be pulled from dreams, filled with impossible trees and swirling skies. He had a gift. A true, breathtaking gift. He saw the world with an artist’s soul.

the boy murmured sleepily. Then, to Dixal’s utter astonishment, De Ocampo exclaimed, “That kid knows how to read minds!” Dixal blinked, startled, and snatched the bond paper from his hand. “Look at it,” the tycoon said with a grin. It was a sketch of a tall building shaped like overlapping petals—a flower blooming toward the sky. “You can name it Flower of Love Hotel,” the boy said softly, his arms wrapping around his father’s neck before drifting off to sleep.

My head felt fuzzy for a moment, and I shook my head desperately, trying to clear my gaze. He pressed down on me and resumed sucking my boobs like a baby while fondling the other. I felt weak in the knees, and I could feel my panties become wet. I was losing strength, and this could be dangerous. Somehow, this stranger was making me lose my senses. He traced kisses down my stomach to my pussy and began extending his tongue to lick my Clitheroe making me jolt in shock.

She had never been particularly skilled at crafting or painting, but there had to be something she could pour herself into, something that didn’t involve Damien or the endless etiquette lessons. After rummaging through the drawers in her suite, she found a set of sketchpads and colored pencils. They were pristine, likely untouched by anyone before her. Sitting by the window, Ava began to sketch. Her movements were hesitant at first, her lines shaky, but as she lost herself in the process, the lines became bolder, more confident. She sketched the garden, its vibrant flowers, the fountain, and even the shadowed figure of Damien on the bench. Her hand hovered over the page when it came to drawi