M Proust Novels & Stories

I open a new email: ________________________________________________ To: Pauliny Nunes From: daliapenedosalazar@hotmail.com Sent: Monday, March 30, 2015, 8:22:41 PM To: daliapenedosalazar@hotmail.com Subject: Possible Book about Mr.X Hello Pauliny, You know I'm a compulsive reader. I've read everything and never come across a story about a relationship...

Surely I was seeing things. Was his cocky attitude haunting me now? I shook my head hard but it didn't erase the fact that Art Wilson was one of my professors? How on earth was he professor? He was only 28. His eyes lingered on me for a second longer before he continued his lecture. His words mumbled into gibberish as all I could scream in my head was no...no...no. I collected my things, and sprinted out of that class, not caring about the murmurs it stirred. I was probably deaf until I drove out of the campus.

“Please I…” “Call me Josh one more fucking time, Princess.” He growled into my mouth, pulling my head back and breaking the kiss. I came face-to-face with a ruggedly handsome face. The kind that was only seen in Greek myths under the title “god of annihilation” sharp brows, a well-carved nose, and a mouth that looked perfect for kissing. This man made handsome look like a petty compliment. And for whatever reason, my pussy got a furious heartbeat. His dark stormy eyes narrowed as he scanned my face. His grip in my hair tightened and he pulled me close, close enough for me to taste the expensive whiskey on his breath, but too far that I couldn’t reach out and swipe my tongue over his bottom l

I'm afraid I'll have to stop here Princess or else I might wet my own paper after working so hard on writing. I promise I'll be back soon Lia. Don't forget me okay? Love you. Your Little Prince, Zale Felix Cohen. " - You remember how your heart had slowly ripped inside your chest as you read every written word. You recalled the faint drops mingling with the letters written on that piece of paper. Those tears didn't come from you though. They were already there when you got the letter. They were his tears. You remember noticing the messy penmanship, grudged in a way than usual. Your heart snapped when you realize he was writing it with a trembling hand.