Make Me Yours Melanie Harlow Mga Nobela at Kwento

He says and I notice a wedding ring on his finger. fuck. I agree to his request and slip the straps on my body down revealing my breasts and I push them closer to his face. He grabs my ass and gives it a squeeze and my eyes widen in shock but I don't stop him. I trace kisses down his neck sucking on his skin and I can hear him breathing heavily as I grind against his cock. "What's your name baby?" He whispers into my ear. "Melanie," I say, Fuck I'm not supposed to

a baritone voice of a man suddenly appeared at the back of Clairol. Clairol almost jump out from the shock, but luckily she stopped herself. She already lost count of the time that passed that she was still here. But within the time that she was enjoying herself as her own companion. She already lost count of how multiple men tried to hit her. That makes her already used from their different types of wooing her. But somehow, there's something different in this man voice that makes her shiver. His deep baritone voice was sending a chills to her bones.

Mikee said dramatically, “tonight is your last night as a virgin. I hope you enjoy it and don’t regret anything tomorrow. In the name of Mikee, I bless you. Love you! See you tomorrow!” She kissed my cheek and walked away, swaying drunkenly. I watched her disappear down the hallway before letting out a deep breath. Then I knocked on the door of VIP Room 92. After a few knocks, the door finally opened. “What do you want, Miss?” the man asked with a frown. He was even more handsome up close. My eyes drifted to his lips—they were red and tempting. “Make me pregnant,” I said without hesitation. I didn’t even know him.

Instead, I searched more. No one ever wanted me for the real me. Women threw themselves at me for money, power, status, or simply just sex. No one had ever made me nervous until she came. No one has ever made my heart beat faster, and no one has ever made my stomach flutter with butterflies. She's so mesmerising with her soft, delicious features. Her innocent green-blue eyes. Her high cheekbones and dimples when she smiles. And her smile – god, her smile is the most beautiful thing ever.

Cassian and Val watch me with hungry stares, their eyes devouring every twitch my body makes under Xavier’s touch. I’m exposed, humiliated, and so fucking turned on I can barely breathe without moaning. Xavier’s words land on my ears like soft touches as he leans into me and whispers, “let’s make a bet, Melanie.” “What…what bet?” It’s a miracle I still have my voice. “You say you’re not ours,” Xavier growls, his thick fingers dragging through my slick, swollen folds before plunging deep into my drenched pussy with a filthy, wet sound.

Dear Readers, Before you begin Gavin and Kat’s story, please know that Make Me Yours was previously published under the title Desire Me Dearly. This second edition has been edited and expanded to include 20% more content than the original. The main storyline remains the same as the first edition, but I always felt Gavin and Kat’s story needed more. All my best, Iris

1954. “Stand up straight,” My mother breathes the words to me under her breath and her fingers reach out and pinch me where others will not notice. I no longer whimper when she does it. “Do not forget to smile.” It is not a reassurance- it is a warning. A warning to be perfect. I practice at night, pulling my lips into the wide grin she favors. I practice the pitch and tone of my voice as I dutifully extend my hand and repeat over and over ‘Hello, it is nice to meet you’ and ‘I am Rosalie Anderson, it is nice to meet you.’ I practice until I am practically blue in the face and when I sleep I no longer know who I am. If I am Rosalie Anderson, the girl who does not like her mother. The girl wh

For ten years, I stood beside Adrian Shaw while he clawed his way up from nothing to a nine-figure fortune. In all that time, he never once took me anywhere that cost more than twenty dollars a head. On the eve of our tenth anniversary, I sent him a link to the steakhouse I'd been saving for years. His expression darkened. "Just because we have money now doesn't mean we can forget how hard life can get. Thrift is a virtue, Nora. Don't lose it." I thought he had a point, so I nodded and agreed to cancel the reservation. Then, on the day I went to the restaurant to cancel it, I saw Adrian across the dining room, having dinner with a girl. He cut her steak for her, then reached over and ge

That doesn’t make sense. No one would lie about something like that, not with a child involved. And the little girl… she looks too much like Mr. Macaulay for it to be a coincidence. My hand moves before my brain gives it permission. I grab my phone, my fingers already typing, already searching, already desperate for an answer. I type the words into the search bar: Is Mr. Tristan Macaulay married? The results load. At the very top, like a blunt confirmation from the internet itself, it says: Yes, Mr. Tristan Macaulay is married to supermodel Vivienne Laurent.

The line felt slimy, but I was hoping that my black curls and jade eyes would be considered striking enough to make it work. She smiled, showing her white teeth - leaning closer and whispering, "Call me Melanie, Mr Ambrose." I placed my hand on her bare elbow, lightly brushing her skin with my fingertips, and replied, "Melanie.. It is my pleasure to meet you. Your views of our world are rather intriguing to me, and I find your intelligence fascinating. Your husband is a very lucky man."