Misanthropic Books Novels & Stories

There was a small dish on the windowsill filled with small, fish-shaped biscuits and she grinned, really not picking Mason as a cat person. The room itself was all dark wood and leather, a typical male space. Bookshelves lined the wall on either side of an enormous flatscreen television, but they weren’t filled with books. Correction, they weren’t lined with just books. She walked over and curiously ran her finger along the spines of some of her favorite novels and got a little thrill when she saw that he had the complete series of A.A. Abernathy books. Below the books were pristine covers of various video games, all by the same company, Black Sheep Software and Games.

he said, that same calm, irritating tone that made my skin crawl. “You want honesty?” I spat, voice shaking with anger. “Fine. You’re just a self-absorbed jerk. Bitter. Bitter because your dad found someone to love him—someone who actually cares about him—unlike you, who’s insufferable. No woman in her right mind would fall for you. Just because you’re rich and handsome doesn’t mean you can treat people like trash!” He tilted his head, green eyes gleaming with amusement, that infuriating smirk spreading across his face like he knew exactly how much he was getting under my skin.

His head was tipped back against the cushion, eyes half-closed, jaw tight. He didn’t hear me at first. When he did, his whole body jerked. He yanked his hand free and slammed the laptop shut so hard the coffee table shook. The room went dark except for the stove light behind me. “Sophie—fuck. I didn’t—” He stood too fast. The laptop almost slid off the table. He caught it, then just stood there holding it like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “I thought everyone was asleep,” he said. His voice sounded scraped raw.

I missed my mate, my freedom, my friends, Kailin, and everyone at the vineyards. I watched a series about a group of delinquent kids born in space and dropped to Earth to see if the air was already breathable. I finished Episode twelve, and when a particular character pissed me off, I turned it off and went to read something in the study. There were some fiction books, but primarily old books from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Herman Melville. There were self-help and meditation books and a book about mystical creatures. I walked out of the study. If she allowed me to read a book about witchcraft, it might interest me, but that would be as dangerous as walking into the darkness without

For those who have not yet not yet read my books , they include My roomate wants a piece of me Ugly and Insecure The rejected Nagin.

he said, giving her a cold look. "Well, I’ll just warn you that whatever you have with my aunt, I doubt you’ll be able to resolve it with me. As you’ve noticed, she doesn’t give a damn about me." "I figured as much, brat," he said. The young woman frowned; she didn’t like being called that. "So, what are you going to do with me?" "I’ll think about it." Lison got up from his spot and left the room. Libia lay down on the bed, recalling the hostile look that man always had, but instead of finding it unpleasant, she found it sexy. Once again, that stupid attraction to bad men.

commented one of the men. "She's unstable," another added. "We can't risk exposure." Damien remained unfazed. "She did what any sane person would do after a lifetime of manipulation." "You were meant to guide her," his mother retorted sharply. "I did guide her," Damien replied. "But I refuse to destroy her just to maintain your narrative." "This isn't about love," she stated bluntly. "This is about the future." Damien narrowed his eyes. "You trained me to be ruthless, to be cold. But you never prepared me for someone like her. She's more than a variable. She's the catalyst."

He asked questions—not the shallow kind Damon’s associates had used to make polite conversation, but real questions. “What’s your favorite book?” he asked at one point, leaning close to be heard over the music. She blinked, startled. “My book?” He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Everyone’s got one. The one they can read again and again and never get tired of.” Mya hesitated, then admitted, “Wuthering Heights. It’s… tragic and messy, but there’s something about the passion in it. The kind that consumes people.” Keith nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. Mine’s The Count of Monte Cristo. Revenge, redemption, justice—it’s a story that makes you think about what really matters when you lose everything.”

There's a suffocating silence in the house, and I'm happy to let it keep on existing but again… I hardly ever get what I want. I'm reading one of my books, the one where the Alpha doesn't resent his wife and where he doesn't seem repulsed by the sight of her I'm right at the part after kisses and well detailed foreplay, the part where they fuck and hold each other all through the night, when I hear the rough purr of a familiar engine. Only one person has a truck that makes a sound like a demon possessed wolf growling. I'm out of my seat in a second, book forgotten on the windowsill and all thoughts of sex with a loving alpha out of my mind.

I closed my eyes because looking at his face was making the situation significantly worse for me. He was going to do this until he got what he wanted. That was how Roan operated. He did not get loud, he did not get impatient, he just applied steady, unhurried pressure until you gave him the answer he came for. It was one of the most infuriating things about him and also one of the things I had decided I was extremely attracted to while simultaneously hating myself for it. "You didn't reply to my text for six hours," I said, keeping my eyes closed because I was more articulate when I was not looking at him directly. "I sent you a message and you left me waiting for six entire hours, Roan."