Mistress Of Spices Novels & Stories

With or without a girlfriend With or without a wife As long as they are bearable in my eyes, I will flirt with them. I two-timed and three-timed. trying to find love but no matter how hard I tried, I still can't. Then when I saw Alex after so many years, I found it again, and surprisingly, even I'm a mistress, I became loyal only to him and offered him everything. I'm actually a slut but I'm a proud slut because I never bedded a man aside from Alex.

He uttered. “W-why are you doing this to me S-sir?” “I like you Celeztine.” That made my eyes widen. “That’s impossible,” I replied, I barely saw him, just on posters and banners most of the time. “It’s not.” “If you’ll ask me when it started, I have no time to explain it.” He whimpered. “Well then, you ask for the wrong person. I would never be your or anyone’s mistress.” I uttered firmly.

“Your people brought the honey.” Mary Ann frowned. “No. The honey came from Ironclaw’s western settlement.” A kitchen supervisor standing nearby nodded nervously. “That is correct.” Gregor turned toward him. “And the flour?” “From the central warehouse.” “The spices?” “Mooncrest brought part of them,” the supervisor answered. Gregor seized the answer immediately. “There.” Mary Ann remained composed. “The same spices were used in several other dishes. None of those dishes were poisoned.” A few elders exchanged glances.

“Tresia, listen. We don’t know everything. I wish we did. It might make whatever’s coming easier to handle. I’ll tell you what we do know, so bare with me. First of all, everything you were taught about the last Veil Mistress is a lie. Well, except the six mates. That part is true. The Elders at the time became threatened by her and her men. The reason she’s only referred to as Mistress is because her name was stricken from all records. Your six’s parents were told her men's names by Dreamwalkers. Each of us are named after her men.”

I shrugged lightly, indicating I hadn't worn any perfume out. "And who is this?" Rosie squinted at Lily. "Oh, are you the one who screwed up the meeting with Mr. Wilson last time? Why do you smell exactly like Ms. Meyer's perfume? Don't tell me…" Rosie stepped closer and flipped Lily's shirt collar. Embroidered on the inside was my name alongside my brand's logo. "This is from Ms. Meyer's private clothing line! The first piece in every collection has her name stitched into it. Why are you wearing it? Did you seriously steal her clothes?"

I realized then that if I didn't clarify things today, I would forever be branded a mistress. "You say Harlan is your dad; is your mom named Doris Dewey?" Jennifer laughed arrogantly. "So, you're finally admitting to being the mistress?" "Let's call them both over and settle this once and for all. Then we'll know who the mistress is and who the disgraceful illegitimate daughter is!"

An old man, two tall young men, and a petite lady in between them walked into a spice store. Monojit pulled a basket at the entrance. Old man Abhik started the lesson. "Masala is the soul of Bengal food. And the food is the soul of Bengal." Abhik rounded a shelf full of spices packaged by a kilo in a variety of colors. With just a glimpse, the spices created an image of a rainbow in the customer's eye, inviting them to come closer to buy.

Each cabinet door creaked open, revealing a treasure trove of spices, herbs, and delicacies. As she reached for a jar of saffron, a young maid approached her, her eyes brimming with concern. "Miss Jada, please, Sir, is very particular about what he eats. We have served him faithfully for countless years, knowing his every culinary preference to your fingertip," she pleaded. Jada paused, her hand still hovering in mid-air, her fingers yearning to caress the vibrant threads of saffron. Her eyes softened with understanding as she regarded the maid.

The way she'd looked in that dress, the way she'd felt when I'd been inside her, the defiant challenge in her eyes when she'd walked away from me, deliberately disobeying just to see what I'd do about it. Christ, she was magnificent. And my wife... my wife had just called her a whore. The irony wasn't lost on me cause here I was, having just fucked another woman on a public terrace, and I had the audacity to be angry at Beatrice for speaking the truth. Because that's what Camille was to me, wasn't it? A mistress, the other woman. The one thing I shouldn't want but couldn't stop craving. Except it didn't feel like that.

he noticed the discomfort in her face when he muttered the words that slipped out his mouth. "Come then I want to give you a kitchen tour." He took a hold of her hands, dragging her off the counter seat, he led her to a cabinet further away from the cooking area. Alison feasted her eyes on the cabinet filled with different jars half-filled with spices. "These here are my mother's famous collection of spices, some of them invented by her." "Wow, they look really old, " She came closer to the wooden shelves, that stood a bit taller than Leonardo.