Molly Brink Nude

“I should’ve known you weren’t as reckless as me,” he says quietly. “You’re Elliot’s little girl after all.” “I’m not a little girl,” I snap. “I’m twenty-five.” “And I’m almost twice your age, Natalie,” he says, almost like he’s giving up. “But that didn’t stop you from coming to me.” In a second, he has me pinned against the wall. His hands trails up the sides of my body. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck. “I waited for you that night,” I whisper, my hand sliding up his chest. “I imagined us doing all the things you implied you’d do.” He groans softly, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through his chest. “Did you touch yourself?” he asks in a whisper, his eyes closed. My other hand moves lower, trailing down his body until I brush against the hard evidence of his desire. I feel his breath hitch, and I smirk, knowing what I’m doing to him. “Yeah, but it was your hands I was feeling.” On the brink of her second wedding anniversary, Natalie Jones uncovers a devastating betrayal—her husband, Michael Cooper, embraced passionately with his mistress. Confronting him in a dimly lit restaurant, Nat exposes his scheme to marry her for her father’s fortune and storms out, her heart shattered but her resolve unbroken. Ric Steward, on the other hand — billionaire and philanthropist — never expected his evening to ignite with scandal. When he sees Natalie—radiant, powerful, and on the edge of a breakdown—he’s immediately captivated. Their fiery, forbidden attraction is challenged when Ric learns she’s the daughter of a longtime friend. But that doesn’t stop Nat. It only makes her want Ric more…

After a vicious family power struggle, I fled to a small border town in the south. I took on a new identity and found work in a flower shop. Everyone believed I was dead. Then one day, someone from the family came to the shop to order flowers for the birthday party for Roman Jackson, the head of the Jackson family. The person who arrived was my former Underboss. She stared at me in shock and demanded to know why I had not returned to the Jackson family if I was still alive. She told me that Roman had kept watch over my grave for two years and that he had attempted suicide three times in the cemetery, each time stopped by someone else. Roman was my ex-husband. He had an adopted sister, Liliana. Fifteen years ago, her parents were gunned down while covering Roman's father's escape from a rival family. After that, Liliana became Roman's most cherished sister. She tampered with my armored car. The brakes failed, and the vehicle plunged off a cliff. I broke three ribs. Roman mobilized every resource the family had and pulled me back from the brink of death. She bribed my bodyguard and laced my red wine with a neurotoxin. I lay unconscious in the villa for three days and nights. Roman sealed off the entire city, hunted down everyone involved, and made them pay in blood. She tried to kill me, and he saved me. This absurd cycle went on for three years. Until the last time. She detonated a bomb at an arms deal I was overseeing, burning seventy percent of my body. As I was lifted onto the ambulance stretcher, I clutched Roman's suit and, with the last of my strength, begged him. "Kill her, Roman. She sabotaged the deal. Those are the family rules." He crouched down, his fingers brushing my bloodstained face. His voice was calm, almost cruel. "Liliana didn't mean to. Let it go. For the sake of what her parents sacrificed for the family." In that moment, my heart to him died completely.

Alpha Terrence and I had been pup-less mates for five years. But one day, Terrence had accidentally ingested wolfsbane, leading to a diagnosis of severe poisoned decay. His agonized whimpers shredding the silence of every night, plunged our pack into despair. It was then that a mysterious witch whispered a prophecy to his parents: only a she-wolf bearing the "scent of silverfern and cold moonlight" could save him. So, in order to pull him back from the brink of death, he slept with the she-wolf his parents arranged for him. After every time they mated, he would frantically slap himself, then kneel before me in tears, confessing everything. Later, the she-wolf, Rebecca, succeeded in getting pregnant. Terrence hugged me and cried bitterly, "Lila, my Luna," he choked, his golden Alpha eyes dimmed with grief, "I've fulfilled my parents' dreams, so from now on, I'll live for myself. My heart, my wolf... they belong only to you." But two years later, I saw Rebecca was being fawned over by everyone in Twilight Pack. A pup stood beside her, as her belly was swollen high with another one. Terrence instinctively shifted to shield her, explaining, "Luna, my parents... they just wish for a son and daughter to complete my family. Once Rebecca safely delivers this pup, I'll send her away. Right away." "You didn't want pups with me, so Rebecca carries this burden for you. It will be yours. I did this... because I love you too much to leave you alone in this world, these pups are the gifts I leave behind. They will carry on my love for you, even after I'm gone." I nodded without crying. Terrence didn't know. I came today to share joyful news because I was pregnant. But this pup... would never draw breath under the moon. When the truth crashed upon him, that very night, under the full moon's indifferent gaze, his desolate howl became a tangible cry for my pardon.

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.