Morgan Stark Suit Novels & Stories

MEREDITH'S POV I was breathing way too heavily as Max closed his bedroom door behind us. Why did my body have to react like this every time I was in a room alone with this man? My body tensed when he swift passed me and walked up to the closet. He opened the door and stepped inside. He shuffled around in there. I couldn't see him, but the sounds he was making in there told me he was taking off his suit. He emerged from the closet around two minutes later wearing a grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

We even got to see some of the projections Anna had mentioned, it was truly a spectacle. Mr. Morgan still seemed to be in the same mood as before. I still found his behavior ridiculous, so I tried to ignore him. That wasn't easy, though, as he seemed even more attractive than I remembered. This time he was wearing a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, catching my attention with his muscular forearms. The top buttons were undone, and he wore dark jeans below. The combination of his dark blond hair slicked back, and the black outfit left me disoriented. Seeing his hair so neatly styled made me restless, in a way that I had to tightly grip my fingers around my purse.

I turned away from the mirror and walked toward the door, not willing to look at my reflection again before I lost the nerve to walk out entirely. Morgan stood just outside my door, dressed in a black suit — which was quite unlike him, and unlike anyone I knew. That color was reserved for the king, as far as I had ever seen; it was the only shade he kept in his wardrobe. Black was also worn by those mourning a loved one or someone in the pack. The change of outfit raised my suspicion, but I pushed the thought aside. "Are you ready?" He frowned, looking me over. "Yes." He guided me down the stairs carefully, making sure I was steady — or making sure I wasn't about to run.

Morgan’s all smiley face was gone when he was looking at the kids getting scolded. “Why? Do you not want a mother like her anymore?” Edmund noticed the change in his expression and asked sarcastically which made Mogan feel irritated, “Dude! What the heck is with her? The suit I am wearing is a custom made from the Paris fashion gala and the only piece in the world, and how easily she tagged it as garbage.” Edmund could not help but chuckle when he heard him complain just after getting what he ‘wanted’, “Come on, you were the one who wished it for.”

I stood outside his door, twisting my hands together and wondering what the heck was even the duty of an assistant. “Morgana,” his voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up at him, and my breath trap in my chest. Fuck me he looks good. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit that’s perfectly tailored to his form, showing off his broad shoulders and tapering waist. He looks intimidating, dark eyes scanning me from top to bottom, taking in my outfit of a simple shirt, red pencil skirt, and black tights. Is he satisfied? I’d left two bottons open on purpose.

And froze. Morgan stood at the stove. Still wearing the gray sweatpants he had worn last night. Hair slightly damp, as if he had showered early. Shoulders broad and relaxed as he flipped something in a pan. The quiet morning light caught on his dewy skin on his forearm and the faint bruise on his jaw—courtesy of last night’s collision with Jace’s overly enthusiastic mouth. Morgan turned when he sensed movement. “Morning,” he said softly. His voice was deep, calm and far too steady for someone who had slept with his emotionally imploding employer just hours earlier.

“But for now, you’re going to help me select the best fit for tonight.” “Why? What’s the occasion?” “Well… I got intel that one of the biggest cartel cliques would be flying in today from Australia. And guess the strip club they’ve fully paid for?” Red sounded so excited, waiting for me to actually guess. I just stared at her, while she stared back, still hoping I was going to guess. “Wait, you’re really still hoping I’d guess? Then be prepared to miss your big day.” “You are a pain in the ass!” she said.

The afternoon sky in Jakarta was overcast, as if holding its breath, welcoming the arrival of someone from the past. At the arrivals terminal of Soekarno-Hatta Airport, a well-built man, dressed in a simple yet classy black suit, exited the immigration gate. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for a figure he hadn't seen in a long time. Morgan had finally returned. After years of being missing without a word, he now stood in his homeland, carrying a myriad of wounds and unresolved grudges.

Jpg We open the photo. The same black and red suit but this time his face is on show. His milky white skin contrasts the darkness of his suit, but holy fuck he is handsome. He has this angular face, a chin and jaw dappled with facial hair. His eyes are so dark they are almost ink-black. And his hair had been styled to swoop from one side to the other and back. He screams wealth. He screams desire. Arianna fans her face. "Honestly. I hope you take this opportunity, Lisbeth. It'd be a shame to waste it."