Novel & Cerita Murmur Synonyms

"Aasif," I whispered, my voice shaky with desire. He didn't reply. He only held me tighter, his strong arms a band around my waist. His kisses grew more intense, all I wanted was him, His touch, his scent, him inside me. I was teetering on the edge, yet he held back. He held us back. He pulled away; his breathing as erratic as mine. His voice was rough, filled with an intense battle of restraint and desire   "This is just for curiosity's sake, right?" His voice was deep, husky, a sensual murmur against my skin that made my pulse race even faster. Gabriela a young nurse from a small Mexican town, shoulders the world as she strives to provide for her ailing mother and little sister, Maria. An unexpected opportunity emerges when she's offered a job at a prestigious hospital in Al-Qamar. Thrust into the vibrant but unfamiliar world of the Arabian desert, Gabby grapples with her new reality. But Gabby's life takes a dramatic twist when she crosses paths with a charismatic yet arrogant billionaire Sheikh. Their worlds collide in a whirlwind of opulence and high-stakes power dynamics, their association marked by the Sheikh's emotionally barren, benefit-based approach towards relationships. A tragic accident abruptly turns the tables when the Sheikh suffers memory loss, casting a shadow of uncertainty over Gabby's future. The once arrogant billionaire stands before her, a man without a past, unraveled and vulnerable. As Gabby is pulled into a vortex of caring for the man who once saw her as a mere commodity, she grapples with the strange affectionate ties that emerge. With a newfound bond budding and the Sheikh's memory threatening to return at any moment, Gabby is walking on a tightrope of emotions, what happens when the Sheikh's memory returns?

His sinful hands traveled to her waist as she looked at him; her breath hitched as he traced her belly button “You are so vulnerable right now,” his gaze landed on the gunshot wound on her chest, just between her breasts. The fact that she was not wearing a bra right now was very distracting. Even with the scar she was so beautiful. “So are you,” he whispered keeping the gun in her hands. The heat of their graze did not help with the hot atmosphere of the room; this was deadly. “We can’t deceive both agencies,” her murmur was soft, unlike the sound of his harsh breathing. “We can, we will,” He looked straight into her eyes as her lips trembled. So unlikely of the girl she was. “It's a matter of two countries,” she whispered, her last straw against him, she knew she would give up if he had an answer to this. That she would let go of the lust suffocating her insides after this. “It's a matter of two hearts,” her eyes snapped to his immediately. “I can't seem to forget the little girl who took a bullet for me,” He said as her lips parted in shock. “You… knew?” she could not form more words. He could not find himself to answer anything else than a nod, he was deceiving her in the name of love. ‘Ya Allah, why do I have to do this?’ she asked her god taking her eyes away from him for a second. “It's the matter of two hearts, two bodies, two souls…” and two deceivers, the word they both so wanted to add but couldn’t. “Have me,” He whispered. “Take me,” she obliged In which she deceived him before he could deceive her

Dans ma vie précédente, j'avais utilisé l'enfant que je portais pour obliger Richard Reynold à m'épouser. Le jour de notre mariage, sa bien-aimée, Élise Brie, s'était jetée dans la mer pour mettre fin à ses jours. Elle avait laissé une lettre qui disait : « Le véritable amour ne rivalise jamais avec le pouvoir et l'argent. J'ai perdu. » Quand Richard avait appris sa mort, il était resté impassible. Il avait même célébré notre mariage avec un sourire tranquille aux lèvres. Mais, le jour du troisième anniversaire de notre fils, Richard nous avait emmenés faire de la plongée sous-marine. À trois cents pieds de profondeur, il avait arraché le tuyau de nos bouteilles d'oxygène et nous avait fait tous deux sombrer dans l'abîme. Après ma mort, ma conscience ne s'était pas éteinte tout de suite. Sous forme d'esprit, j'ai vu Richard déposer mon corps devant la tombe d'Élise, comme une offrande. Il avait murmuré : « Élise, je t'ai enfin vengée. J'espère que tu pourras reposer en paix, maintenant. » Puis ma vision s'était obscurcie. Et lorsque j'avais rouvert les yeux… Je m'étais retrouvée cette nuit-là, celle où je m'apprêtais à utiliser mon fils pour forcer Richard à m'épouser.

I never wanted any part in this. But I have no choice. With a deep sigh, I force down an invisible lump in my throat, looking up at the priest. I press my fingers tighter into the flower I am holding, hoping it hides how much I am shaking. Dreading the words the priest is about to utter. “Do you, Ariella Cecilia Boone, take Dermos Salvatore to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest asks. I blink. I badly want to say it, badly want to scream that I am not Ariella Cecilia Boone. My lips tremble as I force the truth down my throat, “Yes, I do.” I murmur, my voice a little over a whisper. ~~~~ Ariel Hannah Boone didn't know what life had in store for her when she woke up on her twin sister's wedding day, only to find out her sister had run away. She went into panic when her mother insisted she take her place because Dermos Salvatore was no man to joke with. Dermos was the most feared Don in the whole of Sicily, one who killed without care. A blood thirsty murderer with no remorse. In an attempt to save her family from his wrath, she takes her sister's place at the wedding. Pain, suffering, and betrayal are all she knows the moment she became his. Secrets begin to unveil as she realises her family isn't what it seems. And when whispers of her sister's disappearance reach her, she finds out the truth. He never wanted Ariella; it had always been her. Ariel has to choose between a love built on lies or betraying her sister and family. She was his bride, and he was her prison, yet he would never let her go.

“It won’t be a straight death from where you’re standing.” I blink, turning around. “What?” But he doesn’t give me a reply. At least not yet. Instead, he takes hold of my arms in his large, gloved hands, and pulls me to him so that we are standing toe to toe. “What are you doing?” I whisper. This new position has brought us closer. So close that if I stand on my toes, and he dips his head down a bit, I’d probably have the best kiss… “If you fall from here, the possibility of you dying immediately is 98% at the very least,” He begins as I stare at him with my mouth slightly agape. “Falling from where you stood before is about 35% lesser. You’d die eventually, maybe after a night or two of trying to revive your shattered bones, but not immediately.” Having made his point, he steps back from me and climbs down the somewhat elevated platform. “Did you just make way for me to kill myself?” I murmur, feeling like I’m losing my mind all over again. What kind of a man is this? *** Sonia’s life is going great one minute and then takes a spin for the worse when she is betrayed, gets pregnant and worse, is told that she will be getting married to Italian mafia heir, Anthony Romero, who doesn’t mind raising another man’s child. She abhors the idea, but having also recently been disowned by her father, she has no choice but to accept the marriage proposal if she wants protection for herself and her child. But she has questions. Why would a sane man from her world want to raise a child that isn’t his? Surely they’re ulterior motives in play.

On campus, he was the most well-behaved student in the entire department. Oversized hoodies, black-rimmed glasses, quiet enough to fade into the background. Even when facing the notoriously strict Professor Elliott, he would only lower his head, clutch his books, and murmur a timid, “Professor.” At night, he became the most intoxicating dancer in the club. He wrapped himself around the pole, bent low, rolled his hips—each movement driving the men below into a frenzy. Bills were stuffed into the strap around his thigh as they shouted his name. To cover his obscene tuition fees, he took a private party offering an equally obscene payout. Inside the VIP room, he straddled the pole, bathed in dim, hazy light, fingers reaching for the final restraint he was meant to undo. Suddenly, the man lounging on the sofa stubbed out his cigar and stood. The light swept across his face— It was Elliott. The very man he feared most by day. He walked onto the stage step by step, then slammed him hard against the pole in full view of everyone. “Can’t even breathe in front of me during the day,” Elliott sneered, “but at night you’re here shaking your ass, begging men to f*k you?” His mentor wrenched his arms behind his back. Hot lips brushed his trembling earlobe, his voice low and dangerous. “Noah,” he murmured, “if you’re that desperate for money… why didn’t you just come to me? How much—per night?” He panicked and tried to struggle, but Elliott forced his legs apart with his knee, pinning him against the cold metal. “Don’t hide,” Elliott said softly. “Now. Take off the rest—right in front of me. And if you perform well…” A pause, deliberate. “I’ll pay you ten times tonight’s fee

Inès, 19 ans, est une jeune fille discrète, rêveuse, et pleine de douceur. Depuis le lycée, elle n’a d’yeux que pour Rayane, son premier amour, son évidence. Ils vivent une relation intense, faite de promesses murmurées au creux des silences et d’instants suspendus. Pour elle, il est l’homme de sa vie. Pour lui… elle n’en est pas si sûre. Quand elle découvre qu’elle est enceinte, Inès croit d’abord à un miracle déguisé. Un signe que leur amour est assez fort pour devenir une famille. Mais Rayane, lui, ne partage pas cet espoir. À la nouvelle, il se ferme, recule, puis fuit. Il la quitte avec quelques mots froids, et l’abandonne face à une vie qui change brutalement. Brisée, rejetée, et déjà jugée par son entourage, Inès doit apprendre à se reconstruire seule, à aimer ce bébé qu’elle porte comme un rappel douloureux… et une force inattendue. Son glow up ne sera pas seulement physique, mais émotionnel, intérieur. Ce que Rayane pensait briser devient le point de départ d’une renaissance. Entre douleurs, combats silencieux et lumière retrouvée, Inès apprendra à ne plus attendre qu’on la sauve. À ne plus mendier l’amour, mais à l’incarner. Et peut-être… à découvrir qu’une nouvelle forme d’amour peut fleurir là où l’ancien a fané. “Il est parti. Je suis restée. Mais je ne suis plus la même.”

Après avoir été traitée comme une banque de sang par le premier amour de mon mari, je suis morte de maladie dans le logement loué que mon mari milliardaire m'a concédé par charité. Aujourd'hui, cela a fait trois jours depuis ma mort, et mon fils de six ans a enfin compris que quelque chose n'allait pas. Il a joué avec ses jouets et s'est coupé le doigt, et je ne l'ai pas consolé. Il a ouvert un paquet de biscuits et a porté la nourriture à ma bouche, et je ne l'ai pas arrêté. Il s'est blotti contre moi, a agrippé mes vêtements et a murmuré « maman », et je n'ai pas répondu. Désemparé, il a trouvé mon téléphone et a appelé son père, mon mari milliardaire. « Papa, pourquoi maman dort encore ? » L'homme a aussitôt envoyé une photo de lui en train de dîner pour la veille de Noël avec son premier amour, puis a dit d'une voix froide : « Elle dort, elle n'est pas morte. Aujourd'hui, c'est la veille de Noël, je suis très occupé. » « Dis à ta mère capricieuse que le jour où elle acceptera de reconnaître son erreur, elle pourra revenir me voir. » L'appel s'est terminé. Mon fils est resté figé longtemps. Il a ramassé dans la poubelle le dernier biscuit de la maison, l'a cassé en deux et a porté un morceau à ma bouche. « Maman, mangeons aussi. »

« Je n’arrête pas de penser à tes mains sur moi, Père. » J’ai appelé le père Gabriel tard dans la nuit. J’étais secrètement amoureuse de lui depuis trop longtemps. « Mara, tu ne peux pas… » Sa voix semblait rauque. « Chut. Tu n’es pas prêtre en ce moment, juste quelqu’un qui répond au téléphone », ai-je murmuré, ma main glissant inconsciemment le long de ma cuisse. « Je veux que tu l’imagines, Père. Ma main qui glisse plus bas, sous l’ourlet de ma chemise de nuit, entre mes cuisses. » « Je me touche », ai-je dit en gémissant. « Je suis tellement mouillée. » « Est-ce que tu me toucherais, Père ? Est-ce que tu utiliserais tes mains, ta bouche ? » « Oui, je te toucherais », l’ai-je entendu répondre. **** Des histoires érotiques pures et non diluées, qui vous feront défiler les pages pour en lire encore plus. Certains fantasmes sont trop sulfureux pour rester cachés. Cette collection de nouvelles courtes et torrides explore le genre de désir qui vous tient éveillé, troublé, à bout de souffle et brûlant — sombre, interdit, et absolument irrésistible. Des tentations entre générations au tabou, de la passion impulsive à l'intensité brute du BDSM, chaque histoire vous fera rougir, vous donnera envie d'en redemander. Aucune règle. Aucune honte. Juste du plaisir pur et sans filtre. Êtes-vous prêt à vous laisser aller ?

Me iba a casar. Pero Ryder, el hombre al que le dediqué siete años de mi vida, no lo sabía. Desde que Blair entró a trabajar como su nueva asistente, él se volvió un fantasma para mí. La alta sociedad los adoraba. Eran el dúo perfecto que acaparaba las miradas en todas las fiestas. Para celebrar el último proyecto que consiguió su adorada asistente, Ryder alquiló un restaurante para consentirla. Durante la cena, Blair me cambió la limonada por una bebida cargada de alcohol. Caí en su juego como una tonta y la bebí sin pensar. Ryder no movió un dedo para detenerme. En lugar de protegerme, se me quedó viendo con una sonrisa burlona. —Dime, mi amor... ¿a qué te sabe? —murmuró, disfrutando la escena. Lo olvidó... El mismo hombre que alguna vez juró amarme pasó por alto que el alcohol era mortal para mi cuerpo. Una alergia fulminante hizo estragos en mí. Se me cerró la garganta antes de poder gritar. Caí de rodillas al piso y, mientras me ahogaba intentando jalar aire, lo único que rompió el silencio del salón fue el ruido de un plato haciéndose pedazos. Horas después, desperté en la clínica privada de mi familia. Abrí los ojos con los pulmones ardiéndome. Todavía sentía la mascarilla de oxígeno en la cara cuando busqué a mi mamá con la mirada y asentí en silencio. Iba a aceptar el matrimonio que ella planificó para mí.