My Wife's Lovers Painting Mga Nobela at Kwento

He chuckled and pulled her along as he turned to go to the bedroom. “I’ll only stop if you let us sleep”, he said, speeding his steps to get his wife in his arms unapologetically again. He wanted to immortalize his wife in a canvas again, that was the right term. He had immortalized her several times, he was sure she would be freaked out at the amount of paintings of her he had in his private gallery. They all depicted her in random moments, the first time he had painted one was the first time she had held on of his paintings in her hand.

“Like staring at it and thinking about the artist and his life; the people he loved and hated, the ones he couldn’t do without, all of those culminating into a work in progress.” When I look at him again, his eyes are nearly black and he looks near familiar like someone I’ve seen countless times in the past but then again, he is my husband so that doesn't seem to count. “It’s too vague,” I laugh but it seems to be void of humor. “Choose something less coy next time.” “Would you have preferred a ten-page essay?” he makes a slight bow as he speaks to me. “I can do that too.” The next painting is of a woman holding an umbrella. I instinctively make the sign of the cross out of the blue as I sta

Mari's whole body ached the next day. With every movement she made, she felt the pain in her whole body, especially in the middle of her thighs. That's what it's called, she's no longer a virgin, her husband has taken her most cherished honor. She's surrendered everything to her husband, which is very happy because they're now married, so there's no problem. But something was bothering Mari's mind, as if she was missing what she and Andrei did last night. What she expected to be a hot fight in bed ended up being a very careful romance between her and Andrei. Even their sex was very careful, without the excitement that would have been sexual. Mari shook her head and something else was going t

Without hesitation, Lena got up and followed him. As their figures disappeared from view, a few people started whispering. "Hey, don’t you think they make a great pair? Their height, their looks… everything matches!" Someone clapped their hands excitedly. "I’ve been thinking that for ages! They have that destined vibe—both so strong, like Mr. and Mrs. Smith." "Exactly! That love-hate dynamic where they want to defeat each other but can’t bear to see the other gone because no one else is a worthy opponent."

“You’re always so rough with me. Tell me—am I the one you love most?” Through the narrow crack in the door, I saw Jill Spencer draped across his body. He must’ve been drinking as his words were slurred, but I couldn’t tell how much of what he said was true. “Love you? Don’t be ridiculous. I just like doing you. The one I love most is obviously my wife. “She’s my muse—my first love, the one I cherished in my youth. She’s the love of my life. No one will ever come close.”

“That’s what love looks like to me… not perfect, not whole… but real.” God, she loves her husband. She had taken forever to see this. To admit this. Every brushstroke, every burst of color, every unspoken ache on that canvas had led her right back to him. To Lorenzo. Tears spilled down her cheeks freely, hot and unrestrained, and anyone watching would think it was because the entire hall had risen to their feet, a standing ovation echoing like thunder, applause crashing through the room in waves. But it wasn’t the cheers that broke her.

“Because right now, I’m starting to think everyone I’ve ever loved has been lying to me.” She pressed her bloody hand against her forehead, whispering, “He wasn’t supposed to come back. I thought that line died with him.” My stomach turned. “What line?” Maria met my gaze then, her eyes filled with something like sorrow. “The Voss line. The family your father tried to erase.” I froze. “Erase?” “Colonel Loren Voss wasn’t just my lover,” she said. “He was your father’s enemy. And Damien he’s his son.”

She also gave me a home, one that was registered under someone else's name. "Javier." Charlene looked up, her eyes brimming with guilt. "I know the person I've wronged most is you. But Travis and I are over. You're the one I love, and you're the only husband I'll ever have. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, okay?" She reached out to hold my hand, her tone almost pleading. "Travis has already lost me. He can't be left with nothing. Let this house serve as the final chapter for our past."

“Darling, why did you run off just now? You made me look for you for so long.” Madison turned stiff, and she did not move in the newcomer’s embrace. She had no good options, and she did not know if she had to push him away. She looked nervous and guiltily lowered her head. The newcomer said arrogantly, “I’m Conway Ford, the president of the Viapent Group. Were you looking for me?” I glared at the man. The more I scrutinized him, the more familiar he looked. Suddenly, it hit me. This man was Madison’s first love, Victor Ponzi. I had seen his picture in Madison’s university yearbook.

"I am your husband now. You signed the papers. You said the vows. Don't start this marriage with disobedience." Slowly, her body trembling, Mary slid across the leather seat. The material stuck to her skin, resisting her movement as if it wanted to keep her where she was. Arthur reached out and grabbed her chin, his grip firm, unyielding, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark and clouded, assessing her like something newly acquired. "You're a beautiful thing," he whispered. "A bit thin, a bit pale, but I’ll fix that. I like to take care of my things. And make no mistake, Mary... you are mine. Everything you are, everything you have, belongs to me."