Never On The Sunday Novels & Stories

Monet Palmer had never missed Sunday Mass in her entire life—even after moving in with the Abbotts, she went with the children in towx. On rare Sundays, Richard would join them, quietly, solemnly, always sitting at the far end of the pew like someone visiting a museum, not a sanctuary.

Sunday morning was one of Jess’s favorite times. She often woke up and cooked pancakes, waffles or made any simple breakfast while in the company of Pete. They then ate leisurely in the apartment and ordered food for lunch as they made plans for the week. Part of this time was spent making love in various styles and any part of the house, because neither of them wanted to go anywhere on Sundays. However, today did not feel like an ordinary Sunday. First of all, neither Pete nor Jess were in the mood to wake up early. Jess had spent the night tossing and turning, and she had only gotten some sleep when the sun was rising. On the other hand, Pete had come back home late. He had been very drunk

He was telling him not to show Zara he's regained his memory and now Zara in an accident? "She didn't plan this one too?" Kauthar rolled her eyes but stood up to go change into something else. That very day happens to be a Sunday and they both don't have work, it should be the day they rest in each other's arms but no, they have no rest since Zara barged into their lives like that.

he promised her. He sat behind his desk, keeping an eye on her face. She was nervous, obviously, but not afraid. There was a difference. She probably just wasn't sure she'd do this right. 'Silly girl,' he thought. 'You couldn't possibly do this wrong.' "Sundays will be your days of reflection. You cannot act as a submissive on that day. You can choose an additional night each week if you choose."

It's Sunday A muscle memory routine, I say it's Sunday as soon as I wake up every Sunday, I'm not a religious person nor a morning person, so it's got nothing to do with any god or daylight. In fact it's got everything to do with the devil I work for and the darkness for an office I work in, as I stroll downstairs to my open spaced kitchen I instantly regret not getting drunk last night. At least the hangover would have blocked out last night's memories. Last night Killian kissed me after I told him I'm in love with him. I don't understand why some days I just want to Killian Killian and others I'd Kill for his attention.

"And I thought I was a bad liar." "Some serious businesses happen on Sundays, but you just never exactly experience them." "You'll be back though, right?" Nadine asks. "The weekend isn't over yet. "I'll be back, I promise." Sebastian takes her by her arm to a corner and whispers, "Why don't you tell me what's going on, Loretta. I know too well that no one around here goes to work on a Sunday. Even supermarkets don't open." "Ok, fine, it’s Kendrick."

It was official. Zoe loathed the sound of her alarm. She wondered why she had set the damn thing. It was Sunday for Goodness sake. Sundays in the supernatural world weren't special or great in any way. Zoe thought Sundays were supposed to be for resting but she had to train with her dad. Most people around the estate just go on with their usual lives. The funniest fact was that these same people could kill a person without flinching when the time of war against the enemies arises.

The next day was a Sunday, which was perfect for Becca’s plans because Ryan never went anywhere on Sundays, preferring to remain indoors and rest. Before all these, Becca loved Sundays best among all the days of the week because she got to spend most of the mornings cuddled in Ryan’s arms and then they lazed about all day doing, swimming or sunning or any other activity that picked their fancies. However, today was not the day to dwell on all of that. Today, she was going for a battle, and she must win it no matter the cost.

he simply says. "Okay as in, yes?" I gasp. My heart almost beating out of my chest. "Hmm" he mummers, his fingers massaging my scalp. "Really, I can go out?" I ask. "Yes" Ha! "That easy?" I question, narrowing my eyes with suspicion. He remains quiet. "Why didn't you let me go out today?" I try another route. "Can't go out on Sundays." is all he said. Oh, couldn't he just say that?

“I have no more tissue.” I do not cry. We finish the washing up. At four, we say goodbye. My mother hugs me. Then she turns to Samuel and looks at him once more, and then she hugs him too. Brief and firm. He holds still for it the way a man does when he is being assessed by someone whose assessment matters. She steps back. She looks at him. “Sunday is every week,” she says. “Not an invitation. A schedule.” “Yes, ma’am,” he says.