Possessing The Obsessive Maniac's Cotton Doll Manhwa Novels & Stories

Maybe it took seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but finally, my mind cleared up, and I returned to the present. Nothing was touching me, and while there was the smell of sex in the air, I couldn’t not doubt if I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Because it was like something from my fantasies. I have always wanted a man obsessed with me, a man capable of holding all the control, but at the same time willing to give me the pleasure I deserved. And now that man had materialized from nothing, but was doing all the right things.

"I have spent my life making sure you are my only obsession.A reflection will not replace me. Look at me, Ivy—see me. Even here, in the middle of this nightmare, I want you to remember who owns the heart that’s beating so frantically in your chest." The humming intensified, a ghostly, feminine melody that seemed to leak from the very wallpaper. Dante’s obsession flared into a fever. He needed to overwrite the lullaby with the sound of his own name. He needed to prove, right here in the center of their enemies' design, that his possessiveness was a force of nature that no "Red String" could restrain. He pushed Ivy back against the heavy, lace-covered bed—the bed that was a replica of her girl

Mesmerized, I watched the spinning and twisting display before me, skins agleam with sweat and oil, maybe both. But my gaze fell on the man in a seated position, back to the couch, watching strippers with an expression of utter boredom. He was a study in contrasts-chiseled features and a well-defined jawline with the lazy smile that played at the lips, the cigarette he smoked, its fumes curling themselves around him. I tripped over some wires, and the music died, the sudden silence after it a slap in the face. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in my disheveled appearance. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

The atmosphere in the Anderson mansion was anything but warm. A young girl knelt on the marble floor, mopping with trembling, blood-stained hands. “Why aren’t you done mopping yet?” a young woman’s sharp voice echoed. “Amy… I’m almost done cleaning,” the girl begged, looking up at her pitifully. “How many times have I told you to stop calling my name?” Amy snapped, stomping her heel hard onto Jenny’s already injured hand. “Arhhhhh! P-please, ma’am!” Jenny cried, trying to pull her hand away.

His hands gripped my hips to yank me back onto his relentless cock, our balls smacking together in the chaotic rhythm. Maddox didn't let up for a second, his cock hammering into me with savage depth, each thrust so forceful it blurred my vision and sent shockwaves ripping through his core. It made me teeter on the brink of madness, my mind fracturing into pure, primal need as the relentless barrage stretched and claimed every inch.

Wherever I see him I'm bashing his fucking head with whatever I have. They dressed us in these over revealing lingerie, with a lace coat to cover nothing. “So this is how I end up? What if I end up with a gross old man.” The blonde girl said as she cried. The brunette girl patted her back to console her. The scary man who made me strip entered the room and we all tried covering up. He only smirked as he scanned us. “You fucking psychopaths, why would you do this to us? What did we do so wrong?” The blonde girl shouted.

Other one is a orphan who is hardworking career oriented person who owns nothing except his handsome features no family no friends he is simply a nerd and broken who works hard to fill his stomach Can this playful girl learns the seriousness when she falls in love with a handsome nerd She is obsessed of him he hates her what happens when obsession and hates collide will love bloom or turns into more hate ..... ◇Karthik◇ You asked if I love you .. I said I don't ... I don't love you... I hate the way you talk to me... I hate it when you stare at me... I hate the way you read my mind... I hate you so much .. it makes me sick ..

Like breathing. After twenty minutes, the lab feels warmer. Calmer. The beginning of a small woven panel starts forming beneath my hands. This is how stories begin in fabric. Thread by thread. Memory by memory. I'm so focused I don't hear the door open. But I feel it. That strange sensation of being watched. I look up. And freeze. Standing in the doorway—coat damp from rain—is Adrian Hale. For a moment neither of us speaks. The fluorescent light above us flickers slightly.

Those women are absolutely submissive to the supreme Gilbert, always knowing how to humiliate me to please him, their mafia kingpin. They make me kneel on the ground and bark like a dog, lick spilled milk off the floor, dance humiliatingly with my pregnant belly... Only because everyone knows my weakness is the child in my womb. “Julian, you know what? I have a thousand ways to make the bastard in your womb die silently.” “I advise you to be obedient, maybe if I’m in a good mood, I’ll take a look at the child after it’s born.” Gilbert’s tone was cold and ruthless.

The girl was playing with his mind. Who was she? Where did she come from? If King hadn't sent her, then who was the sender? These questions were confusing her. He was still manipulating them when he realized the presence of someone behind him. He came down quickly ... A gust of wind touched him and drove him crazy. The scent of human blood.