Pulp Fiction Shirt Vintage Novels & Stories

My roommate sets me up. She deliberately forces me into a death-trap survival game. As I shut my eyes and wait for death to take me, I realize that the game's bosses can read my mind. "Look at the blood spurting from this baby doll's neck. It's like a fountain of pee." The baby doll is baffled. It's about to launch its ultimate move, but it falters. "Man, look at how this guy is still sweeping the streets when he's so old. Does he not have a pension?" The old man is about to swallow me whole, but he suddenly gets a heart attack. An ambulance takes him away. "Oh, so this is the amusement park's owner. Oh, dear god, he's handsome, albeit a little skinny. I can send him flying with a kick!" The handsome owner's expression darkens. He instantly takes off his shirt to reveal his washboard abs. "Do you still think I'm skinny?"

I've been married to Salvatore Falcone for seven years. He's a mafia Don who drills raw terror into everyone's minds. While I'm the Donna whom he has announced to the world, in truth, I'm just a mistress who serves as his human shield that can warm his bed on the side. Salvatore has betrayed me countless times over the past seven years. The first betrayal occurred when he took my ring off on our first wedding anniversary and gave it to one of the escorts in the clubhouse on a whim. The second betrayal occurred when I collapsed in the kitchen out of exhaustion. Instead of saving me, Salvatore blamed me for not preparing the hangover tonic for him in time, so he had someone dump iced water onto me to wake me up. The third betrayal occurred when I suffered from massive bleeding when I was five months pregnant. When I begged Salvatore to go to the hospital with me, he told me that he was keeping Valentina Caruso, his childhood sweetheart, company while her cat was getting fixed. For 2500 days, I swallowed all of my grievances, agony, and tears. Last night, at the banquet of our seventh wedding anniversary, Salvatore had taken Valentina's hand and sat her down on the Donna's throne that was meant to be mine. At that moment, everyone looked forward to seeing me humiliate myself. This was the 101st time he betrayed me. After the banquet was over, Salvatore didn't even bother looking me in the eye. He just said icily, "Don't forget that you're only a mistress to me despite our marriage." At the crack of dawn, Salvatore wakes up with a hangover. He tosses his soiled shirt at me out of habit. "Wash this shirt immediately. I'm going to wear it tonight." As I gaze at him, I caress my belly, which is slightly swollen. "Sorry, Mr. Falcone. This is no longer my duty." Salvatore most likely has forgotten that we've signed a contract when we first got married. The clause states that we will get divorced seven years later. Today is the third day before our contract comes to an end. I toss the marriage certificate and the pregnancy report into the shredder on the spot. In three days, my unborn baby and I will disappear from Salvatore's world permanently. This time, I will never look back.

There are three things Samara Culkin loves: her father, wearing high heels, and being a detective. But in a world where being a female officer is considered weak, she struggles to find a place where she feels truly belong. Determined to prove The Detective Tag firm that she is worth it, she sets out to solve one of the biggest cases the city of Los Angeles has ever seen. There are three things Clayton Jones likes: his car, detective skills, and the female detective who happens to catch his eye—Samara. As an expert and well-known crime officer, he is given the chance to work with her; a one-time possibility that rarely happens. The only problem is that she hates him. And he does not know why. The Detective Tag is a crime fiction with a twist of romance. Join Samara and Clayton—all the bitterness, dislikes, and romance in between—as they dive into the world of crime cases and murder investigations. Well, maybe a bit of finding love, too.

"You like that, don't you? You like the feel of my cock stretching you open?"His length brushed a sensitive spot in me and I jerked, nails digging into his shirt, "Yes...fück yes..." He pulled out slowly, until just the tip was in me. "But only slüts love cöcks in there püssies. Especially when it's their teacher's cock. Are you a slüt, Brittany?" "I'm your slut, Mr Allen. Only yours. Please fill me up with your cum..." *** This book contains explicitly adult themes, taboo relationships, amd morally corrupt desires that challenges comfort zones.a collection of dark, forbidden erotica filled with dominance, obsession, and illicit attraction. Characters give in to urges they shouldn't want...and enjoy every second of it.It is unapologetic, intense and designed to make you feel things you might not want to admit. If you crave safe love stories, look elsewhere. If you crave forbidden pleasure...be a good girl and dive In.

Werewolves do not exist. The mating bond is all a figment of fiction, they do not exist. That was what Darya thought too. But she is in for a lot of surprises. ***** Watching her father get killed was something Darya never thought that she would get over, not until a very long time. Well a few months later, her step mother sells her off the mafia Don who jhad her father killed - and that was when her life as she knew it started falling apart. As if being bought was not enough, the Mafia proposes to Darya that she becomes his fake bride for a year and seeing this as an opportunity to avenge her father, she agrees. But what if her father was not who she thought he was? What if the man she hated wasnt responsible for his death? What if she starts discovering deeper secrets like oh - the man is a werewolf? But worse, what if shse starts falling in love with the man she had vowed to hate?

I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case. Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family. But I still put on my white coat and walked in. Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation. Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes. "I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body." The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety. I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile. But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

"You are Mine" He murmured across my skin. He inhaled my scent deeply and kissed the mark he gave me. I shuddered as he lightly nipped it. "Kirsten, you are mine and only mine, you understand?" Kirsten Saunders had a pretty rough life. After being heartbroken and betrayed by both her father and boyfriend, Kirsten moves to a small town to find the comfort of her mother. Everything is not what it seems and soon, Kirsten finds herself in the middle of the world she didn't even know existed outside of fiction novels and movies. Not only does the time seem bizarre, but her senses heighten, her temper is out of control, and her hunger amplifies. Throw in an arrogant, selfish, sexy, possessive player who didn't even want her in the first place, her life just seamlessly attracts madness. Especially with those creepy threats coming from a "Silver Bullet", she can't keep still.

[ The Fiction Awards 2019 Winner ••• Best Of Lgbt ] Steven turned back around and was headed to his room, he unlocked the door and went inside, just as he was about closing the door, he felt a push and David stepped into the room and clicked the door locked. Eyes back on Steven's like a predator about to pounce on its prey, one painful yet slow step and another he took, while the other stepped back until he was pressed against the wall. With no place to run to, Steven stopped. Eyes on David as he took his last step forward. "W-what are you doing?" "God, you're beautiful." "W-what." "I want to kiss you so badly that my heart burns from just the thoughts of it." "D-David." "Kiss me, Steven, please!" And kiss him he did... DAVID+STEVEN=BEST-FRIEND'S. DAVID IS MARRIED. STEVEN IS SINGLE. #BOY ROMANCE. WARNING: SAD ENDING.

The first thing my brother did after returning from his studies in Europe was drag me before the family council. I ran the rundown bar our Capo father left me, stocking shelves at dawn and scrubbing counters past midnight. I even took on debt from loan sharks to keep him afloat. "Just one last time," he always promised over the phone. "I'll pay you back once I marry rich." But today, a summons from the family arrived at his request. It demanded I be stripped of my birthright and forced to hand over the bar and our territory. My phone pinged. A photo flashed on the screen: my brother in a silk shirt, sitting close to a woman, her hand digging into his thigh. The message followed: Meet my fiancée, the daughter of the Valenti family boss and their Chief Legal Counsel. She says you don't stand a chance. I stared at that hand for a long, long time. Then I crouched down and pried open the hidden compartment beneath the bar.

Wanting to give my boyfriend, Justin Letterman, a surprise on Valentine's Day, I throw myself at him when he enters the room. I push him against the door and kiss him passionately. It isn't easy to transfer the spiked wine from my mouth into his, but his reaction is cold and indifferent. He says nothing as he pushes me aside to turn on the light. "Don't you want my first time anymore, darling?" I ask bashfully as I grab his hand. His breathing turns heavy in an instant. Smiling, I slip my hand under his shirt, but I'm distracted when I hear the front door creak open. "Babe," Justin coos in a deep and hoarse voice. "Why are you in such a hurry?" my best friend, Natalie Quinn, asks coyly. The wanton noises of kissing and moaning echo into the room. Before I can snap back to my senses, I'm yanked into a closet. Am I the one getting caught, or am I the one doing the catching?