Skeleton Hand Holding Something

SUBMITTING TO MY STEP BROTHERS "Nicole meet your stepbrothers and .......", I didn't hear the next words when my eyes fall on the two men already seated. I found myself momentarily frozen at what I was seeing. Was i dreaming or I wasn't? What the hell is wrong with my step father’s sons. They are all f**king.... **** "Do you want it?", Before I could reply him, my gaze accidentally moved down then I saw it.....his bulge was huge even though it was flaccid. Was I turning him on? Just like I did to his brother, Alexander. My breath hitched as he stepped closer to me, his chest coming into view, closer to my face, "I think its too late to eat the cake," He rasped as I looked up. His hand extended above me but his forest green eyes held mine, they became darker as if time had stood still. Right now, I needed a saviour. I noticed that Alexander has ocean blue eyes then here is his brother with ...... my goodness! Speechless, I moved my gaze to his Adam's apple, which bobbed as he swallowed. "If the banana is all you wanted. Then have a good night step sis" He moved away, smirking and then he turned around. My eyes landed on his ass. I snapped out of quickly it then shook my head. Holy hell! I was still holding the banana in my hand in disbelief. Was that a dream?

She was always the shadow. He was always chasing the light. Lavinia Hartwell had learned early that love was rarely for girls like her. She was the quiet one, the overlooked one—always second to her luminous best friend, Verity Langford. Even Henry Wynthorne, the boy whose compassion had unexpectedly caught her heart in high school, only had eyes for Verity. But years change people. Henry’s dreams of studying abroad collapsed with his father’s death. Verity left. Success became his only compass, and alcohol his only escape. And somehow, in the wreckage, there was Lavinia—never demanding, never judging, quietly holding him together in ways he never noticed… until she was gone. When an arranged engagement threatened to give her to him, Henry assumed she was being forced into it and set her free. Lavinia smiled, thanked him—and walked away, taking with her the steady presence he had taken for granted. Only then did Henry begin to notice the ache. The way her absence unsettled him. The way another man’s hand on her waist ignited a heat that was not anger, but something darker, sharper, and dangerously possessive. A single night blurred the lines forever—her lips on his, soft at first, then desperate, as though she’d loved him all her life. Desire flared, undeniable. But in the morning, she was gone again. Now, with Verity back and the past colliding with the present, Henry must face the truth: he no longer loves the woman he once chased. But has he realized too late who truly held his heart all along? Slow-burn, sensual, and laced with aching restraint, this is a story of unspoken devotion, of a man’s reluctant fall, and of the quiet girl who was never anyone’s first choice—until she became the only choice.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife? For richer or poorer, in sickness and health, will you remain faithful to her for the rest of your life?” I looked at Bridget with deep affection and was just about to speak. “Wait!” shouted someone urgently. I turned around in confusion and looked toward the audience. There stood a man holding a baby in his arms. He said pleadingly, “Bridget, our child is hungry… could we pause the wedding for a moment?” Hearing this, everyone erupted in an uproar. It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck me. Only then did I realize that Bridget had a child with another man. Bridget hurried off the stage, then turned to me coldly and said, “I only agreed to marry you out of obligation. But the moment Vernon appeared, I knew it. There’s no one else I want to marry but him.” So, she took off the ring and dragged the man away without looking back. I stood alone at the end of the aisle and clutched the undelivered ring in my hand, as a flood of bitterness crashed through every corner of my heart.

Zaire Gibson spent years hating Sebastian Burkhart - the arrogant, charming captain of Milton Academy's football team. Their rivalry has always been explosive, from locker-room brawls to public fights that nearly got them suspended. But beneath Zaire's fury lies something he refuses to name... something that scares him more than losing a game. Sebastian, on the other hand, knows exactly what he feels, and it's killing him. He's been in love with Zaire for years, forced to hide it behind smirks, taunts, and bruised knuckles. Every fight, every insult, every stolen glance only pulls him deeper into the boy who will never love him back. But when one charged night tears the line between enemies and something else entirely, both boys are forced to face the truth: maybe what's between them was never hate at all.

“On your knees,” Caspian ordered, his voice leaving no room for debate. Her legs gave way, the plush rug coarse against her skin. She looked up at them, four gods of her new, twisted world, each holding their cocks, hard and ready for her. “This is your punishment,” Caspian said, his hand moving slowly on himself. “For letting other men look. For being a naughty stripper .” “And your reward,” Raphael purred, his thumb swirling over the head of his erection. “For being so fucking perfect.” “Open your mouth,” Jeremy instructed, his voice thick. “Open your eyes. And don’t you dare look away.” Lyra became Jade, the faceless Stripper who could make men forget their names.But when four familiar faces took over the VIP booth, the illusion shattered. And instead of walking away, they bought the club that night—bought her stage, her contract, her secret. Four stepbrothers. One forbidden secret. She was their sin before she became their obsession.

On my birthday, my boyfriend gave me a pearl bracelet and claimed it would bring wealth. I did not believe it. However, just a few days later, I actually won 15 million dollars. I happily went to claim my prize, but the very next day, my bank balance vanished overnight. Not only that, I was left paralyzed from the waist down, and my appearance aged by thirty years! I cried and went to my boyfriend for help, only to find out that he, once poor, was then driving a sports car. His paralyzed sister miraculously stood up overnight, while even his sixty-year-old mother transformed into a young woman, as if reborn. I confronted him, asking if the pearl bracelet was cursed. He shoved me to the ground, saying, "What kind of crazy person are you? I think you've watched too much TV and lost your mind!" After dying in anger, I was reborn on my birthday. My boyfriend eyed me with ill intent, holding a pearl bracelet in his hand, preparing to put it on me...

Prince Rafe leans over me, holding himself up on one elbow as he gazes at my face. I feel his eyes wandering over every surface from my brow to my eyes, down my nose, to my lips and chin, and then returning to hold my gaze for a second. The small smile at the corner of his mouth makes me think he likes what he sees. His hand is cool when it brushes a loose curl from my cheek, but I don’t jerk away from him. I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t understand why I’m here. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. It seems like a lot of powerful people want me—dead or alive. And yet, all I can think about right now is how badly I want this vampire’s hands on my body. *** I live in a desolate village on the edge of the Vampire King’s lands. This used to be wolf shifter territory, but now, we are just trying to survive. When I mess up and find myself in a culling, I know I’m dead. No wolf shifters ever survive these events. And after the stunt I pulled in the middle of the village, Prince Rafe probably wants me dead. Is it a good thing or a bad thing when a vampire looks at you like you’re a snack? Something tells me, once I reach the castle, I’ll be missing my miserable existence in the village. But then—it turns out I have no freaking idea who I even am, and when the royals start referring to me as Princess Ainslee, I realize my life is about to take a turn—for better or worse. From the author of The Alpha King’s Breeder

In the middle of a lively night, can you guess what's about to come? In the middle of the busy street, do you realize there is something in the dump? Shane Hoseinzade was peacefully sleeping on the floor when three conservative, loud knocks echoed inside. Would he open the door? On the other side, someone wearing a black cloak and holding a giant scythe is standing on the doorstep. With head bowed down, a pair of mismatched eyes glowed while staring at the door. Patiently waiting for the target to open the door. If you hear three violent knocks on your door at exactly midnight, would you dare to open the door? But what if those violent knocks are the knocks of the person you promised to marry in the future? Death? A grim reaper? A demon? Whoever it is, are you ready to face your fears?

Nora Ainsley didn’t sign up to play hero. As a rogue-born tracker for hire, she works solo, stays broke, and minds her business. But when a missing pendant leads her into the heart of a conspiracy tied to the murder of the Silver Ash Pack’s Luna, she gets dragged into something way bigger than she ever wanted. Now she’s a suspect, a target, and holding a magical artifact every side wants to kill for. Worse, the only person offering help is Roman Vale—a masked stranger who’s got his own twisted ties to the very pack that wants Nora dead. She didn’t ask for this war, but if she doesn’t fight back, she won’t survive it.

When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes. That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death. From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me. So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well. … On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company. That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me. ... Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink. After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks. I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice. "But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says. I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away. Some things are never a joke. Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.