روايات وقصص ضمن Smutty Mystery Thriller Books

she gasped, eyes popping out with a twinkle of relief "You found me.That was quick." Hie guys kindly check out my other book here on goodnovel titled A BLOODSTAINED I DO. The book is a romantic suspence thriller i hope that makes sense haha. It speaks of two friends who fooled an 'innocent' blind girl into marrying an assassin but it seems she just might just be the the one fooling all of them. A tale of massive twists and turns and its COMPLETE. Do check it out you wont regret! Leave a review too! Much love

Again, this is book one in the series The Blessed Ones. If you’re a fan of spicy romances with alpha males and basically anything Mafia-related, go for PRECARIOUS: THE GAME OF HEARTS, which is the first in the Castello Di Carte Mafia Chronicles. This would be my best work and I’m currently working on publishing this book digitally by the end of next year. Fingers crossed. I’m currently writing book 2 of the series and let me warn you, this series is super hot and suspenseful. Anyway, if you want to keep updated with my works, you can follow me on I* at author_shreyasengupta .

A smile that had the Smith women swooning and had Claire rolling her eyes with disinterest. "I read when I get time" Only thing I read was fire manuals and a daily magazine on how to grill your meat right. Nothing more. "Really? Well I guess we have our man. How about you start us off Mr Cutler?" Claire challenged. I looked at the book's cover. Shameless they called it. More like trying to write porn on pages if anyone asked me. I had frisked the pages. Roughly and every page had a sex scene about the female lead getting stretched and filled with—

That girl had no information about her on the darknet, much like Adonis—even worse—which was why I had to go, just to get to know her. Ros was outside the entrance of the building, smoking when I reached. She stared me down from top to bottom, just like she had done yesterday, with scrutiny. She extended the half-lit cigarette. “I don’t smoke.” She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Of course, good girls don’t smoke. Tell me you don’t drink either.” I chortled. “That I do. And smoking is a preference. Has nothing to do with character.” She turned around, not acknowledging my words, and trotted inside the building. Emotionless, for the lack of a better word, to describe her expressions. She didn’t

Furniture overturned, books scattered, and in the centre of the living room, a young woman with copper hair sat bound to a chair, very much alive but gagged with what appeared to be silver silk. "Kayla," Casie breathed, immediately moving forward. "Wait." Nathaniel's hand on her arm stopped her progress. "This is too easy. The Sparrow doesn't leave witnesses." Rick was already scanning the room's corners, his newly enhanced senses picking up details his human eyes might have missed. "There, behind the bookshelf. Someone's hiding."

But Jammy’s gaze stayed pinned on her. Lustre stiffened where she stood in her silk blouse and pencil skirt, every inch of her too-aware of the way his attention caressed her like smoke around skin. “You’re not blending in,” he said, voice velveted steel. Smooth, but cutting. “I wasn’t trying to,” she replied. “You’ve got fire in your blood,” Jammy murmured, rising from his seat. “That’s why I hired you. I smelled it.”

The secretarial desk was empty, and all was quiet, save for the soft humming of the desktop computer. Weird… the receptionist told me that Mr. Silverman was waiting for me up here, Rebecca thought. Perhaps he’s waiting for me in his office? She walked cautiously to the massive wood door and knocked. “Hello? Mr. Silverman? It’s Rebecca Grey from TNN. Can I come in?” There was no answer, and her imagination began to run wild. Did the murderer make his way up here and take the lives of both Mr. Silverman and his secretary? Were they tied up, being held as hostages behind the door?

She glanced back down at the leather-bound book resting on the floorboards beside her. The empty pages seemed to stare up at her, daring her to turn them. With a trembling hand, she picked it up again, the leather warm against her palm. She knew she should get up, should finish unpacking, should do something practical, anything to distract herself from the throbbing between her legs. But she couldn't. She was hooked. The anonymous writer had become a guide, a seductress whispering secrets into her ear, and Pinky was a willing student, desperate to learn every lesson.

But my body didn’t care about reasons. “I’m going straight to hell,” he muttered, then closed the gap. His mouth took mine slow this time, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of me. I sighed into it, hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. He tasted like black coffee and smoke and sin, and I wanted more.