Stories On Line Novels & Stories

"We have to fight it with something it can't process. Something that refuses to be a 'story' at all." I looked at Lina, then at the vast, vulnerable Library around us. "We need to tell a story that isn't one."

He collapsed onto the cushions, thighs spreading wide, the fabric of his shorts tightening over the bulge there accidental, but my eyes darted away fast, old crush stirring unwelcome heat low in my belly. I returned from the kitchen with a glass, handing it over. Our fingers brushed electric, lingering a beat too long. He drank deep, throat working, eyes meeting mine over the rim. "You're a lifesaver." We fell into talk, easy at first, his deployment stories, the endless sand and adrenaline crashes; my graphic design grind, the late nights tweaking logos for ungrateful clients. The air thickened with the late hour, words flowing intimate, but his gaze kept wandering. To the hem of my shorts

I smile at my daughter and say, “Over medium, please.” Then she looks at Gabriel, fighting a smile. “Can you eat better than you can dance?” The girls erupt into laughter, and Gabriel holds his hands up in defeat. “Look at it this way, ladies: I gave you a great story.” Britanya looks between me and Gabriel and winks. “Doesn’t seem like the story’s over.”

F - First U - Uncommon C - Classified K - Kriminal (I am using 'K' instead of 'C' because it's my story, so no offense) Take care of yourselves, my readers !! Tell me what you like, tell me when I was wrong :-)

Chapter 33 Leah's P.O.V “Cheat” is such a strong word to use. “What?” I breathed, my knees going weak. How did she find out? “Is it true?” she asked, her eyes hopeful. “I… who told you that?” I asked. “It's all over the school news. Cole dared you to get a room with him, and you agreed,” she said. Oh, so that's what the news was about. Relief washed over me like crazy. If I deny it, it doesn't count as lying.

“That’s not normal. Did I bore you with the whole noodle rant?” I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s not that.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then what is it?” I hesitated, then shrugged, my gaze drifting to the cracks in the pavement. “Just thinking.” “About?” I glanced at him again, and for a second, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say that his story hadn’t left me since he told it, that it sat in the back of my mind like an echo I couldn’t silence. But the words got stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat.

"The snatching" “You’ve been serving them for years and yet! they pay you nothing.” Said Keith Jones’s wife who was very fond of money. “Is there anything you don’t have Martina? I always got you whatever you wanted. I arranged things by working all day and night.” “I’m not complaining----” “Mom, Olivia woke up and she won't stop crying. Please carry her." Interrupted Victoria who was Keith and Martina's 10-year-old baby girl.

“Nopes. Not at all. I've been scared of sugar cookies ever since.” “No!” He gasped dramatically. “The fearless Ilana Denvers bested by sugar cookies?” She snorted, her smile somehow growing wider. “Totally. That's why this story's always been a secret. My enemies can never find out about this,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, yes,” he said, mimicking her tone. “Bring a sugar cookie in a knife fight and you're sure to win.” She giggled, then immediately covered her mouth with her hand, staring at him with wide horrified eyes.

Me: Text Kaden and tell him to get out of the fucking store. Jade: What? Why? Me: Because Tristain is on his way and he’s fucking pissed. Jade: Holy fucking shit. How mad is he? Me: Mad enough for you to STOP TEXTING ME AND TELL KADEN TO GET OUT. Jade: Alright, texting him now.

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”