Novel & Cerita The Best Enemies To Lovers Books

[Next POV from 'Carrie' in Chapter 52] ******** Author Note: Read My 2nd Best Premium Series "Forbidden Love Stories (Book 2)" on Goodovel. It's so hot and sizzling with amazing short erotic stories and I update the new chapter every day. Official Community 👉 bit.ly/avi22nash Official Facebook 👉 bit.ly/FLSpage

Even when we were in different classes, the air seemed charged, as if we were both waiting for the next inevitable collision. And the rumors only made it worse. People whispered about us like we were some tragic love story in progress. “They hate each other so much… but maybe it’s not hate,” someone said one afternoon. I laughed it off, but I didn’t want to admit how much the comment made me think. It wasn’t just the rumors, though. It was the way my stomach tightened when I felt their eyes on me, the way my heartbeat seemed to quicken whenever I passed by them in the crowded hallways. Because the closer we were forced to be, the more I realized… maybe we weren’t enemies by choice. Maybe we

Rosa met James in a restaurant that he owned and because she was dressed in a shaggy clothing he thought she was an employee in one of his lowest restaurants. They had an argument and they resented each other after that day. James thought Rosa was a lowlife and also arrogant and Rosa thought James was just a rich jerk. They cross paths again in the most unbelievable way possible. Curious about their story? Find out in My Enemy is My Lover.

My hand slid around to circle her clit again. “Come for me,” I growled against her ear. She shattered—walls pulsing, crying out, body shaking against mine. I followed—deep, hard, groaning her name as I spilled inside her. We stayed like that—panting, joined, wind whipping around us. Then I pulled out. Disposed of the condom. Turned her in my arms. Kissed her softly. “I’m not your enemy, Mira.” She pressed her forehead to mine. “I know.”

"Barely worth it." "She must've been desperate for you," a female voice chimed in. "Oh, she was dripping before I even touched her." More laughter. "God, she must smell." "Like cheap perfume and poor people," Ashley’s voice cut through. "You'd have to cover her face to fuck her, though?" My chest stopped. Please, no. "I wouldn't fuck Sloane Carter with a gun to my head." The book slipped from my hands. Jar of Hearts. The one he said we'd read together.

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Scott's version of love was a warm blanket I never asked to be wrapped in. Adam's version was this. Cold water. Clear sight. I preferred it. "So I need a counter-narrative." "Yes." "I need someone who shapes that for me. Someone who fights in that arena while I fight in the other." Adam tilted his head. "I have people—" "No." The word came out sharper than I intended. I softened it. "No. I appreciate everything you've done. But your people work for you. They're loyal to you. I need—"

“You’re delusional. You don’t love me—you don’t even know what that word means.” His smirk vanished. Something sharper slid into his expression, dangerous and cutting. “Love?” His voice dripped with scorn, velvet edged with steel. “Love is for fools. For the weak. What I feel for you—” His fingers lifted, ghosting over my jaw, feather-light, a touch so intimate it made my heart stutter. “…is so much worse.” I jerked back instinctively, but the ghost of his touch lingered, searing into my skin like a brand I could not scrub away.

Two more women had died… and they were all his girlfriends? As if ominously hearing my question, Liam answered, “No, they were not my girlfriends. They just happened to be captured in an article with me. One was an obsessed fan of mine. Her name was Jayne Mansfield. She would occasionally send me gifts, write threatening letters when I don't respond and even try to break into my house just to see me.” I paled. Revulsion twisting the insides of my stomach. This one sounded a lot like my stalker, just that mine surely wasn't a fan of me.

I could easily see why Isabella might have had a thing for him; he had that quiet, reliable charm that a girl like her would be drawn to. But the thought of it grated on me, of Isabella once being in love with someone else. It didn’t make sense. This wasn’t a marriage of love—nothing about it was supposed to feel remotely romantic, and Isabella didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter either. And yet, the idea of my future wife having feelings for another man didn’t sit well with me.