The Picture Of Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

I gasped slightly as Dorian's and mine pictures were displayed on the screen. The pictures were not photoshopped, they were authentic but the light in which they were displayed was very well-planned. They were mainly of me hugging Dorian in the library or at the campus or the night when we ate ice cream. The pictures were not very clear and seemed like they were taken from the CCTV footage. The council member asked me, "Do you agree that it is you and Dorian Smith?"

He pulled out a photo and placed it on the table. "You mean this?" Dorian looked down at once; the animal in the picture stared back at him. Dark fur, silver tail, and eyes too intelligent for a normal animal--A wolf! His breath caught almost. His eyes widened to ten times the size of saucers as he stared hard at the photo, his hands resting on his knees, clenching. The room suddenly felt smaller at that instant, and his heartbeat became so loud in his ears he could barely hear anything else.

And somewhere deep inside the shadows, even Dorian smiled. Not because he’d won. But because flame had returned Not as war. But as grace.

Just a few more, and I would have my release reaching the clouds… “Dirty girl…you want to cum, huh? Not yet.” Christian pulled away, leaving me gasping and needing to be filled. “Please, Professor Grey…please suck on me.”

"Make it eight, then." Luana's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Guess I'll just... shut up then." The car pulled away, headlights slicing through the night, leaving Clarissa alone with her mounting fears. At the villa entrance, a tall and straight figure leaned casually against a car door. Between Dorian's slender fingers was a cigarette, its curling smoke veiling his angular face. His thick lashes cast deep shadows beneath his eyes in the dim streetlight. A white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealed the sharp clavicle of his neck, sleeves rolled to expose pale, snow-like skin.

The fire in Amalia’s hearth had burned low, throwing amber light across the carved beams. Shadows curled in the corners of the room, heavy with the scent of pine and smoke. Dorian sat at the edge of the long bench, shoulders hunched, his hands clasped so tight together it looked as if he were holding back the world.

She spelled it out like she was soothing a toddler about to throw blocks at the wall. And the spoiler? It didn’t work. “How can I calm down when my FUCKING portraits are gone?!” I roared. And then, a throat was cleared. Both Alexandra and I turned toward the door. And there he was—Dorian, standing there like a guilty puppy. His hands raised behind his head, tugging at his bandage like it was a crown of thorns. And when he spoke… oh, dear God. “As for the portraits,” he said, in a tone too casual for a funeral. “So sad I noticed the ones of us weren’t there. So… I got rid of yours, Sweetheart.”

Erica insisted this dress had to make an appearance on Spanish streets, but the garden would do. Someone obviously forgot to pack my hair straightener so curly hair it is. I went downstairs and before heading out I took a look at the living room, the walls were full of diplomas for Alessandro and Andrea Benavente. Alongside many pictures of Alessandro riding horses, fencing, and even playing chess. It did look like what I imagined the rich kid growing up would be. Over the fireplace was a painting of Alessandro, next to him people I assume were his parents and his sister. Seeing how my stomach started protesting I decided to find Alessandro, he was having breakfast by the pool a table set un

The exhaustion beneath his eyes was little compared to what his body spoke. The lecture hall was already half full when he slipped inside. Soft murmurs drifted through the room as students settled into their seats. Rabbit took his usual place near the front but close enough to hear clearly, far enough to avoid attention. He laid out his notebook with meticulous precision. Top left corner: date. Centered title: ENG 342 — Gothic Literature. Beneath it, he wrote neatly: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde He paused, staring at the words. A story about beauty.

He didn't want to mistrust his friend Jeremy so he firmly stood the ground and waited for his supposed cover girl date―as stated by others. And Dorian's wait was finally over as his eyes caught onto a pretty figure approaching him from a few meters away. His grin dropped and he straightened up from his leaned position. Nerves bursted in his body because it was unbelievable. The girl looked like an elf in a knee length fluffy sky blue dress, her beautiful hair in curls and coral pink lips up in a dazzling smile. Dorian lost his senses and so failed to notice that along with him, his surrounding friends had shocking faces too.