The Thorn That Pierces Me Novels & Stories

Dante's peaceful sleep was disrupted by a itch on his forehead. It felt as if a fly was walking on his forehead. He opened his eyes, pissed. He scratched his head but didn't find any fly. It was just his hair. A sharp pain hit his head as he sat up. His head throbbed so painfully that he groaned, supporting his head with his palm. He looked around, finally noticing the unfamiliar surrounding. "What the hell?"

Samaira looked at the man looking as fresh as the first dew drop “Hmm,” “Who was the woman you slept with last night?,” A thorn is a thorn that pierces your heart, No matter if it is made of wood or satin.. All Hearts!!

He hummed at the touch and flipped me over. "Was last night not enough for you." He smirked. "I will never get enough of you Mr. Thorn." I saw a flash in his eyes. I had forgotten how much he loved me calling him that. With a swift move his hand was between my legs tracing circles on my most sensitive spot. I threw my head back into the pillow moaning. I couldn't take it any longer, I pushed him off me and tossed him to the side. I straddled him and hovered myself over his erection. I rubbed myself up and down him.

It sat in my hands and breathed its fast breath and looked at me with the still dark eye. Getting out was harder than getting in. This was the thing about thorns, the curve of them, they let you go one direction and had opinions about the other. My hands were bleeding before I was halfway out. Small cuts, the kind that stung rather than hurt, multiple of them across my palms and the backs of my hands. I got out.

I wondered again, resuming my movement and groaning loudly again as things got even worse and the trees were so tightly together that I had to squeeze myself to pass in between them. I groaned frustratingly again, my throat aching, as a thorn grazed my arm, sharp enough to tear my skin even when I was putting on a long-sleeved shirt that was layered enough to even act as a bullet proof. But the stubborn thorn had found a way to my arms, adding more pains and frustration to my journey to the unknown land, sang by my intuition. The pain from the thorn began to grow even more excruciating, surprising me very much with how such a little thing could disturb me so much and cause such a great unres

I hate early morning alarms! Especially the 5 O'clock ones I set for myself so I can wake up on time for school. They always ring every time I'm just getting very snuggly under my bedcovers and enjoying the second round of tranquil sleep. It doesn't help that I always read a book when I'm supposed to be in bed. Yeah, I'm a nerd and I know it. I bet you are too, ha ha.

Her voice fell to a whisper that seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere. “It’s the only love strong enough to save him.” His name shattered me. Thorne. Just that one word cut through like a sacred blade. My chest collapsed. Tears spilled without consent. “He’s suffering,” I choked. “Somewhere dark. Somewhere I can’t reach.” I didn’t know why I was crying so hard. I’d lost before – my parents, my world, my life. But this grief felt ancient, like my soul had always known his. Thorne had become a wound I carried like breath.

And the terrifying, blinding morning sun had only just violently begun to rise over his completely inescapable, absolute hell. The sheer, colossal magnitude of the overgrown, razor-sharp thorn wall aggressively mocked his entirely exhausted, deeply shattered existence. Aryan violently dragged his heavily bleeding, completely mangled right hand entirely back through the thick, dark branches, aggressively pulling a massive cluster of the sharp wooden spikes completely out of the freezing dirt. The colossal, jagged thorns violently ripped straight through his raw, torn palms, actively leaving deep, horrific, actively bleeding gashes completely across his fragile skin. He actively choked on a ra

I barely had time to react. The relic screamed in my grasp. Crack. I gasped as it shattered. “No!” I cried, watching shards of the ancient relic fall like fractured stars around me. Thorne’s grin twisted wickedly. “Oops,” he mocked. Then he struck. The blow hit me square in the chest like a falling boulder. I was hurled across the ridge, crashing through trees and scattering stones. My back slammed against a rock with a brutal, bone-breaking thud. Pain exploded through my ribs. I coughed, tasting blood.

“Touch it.” I can’t stop myself. Green light floods the room, filling my vision. All I can see is the rose and all I hear is the music as my pointer finger stretches. I just… want to feel it–the cold metal–the gift left by a mother I never knew but desperately miss. The music rushes through my ears as my finger brushes over a single, golden thorn. “Yes… yes… do it!” “MAXIANA!” Annabel screams my name as the thorn bites into my skin. The room spins before going an inky, dark, black.