The Writing Desk Novels & Stories

I'm writing a sequel for From Hell to Heaven. Standalone Book. It's called LOVE LIKE HEAVEN! Prologue "You're are right Divya. I'm a playboy," Daksh said and stood up in front of me. "Now I will show you what Playboy can do," Daksh said and pulled my waist and grabbed my face with his other hand to move our body closer to him. "Lea....ve me Dak - he didn't let me to finish my sentence, because he forcefully pressed his hard lips on my lips. He was angry and rough. He is punishing me with his harsh kiss. I tried to push him back, but he stood on his ground. Then, he pushed me back down on the bed, pinning my hands above my head with his one hand and squeezed my breast painfully. I whimper because of his painfully torture. I never thought he would misbehave with me. I loved him, but that doesn't mean any woman can allow this forced. I try to push him away, but he didn't budge. So I bit his tongue hard. He immediately loosens his gripped on my wrist. Smack Yes, I slapped him hard across his face. Guilt washed over his face. I know I made a mistake by accusing him. But he doesn't have any rights to touch me or misbehaved with me. "I hate you Jerk" I said venomously. I stood up and ran away covering my mouth and tears flowing under my eyes as I ran far from him. Let's see their journey of how Daksh and Divya fall for each other. They are opposite to each other, but attracted by each other like magnets.

Raven Academy claws three primal laws into every shifter's soul: 1. Never deceive an Alpha. 2. Never hunger for an Alpha. 3. Never let Jason Voss inhale your desperate scent. I demolished them all in a fevered rush. One forged assignment, hidden in shadows. His silver gaze pierced through, summoning me to his den. "Exile yourself," he snarled, voice like velvet-wrapped steel, his alpha presence coiling around me, thick with dominance. I collapsed to my knees, pulse thundering, body betraying me with heat. "I'll do anything," I whispered, voice raw, eyes locked on his sculpted form—the godlike alpha every wolf in the academy craved, their fantasies paling against his brutal reality. He didn't smile. He claimed. Now, nights devour me in his sealed lair. His forbidden pupil, spread open for lessons in sin. He unravels me with calloused hands mapping my skin, tongue tracing veins, cock demanding surrender. First lesson: my shattered moans as he pins me to the desk, thrusting mercilessly, his knot swelling to lock us in ecstasy's vise, flooding me until I drip with his essence. Second: the burn of his fangs sinking into my neck mid-fuck, his hips grinding deeper, growling "Mine" like a curse that brands my wolf's core. Third: orgasms ripping through me untouched, his fist twisting my hair, breath hot as he hisses, "My thieving slut, begging for every inch." He etches ownership in flesh: Purple blooms from his grip. Claiming scars pulsing with heat. His release slick between my thighs during sunlit classes, a secret torment that has me aching for more. The pack still worships untouchable Jason Voss from afar, drooling over his lethal beauty. Blind to his mate. Me. Broken. Addicted. Praying this dark bliss never ends. Salvation? I'd claw it apart for one more bite.

My fated mate, Sebastian Grant, was the most brilliant healer on the continent. Specializing in treating wolfsbane, he had saved countless of our kind. To everyone else, he was a miracle walking among us. But he had a childhood friend and fellow apprentice, Sabrina Jordan. If Sebastian was famous for curing poison, then Sabrina was infamous for creating it. For years, she studied toxins while he developed antidotes. They worked so closely together that the pack slowly stopped distinguishing danger from jokes. That was until the day she tested a new kind of wolfsbane on me and I almost died. When I woke up, Sebastian was sitting beside my bed, writing a prescription for me. "Christina, don't blame Sabrina. My mentor and I have spoiled her. She knew I'd be able to cure you, so she was just messing around. She never meant to hurt you." He said it so casually, as if I had caught a cold. Not as if my organs had been failing and I had been a breath away from death. Before I could respond, someone burst into the room shouting that Sabrina had poisoned herself. Sebastian stood up and rushed out at once, his steps hurried and almost frantic. He never noticed that my prescription was missing a key herb. Just like that, the antidote that was supposed to save me became a poison that quietly sped up my death. That was when the Moon Goddess spoke inside my mind. [You can only return to the human world if you die at the hands of your fated mate. But are you sure you want this?] I lowered my gaze to the prescription in my hand, the ink still fresh. Sebastian himself had written it. The same hands that saved countless lives had just written the final prescription that would end mine. "I'm sure," I whispered.

“Shh, little girl,” he growled, teeth catching my bottom lip. I fought the moan, but he circled my clit, my hips jerked helplessly against his hand. Then he pushed my panties aside and sank two thick fingers inside me. I soaked his palm, knees buckling as tremors wracked me. “That’s it, cum for me,” he whispered against my ear. I did. Waves crashed through me while he held me up, stroking gently, murmuring filthy praise that made it sweeter, deeper, more shattering than anything I’d ever felt with a woman. I’m a lesbian. I’ve always known it, claimed it shamelessly. I’ve mapped women’s bodies with my mouth, hands, loving every touch and gasp. My best friend’s tongue between my legs has made me come countless times. The only man I tried, my ex, was awkward, unsatisfying. I swore off them forever. I love women. I love my best friend. So why does this man, her father, the one I should never want make me wetter with one stroke than she ever has? Why am I aching for his cock, pushed inside me, thrusting relentlessly, filling me, ruining me in ways no woman could? Why does bending over his desk for him feel like the right thing to do? One forbidden touch. One devastating truth: I might never want another woman again. When I rejected the vice chancellor's advances, my best friend's obsessive aunt, she threatened expulsion. My friend took me to her father, the college owner. One look at his body and I was lost. That night in their home, hiding in the kitchen while watching him cook, I touched myself, craving what is forbidden. Will my best friend discover my sudden addiction to her father? Will her aunt ever stop wanting me?

WARNING: HEAVY SMUT AHEAD!!! Mature audiences only! Proceed with caution! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Please,” she whispered, desperation cracking her voice. “Please, Chase.”   “Begging already?” His voice was cruel, his fingers circling faster, pushing her to the edge. “I'm not even nearly done with you yet.”   She squeezed her eyes shut, the recruit’s muffled cries and the whip’s crack filling her ears, amplifying her need. Chase’s fingers were relentless, stroking her clit, and dipping inside just enough to tease.   “Please,” she whimpered, louder now, her hands gripping his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I won’t lie again. I’ll be good. Please, let me cum.”   He chuckled, his lips brushing her neck. “Not yet, baby. Fight it.”   Her body screamed, every nerve on fire, the recruit’s struggles mirroring her own. The girl’s master groaned, close to release, as Lila’s whip landed again and again on her ass.   Emma’s head felt like it was about to explode under the pressure, her thighs shook with the effort to conceal it, her pleas spilling out. “Please, Chase, I can’t hold it any longer… I need it."   "Don't. You. Dare. Come." ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Picture this: A CEO pinning his partner's daughter over his desk, whispering rules that chain her soul while his cock claims her body. Or a werewolf's claws raking skin in the moonlit woods, rutting her senseless till she's howling his name. We mix it up... sweet, slow-burn romances that melt into tender fucks and whispered "I love yous," flipping to the dark side with BDSM bites, non-con edges that blur fear into filthy want, and horror vibes where ghosts fuck you cold then hot. Your panties? Ruined. Your cravings? Fed. And yet, you'll still be here begging for more. Dive in if you're brave enough.

I was already halfway across the room before I knew what I was doing. What kind of people had she been surrounding herself with if she thought that she wasn't attractive? Hell, she was gorgeous, delicious, downright perfect in every way. I needed to show her what I saw. What she was in my eyes. I couldn't help myself. I had Genevieve up against the wall in a blink of an eye, a growl escaping my throat and mixing with her surprised gasp. Her hands still clung to the robe, trying to make herself seem smaller. I slipped one hand underneath, along her collarbone, while the other slid along her neck, to the back of her head where I gripped her loose bun and pulled it taught. "Babygirl, you're more than just attractive. You have my c*ck aching every time I set my eyes on you.” My voice was a distorted growl, but I know she understood every word I said. I leaned my body in against hers to accentuate my point, and Genevieve's adorable mouth widened with a surprised gasp. I took that opportunity to claim what I'd been dreaming off since the moment I set my eyes on her. I dipped my head and locked my lips on hers, and realized in that sweet, blissful moment, that I had f*cked up. *** Genevieve Blake was a well-known, erotic romance author. She enjoyed meeting her fans and writing stories that made even her blush. What she hadn't planned on, though, was for a stalker to come out from the shadows and threaten her life. When the police can't do anything, she turns to Grim Security to protect her against the deranged lunatic. But who's going to protect her heart, and her body, from the intensity of Raphael Bard?

Sage Casey Ember-Brooks, who goes by Casey, is a fast-food worker and aspiring fantasy novelist whose ordinary life crumbles when mysterious strangers ask cryptic questions about her dragon series. Her recurring dreams of golden coins suddenly make terrifying sense when Marcus Chen—a businessman with eyes that flash gold—reveals that dragons are real, living hidden among humans for centuries. Casey's unnaturally accurate fantasy writing stems from awakening genetic memories. She's a rare "Convergence" bloodline capable of harmonising opposing elemental forces. The revelation comes at a critical time: a new cryptocurrency called DragonCoin, featuring symbols identical to her dreams, creates magical interference that weakens concealment spells protecting dragon society. At the Crossroads shopping complex where she works, disruptions cause dragons to flicker between human and true forms in full view of witnesses. Caught between Marcus (a traditionalist who wants to hide her with the Dragon Council) and the enigmatic Xaihuang (who advocates ending the masquerade entirely), Casey discovers an underground chamber housing ancient dragon artifacts. When she touches a magical coin, visions reveal three futures: chaotic revelation leading to war, continued concealment resulting in magical extinction, or a mysterious third path of integration. Casey realises DragonCoin wasn't created to expose dragons, but by another awakening hybrid like herself—someone in Seattle whose unconscious dragon heritage channels ancient power through modern technology. As magical concealment fails worldwide and dragons begin manifesting publicly, Casey must race across the country to find this unknown programmer before the interference between magic and technology tears reality apart. The story explores themes of identity, integration versus assimilation, and the collision between ancient power and digital-age innovation. With her awakening abilities growing stronger and the masquerade crumbling around her, Casey faces a choice that will determine her fate and the future relationship between the hidden magical world and human civilisation.

Shantali Mae Cross, a security guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts, encounters an impossible phenomenon during her night shift—smoke from the heating vents coalesces into the form of a cobra near ancient Egyptian canopic jars, showing her visions of possible futures. She sees herself accepting a promotion, arguing with a dark-haired man in a hospital, wearing a wedding dress, and standing at a graveside in autumn. Shaken by the experience, Shantali becomes obsessed with understanding what she witnessed, diving into research about serpent smoke divination practices. Her investigation reveals that others throughout history have experienced similar visions at crucial crossroads in their lives, but those who became consumed with interpreting and controlling their prophetic glimpses inevitably destroyed the very relationships and opportunities the visions had shown them. As Shantali spirals deeper into her research, she begins shutting out her boyfriend David, a fellow security guard who loves her deeply. When David witnesses the cobra phenomenon himself, he helps ground her in reality rather than obsession. Through her studies, particularly the warnings left by Dr. Amelia Thorne—a researcher who died alone after chasing similar mysteries—Shantali realizes the cobra's true message: choose love over fear, presence over obsession. The visions weren't warnings of tragedy but glimpses of a life fully lived with all its ordinary struggles and profound connections. When David proposes, Shantali chooses their real relationship over her pursuit of supernatural answers. She completes her research by writing a fictional novel about her experience, transforming obsession into art while helping future cobra witnesses understand that some mysteries are meant to guide rather than be solved. The story explores themes of choice versus destiny, the danger of sacrificing present love for future certainty, and the wisdom of embracing life's uncertainties alongside those who love us.

My twin sister Selena was the most troublesome grad student my fiancé, Professor Adrian Hall, had ever taken on. Skipping class, showing up late, doctoring observation curves. Every time she walked into his lab, the two of them seemed ready to set the whole college on fire. Even I couldn't stand it, and I told Adrian to stop using that tribunal tone with her. But he took off his silver-rimmed glasses and explained to me in a low voice, "Eve, if she keeps drifting like this, sooner or later she'll ruin herself." When he looked at Selena, his gray-blue eyes were as cold as a lake on a winter night. "Have every raw record and review report on my oak desk before eight tomorrow morning. One page short, and you don't set foot in the observation tower for the rest of the month." I felt embarrassed for Selena, and grateful that I'd fallen for the right man. Adrian Hall was the youngest tenured professor at St. George's College. He had the kind of professorial look women fell for most easily. Tall and lean, always in a dark gray cashmere coat, shirt buttoned to the very top, cuffs forever clean and crisp. He could dismantle an entire model in the calmest voice, and he could also hold an umbrella over me on a rainy night, so gentle it made me believe I was the one exception outside his academic world. Until the day we were preparing the wedding invitations. I borrowed his tablet to check the guest list, and my finger accidentally slipped into a document buried under layers of folders. Inside were five hundred and twenty memos, packed one after another. [Punishment No. 519: also the 519th time I lost control. Selena talked back to me again in the seminar today. I kept her in my office and fucked her until three in the morning; by the end she didn't have the strength left to even look up at me.] [Punishment No. 520: She got jealous. She insisted I leave something behind inside Eve's wedding dress, to prove that the white gown meant to symbolize purity could be dirtied by her t

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."