Turkish Novels & Stories

Up in the distance, there was a huge crowd, Gregory pointed "That's speakers corner, its where people can use their free speech to spread messages to the public" I looked to see a man speaking through a megaphone to the gathering crowd "That's Tommy Robinson, he's got a huge gathering as you can see, he's very popular" "Whats he protesting about?" I ask watching the crowd "He's protesting about young girls being raped by Muslim gangs, it's a big problem here, we should move, the police will be here soon" "Why?" "They don't like Tommy and what he stands for" "I don't get it?" I say confused

Slamming his door shut, he runs a frustrated hand through his black, silk-like hair and mutters under his breath. “What did you say to him?” Curiosity traps my attention. “I said he was an idiot and I won't hesitate to shoot him.” A broad smile graces my face. “And what language was that?” “Turkish, I learned to speak the language a few years ago when I did business in Istanbul, Turkey.” I nod and smile, severely impressed with his intelligence. “You're a Mister know-it-all, aren't you?” My nose wrinkles. A wide grin appears across Alessandros’ face, but he says nothing.

The city pulsed with life — but in a cliffside villa overlooking the sea, something far more primal was unfolding. Kerem Demir, 46, was a powerful Turkish businessman who controlled shipping routes across the Mediterranean. Tall, heavily muscled, with sun-bronzed skin, sharp features, a thick black beard, and piercing hazel eyes, he moved with the quiet confidence of a man who took what he wanted.

They had been gone all day and we were starting to lose daylight. It wasn't until the sun was halfway through setting that the three girls came back. Two of them were carrying two large birds with them while the third had her shirt off and used it as a sack to carry something with her. We gasped when we realized what the two girls had brought. Turkeys.

Chelsea said, already leaving. A curse bubbled in Kyla's throat, but none came out. She would have left too, but that would be slightly disrespectful to the man who approached her. "First time?" He asked. His voice was calm, and his aura was soothing. "Is it that obvious?" "Yeah," he agreed in a comical way that eased the knot in her stomach. His name was Taylan. Lived in Turkey. They had a few things in common. He was in New York to take over his father's business but loves countrysides because that was where he grew up.

He has a thick Russian accent and his English is poor so I don't get much of what he says because I'm tired of repeating, "pardon." After the walk around Samara, Kyle and I retire to our room. He's going for training at 4:00 pm and he says he's exhausted. We lay beside each other as we watch football. We watch a game between Russia and Korea. The Russian players are so rough, they just keep making other players trip and some even kick them. It's halftime already so the game goes for a break. Trent is on a "racism" campaign advert. "ENOUGH!" He says then continues. "Enough of racism. Let's say No!"

“You’re right. And it’s something that I will have to live with. A self-inflicted burden.” Melanie stands up, snatching the folder from my hands, and she opens it. “As much as I would love to talk about your love life, Tobias… I’m too sober to cease my twitching hand from connecting with your face; in Keris’ honour.” She sighs, sitting back down on the chair again. “Plus, I know that’s not why you called me here.” “How’s your Turkish?” "Biraz paslı.” She sighs with her eyes skimming the first page.

Chapter 2 The Boss Giulia "Is it for me?" I asked, extending my hand towards the soda can he was holding out. "Yes, yes, here! The man doesn't look at us!" he replied, amused by the situation. I let out a sympathetic laugh when I heard his accent. It didn't sound like Italian, Spanish, French, or English. "Thank you. Is it Arabic?" I asked curiously, intrigued by his masculinity. He stroked his chest, and only then did I notice that his shirt was slightly open, revealing a very athletic chest. "Turkey!" he replied.

How truly and deeply to my aching core how selfish I am being when it comes to this Turkish God. And for once in my life, I refuse to feel guilty. I snake my hands around his neck, deepening our kiss as I wrap a leg around his hip and cling to him, grinding my sex against his cock. "Kirazlı turtadan daha tatlısın." He mutters. "I love it when you speak Turkish." I moan. He chuckles, lifting me off the ground and I wrap my other leg around his waist. "I said, You're sweeter than cherry pie." He kisses, licks and sucks on my feverish skin.

I didn't kiss a guy for 5 years I'm pretty nervous. And then he touches my lips and it's going automatically. I get lost and almost forget where we are when suddenly the bathroom door opens and I remember Defne in it. I immediately let go of his lips and get into Deniz room before she gets out. "Vay, vay, vay, eniste!" Defne playfully adds in Turkish saying wow three times and uncle to Hudson. Eniste is used in Turkish as the husband of the sister or an aunt. I guess she heard us. They both laugh and I hear their steps going downstairs.