Unbothered Book Novels & Stories

I lay there trembling, body buzzing, mind hazy with satisfaction and confusion. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it lazily, opening the message from Lisa. It was a video. Lisa on her bed, legs spread wide, fingers pumping in and out of her clean-shaven, dripping wet pussy. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back, lips parted in ecstasy like she was high on it. The wet sounds were loud, her big tits heaving as she moaned my name softly.

I prefer to finish it as soon as possible so that I wouldn’t cram and procrastinate when the due is in. I saw Zaine sat beside me. I look at him as he was getting a book from his backpack and putting an earphone on his ears. He looks so dashing as he was reading as those eyelashes were long and thick. His side view profile hits different compare to the one when he’s facing me completely. His jaw are now perfectly defined. I unconsciously smiled at him. He can surpassed mine to be exact, but I stopped myself from admiring him too much because of his good looks.

she said. “What’s love got to do with it? He’s treating me like I’m just a chapter, when for me he’s already become the whole damned book! That’s worse than Aaron! I can’t go through that again. I’m not strong enough for that!” I said. Was that supposed to make everything okay? Looking at someone like you loved them was nothing. Showing them was everything and if that was Isaac’s way of showing then he could keep it. A phone began to vibrate from somewhere close.

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Trapped with only her thoughts and memories. Cara groaned quietly in frustration. She was restless. She scanned the room for something, anything to busy herself with. As she did her eyes landed on a crossword and sudoku book laying on her bed tray. But someone had pushed the bed tray over by the far wall. It was beyond her reach. Cara considered whether she should try to get up and retrieve the book or not for a moment. No one had told her she couldn't get up out of bed. She assumed it would be OK. Besides it would probably feel good to stretch her legs a bit.

Unsettled hearts would one day find peace, and all things would eventually fall into place. May I too, in this vast ocean of life, live with joy and an open heart (End of Jessica's story.) … Christopher's POV: The night before the wedding, for some reason, I felt incredibly uneasy. A message popped up in the group chat. "Mr. Sanders, are you still going through with the wedding tomorrow? Give us a definite answer." "Yeah, we're all going to be there for the show. We'll record Jessica's reaction. It's going to be golden."

Reese added dryly. “I liked the comic,” I said, nudging Forrest. “The one with the forest that bites back.” He looked pleased. “That’s the beta sketch. The working title is Rooted Rage: Rise of the Pines.” Makayla, beside me, reached for my hand under the table. Her fingers found mine and stayed there—gentle, present. I glanced at her, and she wasn’t smiling exactly, but there was something softer in her eyes. Something lighter than I’d seen in days.

Edward turned to glare at me and hissed, "Your crew's psychological evaluation clearly isn't up to standard. I'll file a report and have the entire team grounded and transferred to ground duty. You can all forget about flying again!" The air froze instantly. One of the flight attendants' faces turned pale, and she clenched her fists angrily. "Don't push your luck!" Edward sneered at her words and challenged, "Oh, so now you're scared? Weren't you quite brave when you were mocking us earlier? Just sit tight. Your time's coming!" "What's the rush? The inspection isn't over yet," I stated coldly. With that, I moved closer to the luggage and crouched beside it. I reached my hand into the pile of

A leather-bound journal with a ribbon marker. No note. But she knew it was from him. She traced her fingers over the worn spine and sat down, curling her legs beneath her. She opened the first page of the journal. Blank. Waiting. ⸻ That night, she couldn’t sleep. So she did what she always did when her mind got too loud. She wrote. Not for anyone. Not even herself. Just to breathe. ⸻ “There are men who hurt and men who heal. Sometimes, they are the same man.”