What She Knew Book Novels & Stories

She stated with an attitude that I would soon be taking care of. I looked over at her soft features and down at the book. If she betrayed me I would destroy the whole universe before anyone could blink their eyes. I put my hand over the book and pulled. The book started to glow and slowly all the knowledge that was in the book slowly came to me. "Okay while you are doing that I'm going to look at you." She said as she grabbed my shirt and tried to pull it up. "Stop." I ordered roughly as I eyed her curiously. She seemed different, like a completely different Goddess.

She didn’t move like an enemy, but that meant nothing. "I’m looking for a book," I said plainly. "Spare me the riddles." Her smile faded slightly. "A book?" she echoed. "You call it that, but The Knowledge is more than ink and paper. It is a curse bound in leather, whispering to those who dare open it." "I don’t fear curses." She stepped closer, the air around her thickening. "No," she agreed. "You fear nothing. And that is why you will suffer more than most."

I'm really sorry! She suddenly scrambled toward me. Her knees and palms scraped across the rough surface, tearing skin open, but she didn't seem to feel it. She dragged herself in front of me and reached for my arm. "Carter, tell me this isn't true. Tell me!" I didn't move. Her fingers clamped around my wrist, tight and desperate. "Say something. Please, just say something!" I looked down at her, but said nothing. "I shouldn't have treated you like that. I didn't know. I didn't know you did all that for me. Why didn't you tell me?"

Whole. She didn’t look like that anymore. From the hallway, she heard Adrian’s footsteps pause. He didn’t come in. Just stood there, watching. And somehow, that was worse. Because he knew. He always did. She turned the photo face down. What was she becoming? Her chest ached with the weight of all she hadn’t said. Of all she’d had to give up. And all she was still terrified to want.

Controlled. "Isn't it? She had a book deal before she met you. Planned to write about teaching a virgin lover. Then conveniently. She meets you." "Coincidence." "Is it? Or did she know you'd be there? Know your research? Know your. Situation?" "She didn't know. It was accidental." "Was it? Or is that what she wants you to believe?" I couldn't listen anymore. Stepped forward. "That's enough." Victoria turned. Smiled. Venomous.

She wrote with a frantic speed, the scratch of the lead loud against the paper. ​I DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM. I JUST KNOW I HEAL FAST. AND I DON'T GET SICK. ​She paused, her eyes flickering to the shadows at the edge of the room, then added a final, chilling line: ​AND SOMETIMES I FEEL THINGS. LIKE I KNOW WHEN SOMEONE’S LYING. OR WHEN DANGER’S COMING.

She's heard a lot of stories about him. And now, she's in a private room. Alone with him. Somehow she knew she was safe. She knew he wouldn't try to kill her. But there was one thing he wasn't going to spare. Her pussy. And she knew it. In fact, she anticipated it. She knew he would tear her apart. Mercilessly. But somehow that was exactly what her body was beginning to crave. Each step he took closer to her made her pussy twitch, dripping liquids like he'd even done anything to her.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I just don’t know how, I don’t want to get it wrong.” He pushed onto his hands, sitting up now, and drew her to him. She felt all the earlier pleasures seep away into mortification. “Of course you should have told me. But I must tell you. You are my first too. My first, my only.” He looked at her with such sincerity she felt her heart slip a little more. “Really?” “Then how did you know what to do?” She looked at him with questioning eyes. “You seemed so knowledgeable.”

He heard her wait. He said: "Come in." She came in. She said: "You read them." He said: "Yes." She said: "All four." He said: "Yes." She said: "What do you think." He said: "I knew most of it." She said: "Yes." He said: "But I knew it from the outside." She said: "Yes." He said: "The books are from the inside." She said: "Yes." He said: "The inside is different."

"She doesn't know yet what the first hours lead to. She doesn't know what she's capable of. She doesn't know who she's going to become on the other side of it." "But she found the book," he said. "She found the book," Adaeze agreed. He was quiet for a moment. "What did you say to her?" he asked. She had written back already, in the way she always wrote back — not with the generic warmth of someone managing correspondence but with the specific honest attention of a woman who had been where this person was and understood, from the inside, what the inside felt like.