Whispering Vine Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Tell me, Scarlett. What do you want?” His voice is a growl — low, filthy — fingers teasing beneath the lace of my panties, just enough to make me squirm. “Say it. I want to hear you beg for it.” He murmurs the words, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “We shouldn’t be doing this…” I whisper, breathless, my body already arching into his touch, betraying every word I just said. Then his fingers slide into my soaked folds, and a sharp moan escapes my lips. He chuckles. Dark. Wicked. “Then why are you so wet for me?” — All Scarlett Bennett wants after a messy divorce that nearly destroyed her reputation and forced her out of the career she loved is a fresh start with absolutely no complications. Even when she wakes up dazed after a reckless, mind-blowing one-night stand, she tells herself it was just sex. A mistake. A moment of weakness that would never happen again. Until she walks into her new office… and sees him. The man who had her spread across his bed, begging for more. The man she now works for. Lucien Whitmore. Lucien is all sharp edges and sin. He's a Billionaire. Brilliant. Mysterious and every bit as dangerous as he is irresistible. He is everything she should avoid — powerful, untouchable, and entirely too used to getting what he wants. And what he wants… is her. She swore it would never happen again. But when he’s got her bent over his desk, whispering praise in a voice that makes her knees weak, she forgets every reason she ever had to resist him. She’s not just a part of his empire now. She’s his favorite sin. And if the world finds out? They’ll both burn for it.

I no longer deliver meals to my husband, Zachary Smith—the man who became the factory manager after receiving a scholarship that brought him to the city—since my rebirth. I even make sure to detour using the gate at the factory's north side whenever he uses the southern gate after he finishes his meetings. In my past life, I was fully aware he took me as his wife—a humble country woman—just for the chance to move to the city. Yet, I insisted on becoming his wife, anyway. After all, I was convinced that a person's true affections could be earned and nurtured. Yet, Zachary maintained a constant, formal distance throughout our marriage. He would simply offer me a book the moment I attempted to bridge the gap, saying, "You should study more so that you don't continually attract people's contempt." I got emboldened by the drink as I threw my arms around him, yet he merely accepted the embrace rigidly, whispering, "It's just what married couples do." It wasn't until decades later, as I lay on my deathbed, that I discovered the heartbreaking words in his autobiography. In it, he stated that our entire marriage was like being trapped in a mire and that he never wanted to be with me again if he were to ever be reborn. I felt a searing pain tearing through my heart as I closed my eyes in devastating anguish. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back at the point in time when the gossip about Zachary and Juliana Ziegler, the factory's technician who studied abroad, first began to spread. In this life, I choose not to fight or cause drama. Instead, I am the one who brings up the divorce.

"Fuck me." He groaned. I hadn't taken a good look of the man I was in bed with. I opened my eyes a bit, and looked at him. I couldn't see his face, but he had black hair. "My name is Asher, and I'll make you scream it in different positions." His hand left my breast, into my vagina. "Asher…" I rubbed his head, holding him closer to me. I moaned loudly. I was enjoying every second of this. Amelia Brooks spent three years loving Damian. He spent those three years lying. At her own engagement party, he got down on one knee — and proposed to her younger sister instead. That night, humiliated and half-drunk, she stumbled into the wrong hotel room and into the arms of a stranger. Rough. Unforgettable. She left before sunrise, no regrets. She walked into a boardroom at the company her grandmother left her — and found him sitting. Asher Sinclair. Major shareholder. And Damian's uncle. The man who wrecked her body in the dark now holds her future in his hands. Desperate to fulfill her grandmother's secret marriage clause or lose everything, Amelia signs a contract that makes her his wife. No feelings allowed. But Damian isn't done with her. He wants her back. He shows up at her office with roses and lies, at every turn whispering that she was always his. And Asher? He watches. He waits. And one night, he reminds her exactly who she belongs to — not with words, but with his hands, his mouth, the way he says her name like a prayer and a warning all at once. Now Amelia is trapped between the ex who shattered her and husband who owns her.

it's started because of my addiction but it turned into love making. Yes, a love making. the way we touch each other, the way we look at each other, the way we feel each other. it's shows how much we are in love. it's was my wish but it's turn out into desire to become each other. today we not only make love but also touch each other's soul. He claims me gently with love and respect. after a long love making he lay beside me and took her in his arms. we both were still lost in each other and after some time I slept peacefully in each his arms. . Next day I decided to confess my feeling with him but everything changed. I am madly in love with him, a while before I decided to confess what I fell for him… I love him so much that I can die for him. And you know what I am dying not for him.. but because of him. He is pointing his gun toward me. At the center of my forehead. I am in shock. Everything has changed a couple of time. The person with whom I wanted to spend my whole life, wants to kill me. I am speechless, I don't know what to say , I am staring at him with teary eyes asking him why he did this to me.. To which he replies.. "I HATE YOU" . I don't know how to react. As soon as I respond a bullet strikes me. I fell on the ground whispering my last words "I LOVE YOU SID" . But wait.. This is not ending.. It's just the beginning of our story. A love story of hate..

Every chapter gives you something new, secret affairs, risky relationships, and characters who crave hard and love harder. Think Mafia, Landlord, Alpha, every dirty fantasies you can think of. Professor and student. Neighbor crush. Master and submissive. If you’re 18+ and ready for filthy, wild, messy passion then this ride is for you. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 'Confess more while I absolve you.' His fingers plunged into her pussy, still slick from earlier, pumping roughly. Isabella gasped, gripping the kneeler. 'I... I rode his cock, bouncing until he spanked me. Oh God, your fingers... deeper.' Miguel added a third, stretching her, thumb on her clit. He leaned in, whispering, 'Did he make you cum as hard as I did?' She nodded, moaning. 'But not like this. Not in God's house.' He withdrew his fingers, slick with her arousal, and smeared them on his cock before pressing the head to her entrance. 'Kneel properly, face the screen.' She did, ass out toward him. He thrust in, burying himself to the hilt in one go. The booth shook slightly with the force. 'Continue your confession,' he ordered, pulling back and slamming in again. 'Javier... he fingered my ass while fucking me,' she panted, pushing back onto his cock. Miguel growled, jealous fire fueling his thrusts. He grabbed her hips, pounding harder, the wet sounds obscene in the sacred space. 'You're a slut for cock, aren't you? My slut.' His hand snaked around, rubbing her clit in fast circles. 'Yes, Father! Fuck your slut while I confess.' She reached back, spreading her cheeks, inviting him deeper. He spat on her asshole, working a finger in alongside his pistoning cock.

"Good boys don't wear briefs," the man murmured in a low, seductive tone, causing Ivan's blood to heat up. An involuntary soft moan escaped Ivan's lips as he fought to catch his breath. Upon returning home from the office, he had purposely discarded his briefs, knowing the effect it had on his mysterious lover. The man always preferred him naked, and Ivan complied willingly. Whispering softly, Ivan repeated the words of his dream invader: "Good boys do not wear briefs." His voice was barely audible. The man pulled Ivan's buttocks firmly against his hips, causing a surge of sensations to rush through Ivan's body. "Good boys must be spanked," the man declared, inhaling Ivan's sweet scent, before planting his lips on the exposed soft skin. Ivan trembled and closed his eyes as the man playfully bit and kissed his neck, his hands teasingly exploring his torso, eventually reaching his sensitive, hardened nipples. After weeks of longing and erotic torture, there was one thing Ivan yearned for: Why couldn't his dream progress to the moment when the man actually penetrated him? The point where he claimed Ivan as his own. For at least, Ivan believed that he would truly comprehend what it felt like to be intertwined with him even in his dreams. To have himself be intimately connected with him. However, Ivan was aware that enduring the torture from this man, in his dreams, was the price he must pay for what he did ten years ago. Everything he feared, everything he regretted was coming back to slap him in the face tonight. By 6 p.m. he would be coming face to face with his dream invader at the college ten years reunion party, Shawn Maddox, in flesh.

Bianca is dying. Acute myeloid leukemia, stage three. The family doctor told me on the phone—bone marrow transplant, only option, perfect match. Identical twins share ninety-nine percent compatibility. I crushed the diagnosis report. My name was at the top: Gemma Blackwell. But the doctor trembled, whispering apologies. A clerical error. The sick twin was Bianca. The cure was me. I had to get home. Rain lashed the taxi windows. I rehearsed the scene: Father setting down his cigar, Mother gasping, me explaining the mix-up. The report has my name, but the blood work is Bianca's. I can fix this before it's too late. My phone lit up. Family group chat. Father's message was short: [Gemma is terminal. Bianca forbidden from donation. Family decision.] My blood turned to ice. They had seen the misdelivered file. They thought I was the one dying—and they had voted to let me rot. When I pushed open the door and saw Father, I felt it— the temperature drop, the world freezing around me. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't stop them. "Father," I said, my voice barely steady. "I have a question for you." He looked up from his cigar, annoyed. "If it were Bianca dying," I whispered. "Would you have made me give her my marrow?" The room went silent. He set down the cigar. A long pause. "No," he said finally. "Of course. We have resources. We would find another donor. We would never ask you to take that risk." I smiled a little. Just a small, sad smile. "Good," I said softly. "That's exactly what you said. Don't regret this."

> “Stay still, Little Thorn… I want to taste you slowly.” His voice was velvet and ruin. His mouth, a weapon. And I—fool that I was—leaned closer. Before death wore a suit and called itself a lover, I used to believe in beauty. Before the blood. Before the runes. Before I painted the image that killed my parents—I believed my art could save me. Now I know better. I was just weeks from graduating when the painting came to me like a fever. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t plan it. My hands moved, possessed, dragging symbols I’d never seen and a face I’d never forgotten—his. Eyes red as wine. A crown pierced with thorns. And a girl in the center… me. Offering herself. I signed it with a mark I didn’t recognize. I sold it to a stranger. And days later, my parents were dead—no wounds, no reason, just... gone. The police said stress. I say fate. Now I’m being hunted by a world I didn’t know existed. Vampires with ancient courts and older grudges. Symbols that whisper in my blood. And Lucien D’Aragon—the vampire who says I summoned him with my brushstroke. That I belong to him. He says I’m his prophecy. His ruin. His Little Thorn. But I’m not just prey. Something is waking in me. Something hungry. Something I was never meant to survive. If I give in, I lose everything. If I fight, I might finally learn the truth. About my art. About my bloodline. About what really happened that night. And why he keeps whispering that I was painted for ruin... but made for him.

Sienna Vale stared at the two pink lines, whispering fiercely, “I’m keeping you. No matter what.” At nineteen, the hardworking college freshman never expected this secret. One clumsy lobby collision at Hale Industries sparked instant heat with Caspian Hale, the 29-year-old billionaire heir whose cold blue eyes hid dangerous fire. That same night, celebrating her internship win at a rooftop bar, one drink ignited forbidden passion. “I don’t do attachments,” Caspian growled against her lips before she fled at dawn. Weeks later, the pregnancy test changed her life forever. Then her estranged father reappeared, announcing his engagement to Caspian’s future stepmother. At the lavish party, the truth crashed down: Caspian would soon be her stepbrother. “You’re moving into the mansion,” her father said. “Family first, Sienna.” Panic surged. How could she hide his baby under the same roof? Caspian saw through her every evasion. One night he cornered her in the shadowed library. “Still running?” His voice was low, possessive. “You think we can erase that night?” “We have to,” she shot back, trembling. “We’re going to be family.” Desperate, Sienna faked closeness with Caspian’s charming best friend, Julian, to spark jealousy. “You’re using him?” Caspian snarled after watching them laugh on the terrace. “It won’t work. You’re already mine.” One stormy clash shattered restraint again. As her bump showed, Sienna lied to protect them: “Julian is the father.” Julian offered marriage as a shield. Caspian’s gaze turned lethal. “You think I’ll let another man raise my child?” Betrayals unraveled. Jealousy burned. Hearts cracked. Would her bump conquer the billionaire’s frozen world… or destroy them all?

"Who thought this day would come so soon when…." He uttered, peering into her grey eyes which were aggressively shedding tears of pain and hatred. "Aereza Kensley would get willing to submit herself to me so easily," a sinful grin formed on his face as his ember orbs roamed all over her naked body which she had stopped covering. Getting to his feet, he walked closer to her. Standing just before her, he clutched a tendril of her hair and witnessed that hatred blazing in her watery eyes for him. "Why this much hatred when you have willingly come here to give yourself to me, bellissima?' his hoarse voice turned dangerously amiable. He knew she had come here to submit herself to him just because of her grandmother's life and safety which was captured in his hand. "Get on my bed and spread your legs wide for me,"She clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut, hearing him whispering those words in her ear. Fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. He watched her obediently getting on his bed and laid there while opening her bare and trembling legs for him. His grin turned more sadistic as his gaze devoured her nakedness before climbing on top of her. He found her eyes were tightly shut. "Won't you look at me with those fearless eyes of yours anymore?" He whispered against her mouth before clutching her jaw aggressively. Forcing her head upward, he finally saw her tears burning eyes glaring at him. "You will forget about this hatred of yours for me after this night, bellissima," he cooed against her mouth, pinning her both hands above her head. Their eyes remained fastened with each other, pressing their naked bodies against each other. "And this is just its beginning, mate,"