Why Doesn't Gimli Know About Moria Novels & Stories

"Why would you do this to me, i am your wife, i deserve to be respected too" i breath out in tears "Why won't i do this to you, you clearly said it yourself that you are my wife. I have every right over you. Now go down on your kneel and do the needful. Unless you want me to go out for it." "Go out for it. After all you are Leo Luthur, the heir of the Luthur empire." "Wow. You sure have grown wings Em remember this." He moved closer to me. "I will make you beg me for sex. And then i will torture you to the extreme. " i glared at him. "I would be waiting Leo. " ------------------------- I rolled on the bed trying to get a firm hold on the sheet.. he was all over me. I never ever thought i could open up to this demi-italian god staring at my soul through my eyes.. his hands were working on me.. i couldn't take it anymore "Leo please touch me"

Anathea Jacobson has had a crush on Gregory Sinclair for ten years. She thinks marrying him is a dream come true. Even if he's just a block of ice now, she'll surely be able to melt him over time. However, all she ever gets is his ice-cold treatment. He's gentle and tender to his true love, but he scorns and neglects her. He also mistreats and humiliates her… Anathea endures it all because they have a son. For his sake, she's willing to cling to her title of Mrs. Sinclair and cage herself in this loveless marriage for the rest of her life. This changes when she's abducted. Gregory spends the night with his true love, and even her beloved son abandons her—he wants to have Gregory's true love as his mother! That's when Anathea sees sense. Her husband will never love her, and her son will never appreciate her. If that's the case, she doesn't want them anymore. She wants to live for herself! … After the divorce, Anathea picks up floral art again. She sets up a company, makes big money, and wins various awards. She wants to give herself all the love she deserves so that she'll go back to being the lively, vivacious woman she once was. Gregory panics when he sees the men surrounding her and vying for her affections. He falls to his knees before her, his eyes rimmed with red as he pleads, "I love you, Nat. Please don't leave me." Anathea sneers. "Your love is too little, too late, Mr. Sinclair." Her son clings to her legs and wails. "Don't abandon me, Mom!" She pushes him away impassively. "Don't call me that. I'm not your mother."

On Christmas Day, eight months pregnant, I struggled through the kitchen,cooking for my husband and his secretary. When I finally sat down, hoping to taste a piece of turkey I didn’t even get during Thanksgiving, my husband shoved me aside like I was nothing. He slid the turkey in front of his secretary instead. “Alison,you’re already so fat. Stop eating. Let Daisy have it—she deserves to enjoy your cooking.” Daisy，chewing on the turkey I had painstakingly prepared, had the audacity to mock me under the guise of playing truth or dare with my child. “So, what do you think your mom looks like?” “Mommy looks like a fat pig on a farm!” “Her stretch marks? They’re like disgusting worms crawling all over her. Even Santa would run for his life!” Their laughter erupted like daggers piercing me from all sides. Humiliation and rage burned through me as my dignity was stripped bare. I demanded an apology from that vile woman, but my husband—my husband!—turned his cold, cruel face toward me and said, “Get out of here.” Pregnant, exhausted, and humiliated, I stood there in shock. Then I snapped. I grabbed the Christmas cake and turkey and threw them in the trash. I walked out without looking back. This wretched family doesn’t deserve a second of my effort or a single ounce of my love!

My billionaire husband suffered from chronic insomnia for years. Only the sleep balm I made could help him sleep. On the night of our seventh wedding anniversary, his childhood sweetheart poured a basin of scalding water over the old camphor tree in our garden. I wept and tried to save the tree as she apologized, “I didn’t know you used its leaves to make the sleep balm.” My husband gently comforted her and ordered his men to tie me to the tree trunk instead. “What a precious tree. You’ll spend the rest of your days with it!” With my wrist fractured as a result, I filed for divorce immediately. A month later, my husband was unable to sleep late one night. He stood in the garden and stared at the withered camphor tree.

For someone who nearly dies because of an accident that wipes the memories of her 23 years of existence - the only thing that Sammia Avileigh can do is to depend on everything that her family told her. With the help and support from them, she did her best to live a normal life. She follows everything that her parents told her about who she was, what she likes, what she does, what she wants, what's her favorite, how she dresses, what she hates, and what she's not good at. A year later, she finally recovers, she's happy with her life despite forgetting those memories that define her. But her almost perfect life turns upside down when she saw a strange note on the empty abandoned room on the back of their house. 'Aliano Silvanus Rivvero, you need to kill him. Remember that.' What does the note mean? Why does she feel like it is connected to her? And if that's the case- why would she kill the man she is bound to marry? The man that she really likes, according to her parents? They say a memory can be a star or a stain, and Sammia Avileigh didn't know that the latter defines her lost memories. And that's, what they will never let her know...

I'm the daughter of Don Falcone. After I got back from studying abroad, my family threw a welcome-home banquet, conveniently setting me up to meet the fiancé my father had handpicked for me—Santino Moretti. My father praised the guy to the skies in his letters: he was the heir to the Moretti family, elegant, ruthless, drop-dead gorgeous, and holding half the city’s underground operations in the palm of his hand. I arrived at the Elysium Hotel right on the dot. Just as I was about to take a seat, a hand shoved me hard. A woman's shrill voice pierced my ear. "Livia, what's a Sicilian peasant like you doing here? This is the Imperial Suite. Do you think you even deserve to breathe the air in a place like this?" I recognized the woman. It was Bella, a bitch who had always had it out for me back in college. She was clearly trying to humiliate me. Instead of getting mad, I smirked. "Whether I deserve to be here or not—is that for you to decide?" Bella sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm Mr. Santino's personal assistant. Today, Mr. Santino is hosting the eldest daughter of the Falcone family here. This isn't an occasion for bottom-feeding trash like you." "Be smart and crawl back to your slum." I pulled out my phone and dialed my so-called fiancé. I wanted to ask him if it was a tradition in the Moretti family to let their dogs bark at the front door.

Hiding your fantasies is hard, especially when your best friend features in every one. I'm the good, innocent girl with a guilty obsession for erotic books. And the man who fuels all those fantasies? My best friend. Those veiny hands set my thighs on fire, and his deep voice twists my insides with desire. But he never knew. And I could never tell him– not when he flirts with everyone and only sees me as his baby sister. Until one reckless night of drinks and games lands me in his bed. Now I’m not sure I ever want to leave. But best friends shouldn't touch you like this. Best friends shouldn't make you squirt this good. But when a sudden arranged marriage threatens to tear us apart, our secret is exposed in a blaze of scandal, turning stolen moments into a bitter need for revenge. So how do I explain this to my parents? Since they still think I'm a virgin?

How does Iris, a boring college student pique the interest of Smoke, a not so human entity. There's a fine like between love and obsession, but he crossed that line long ago.

My husband, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.

After being sent on a wild goose chase looking for a rogue who committed crimes against young she wolves and his mate Isabella, the only woman he’d ever had eyes set on. Beta Brandon went rogue to be able to bring the real culprit into the hands of the werewolf counsel. Would he be able to do it? Would he be able to be the Alpha he’s destined to be ? And if given a second chance with his mate would he be able to help her be herself again? And most of all would there love last ?