You Re Mine Novel Easton Novels & Stories

"Before we leave for the pillars, I told her to go get her foot wear. She obeyed and I ceased the opportunity to wear a bullet proof that can take millions and millions of bullets and I wouldn't get a scratch" Cora looked at him. Hunter clenched his knuckles. East smirked. "You and the dead motherfucker enjoyed yourselves didn't you?" Hunter doesn't respond. East scoffed. "I know you did. But hey, I told you. You are fucking small to end me. I am East Gonzalez. I am not easy to kill. You should have asked around before stepping into the fucking lion's den" Hunter scoffed. East raised his brows. He continue scoffing.

Minerva Cole:- " Easton, why didn't you tell me that you threw a party for me and why? I am just your slave then why do all this?" I ask Easton as I looked aorund at the beautifully decorated party thrown for me in his mindblowing palace.

“What!!?” “Hi. I'm Easton, Alpha Easton Dawson of the Crescent pack and I believe you are my mate, fated for me by the Moon Goddess. Come with me and be mine, you belong with me, and not in this godforsaken place,” he explains, and my jaw drops even lower.

"And I want this too. All delivered to Phoenix Reach, with a special card for my daughter-in-law, Lea." Amidst the frustration of what Madame was doing, Easton, who had been walking like a tail with me, nudged my shoulder and pressed his lips against my ear. "Apparently, this won't be enough for you." Suddenly, I sagged against him. "What do you mean?" Easton put his arm around my shoulders and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. His eyes seemed to wander around, scanning the few shops we hadn't yet stopped at. "I'll spend it again later for you."

At first glance, I thought it was Urijah returning, but I quickly realized that it was Easton when he came into the moon light. “Where’s Urijah?” I asked him, needing to know that he was okay. “You just missed him.” Easton said as he closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me pulling me into him, before he says, “But you have me now to keep you company.” The touch of his flesh against my own felt amazing, and for a moment I felt myself getting lost to it, but I couldn’t allow myself to be distracted by it, until I knew where Urijah had gone. Easton’s lips now moved acrost my neck, placing soft kisses on my flesh, until he came to my mark that Urijah left, claiming me as his,

That’s when I stepped into the manor, and in my sight came Easton, holding a basket full of fresh cherries. That’s when I knew she lied about ending her lies. Of course she wanted to keep living that lie and stay close to Easton, the top, most famous—and sexiest—male model on the list right now. Easton stopped in his tracks and stared at me. His eyes dropped to the basket, and he cleared his throat. “She came here to give me these,” he muttered.

Mine is Scott by the way, no matter how stupid or dumb he is, he is still kind of cute Till later humans 💙💙 See you when I publish the next story💙

She just… showed up. The driver took a turn down a narrow alley in Westbridge — the kind of place nobody photographed for magazines. Elijah had chosen the location: a run-down piano bar turned private loft. No cameras. No staff. Just keys under a mat and memories waiting to explode. She stepped out slowly. Her heels clicked against the pavement, but it wasn’t confidence anymore. It was armor. The door creaked as she pushed it open. And there he was. Leaning against the grand piano, the keys dusty and untouched — but his eyes? They burned like matches.

Love you bestie. Dana Clemente: I'll miss you too. You're the only friend who can tolerate my blunders. I love you too, bestie. Sending you warm embraces and love. With the prospect of Jenny's departure, the realization dawned on me that Julie and Rod were in Batangas, leaving me friendless in my immediate circle. Suddenly, an email from Canada materialized. Excitement surged within me as I eagerly opened the message. From: Axel Montecillo

The air outside is damp and cold, smelling faintly of rain. The car across the street—the black one, tinted windows—sits where it always does. I force myself not to look at it twice. West End Café is only fifteen minutes away. And "Mr. Black" is waiting. ——— CAINE I arrive early, of course. Always early. The West End Café hums with the mid-morning crowd—students with laptops, retirees lingering over newspapers, a few suits huddled over espresso shots. Ordinary. Safe. That's what makes it perfect.