Hot Chocolate (George Shelley)
- LECTURES 38,564
- Votes 454
- Chapitres 28
En cours d'écriture3h 52m
Dernière publication mar., mars 12, 2013
He smiled, his eyes sparkling. Those eyes, I always found them so hypnotising. They were the exact same colour as my hot chocolate. Hmm...hot chocolate eyes. His eyes swirled and just like the milky-chocolate mixture inside the cup. His eyes were perfect, just like the cup of heaven I grasped into tightly in my hands. ------ When Sandy moved to Bristol because of her fathers new job. She leaves behind everything she had and knew. But what happens when she meets George? Will they get through all the challenges ahead, or will the love they share not be enough to pull through the ominous dark cloud that looms so closely overhead?
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#251
georgeshelley
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"Morning, Mr. Serious," I say now, setting his usual cup on the table. I add two sugar packets because I can't help myself. He never uses them. He never even looks at them. But I like the idea of them sitting there, taunting him with sweetness. His eyes flick up to mine - stormy gray, the kind that make you feel like you're under interrogation for a crime you don't remember committing. "You should stop doing that." His voice is low, accented, like gravel dragged across velvet. Russian maybe? Or Italian. Or both. Either way, it does unholy things to my stomach. "Doing what?" I ask innocently, sliding the sugar closer to his hand. "That." His gaze drops to the packets. "I don't take sugar." I grin, all sunshine and sass. "You don't know that. Maybe one day you'll wake up and realize life's better with a little sweetness." ●・○・●・○・● Rafael Volkov doesn't do small talk. Or smiles. Or sugar in his coffee. As the mafia's underboss, he's built a reputation on silence, sharp suits, and an expression that could curdle milk. So of course, Lila Parker makes it her mission to crack him. The sunny diner waitress insists on slipping him extra sugar packets, calling him "Mr. Serious" behind the counter, and treating him like a normal guy instead of a walking red flag. He tells her to stop. She doesn't. He growls. She grins. And suddenly, his late-night coffee runs feel less like routine and more like... something he shouldn't want. The problem? In his world, affection is dangerous. Smiles get noticed. Weaknesses get used. And if Lila isn't careful, her little act of kindness might just paint a target on her back. Rafael swore he didn't have a sweet tooth. Turns out he was wrong. ●・○・●・○・● Word Count: 37,478Terminé
When our eyes met
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"Morning, Mr. Serious," I say now, setting his usual cup on the table. I add two sugar packets because I can't help myself. He never uses them. He never even looks at them. But I like the idea of them sitting there, taunting him with sweetness. His eyes flick up to mine - stormy gray, the kind that make you feel like you're under interrogation for a crime you don't remember committing. "You should stop doing that." His voice is low, accented, like gravel dragged across velvet. Russian maybe? Or Italian. Or both. Either way, it does unholy things to my stomach. "Doing what?" I ask innocently, sliding the sugar closer to his hand. "That." His gaze drops to the packets. "I don't take sugar." I grin, all sunshine and sass. "You don't know that. Maybe one day you'll wake up and realize life's better with a little sweetness." ●・○・●・○・● Rafael Volkov doesn't do small talk. Or smiles. Or sugar in his coffee. As the mafia's underboss, he's built a reputation on silence, sharp suits, and an expression that could curdle milk. So of course, Lila Parker makes it her mission to crack him. The sunny diner waitress insists on slipping him extra sugar packets, calling him "Mr. Serious" behind the counter, and treating him like a normal guy instead of a walking red flag. He tells her to stop. She doesn't. He growls. She grins. And suddenly, his late-night coffee runs feel less like routine and more like... something he shouldn't want. The problem? In his world, affection is dangerous. Smiles get noticed. Weaknesses get used. And if Lila isn't careful, her little act of kindness might just paint a target on her back. Rafael swore he didn't have a sweet tooth. Turns out he was wrong. ●・○・●・○・● Word Count: 37,478
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