The Love I'll Never Forget
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- Votes 9
- Parts 6
"Life is like a piano what you get out of it depends on how you play it. Black keys represent sadness and white keys represent happiness. But you need both to play your perfect song."- She believed.
She lost her family when she was barely one. Her sister took care of her. She also died due to some mishap when she was about to kick her career. She came to Manhattan the city of dreams, did a lot of struggles and made her dream come true with a hot best friend like Lina.
Life was all perfect until the man of all girl's dreams made her all-perfect life a mess. She protested.
"Why do you have to interfere in my life?" She screamed the hell out of her.
"Cuz I want to. I want you all mine." He replied as he smashed his lips on her.
His dominance and her rebellion were like the fire and the ice. He tried to buy her off with his wealth but he ended up forcing her to the edge of an engagement with someone that he hates.
Will they become a thing in the end? And how intense will be their love? Let's join their steamy journey of romance together......
Thanks for readingπ
Started: 20th June 2021
All Rights Reserved
#829
hotboys
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A scent. A scar. A slow-burning fucking romance dressed as nostalgia. It started with a fruit. Not love, not sex - a goddamn strawberry. The kind that looks like it's been kissed by every shade of red your childhood never had. He didn't share it. Didn't speak of it. Just tasted it once, and carried the ache ever since. Years later, she walked in - smelling exactly like that forgotten sweetness. Not perfume. Not fantasy. Just... truth. Sharp, quiet, terrifying truth. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers remember me when you least want to. He lied to her face. About himself. About the million ways he'd already started unraveling. But she knew. Women like her always know. She stared at him like sin dressed in judgment - and touched his wrist like she already owned his pulse. And he? He was fucked. Because she wasn't just beautiful. She was red. That memory. That craving. And no matter how much he pretended to be in control - she was already in his bloodstream. This isn't a love story. It's a slow possession. By scent. By memory. By her. And it ends exactly how it starts - with him on his knees, and her smelling like fucking strawberries.
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