Story cover for Match me if you can  by Kathielein
Match me if you can
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    Parts 70
  • WpHistory
    Time 4h 44m
  • WpView
    Reads 1,896
  • WpVote
    Votes 95
  • WpPart
    Parts 70
  • WpHistory
    Time 4h 44m
Ongoing, First published Jul 15
Mature
Romina hat einen Plan: einen reichen Mann finden, ihn von sich überzeugen - und mit seinem Geld ihre Eltern retten. Liebe steht dabei nicht auf dem Zettel, sondern Strategie. Doch zwischen Designerheels, Büroalltag und Dating-Apps verliert sie schneller die Kontrolle, als ihr lieb ist. Vor allem, als sie Marten begegnet - einem Mann, der so gar nicht in ihr Beuteschema passt, aber plötzlich verdammt schwer aus ihrem Kopf zu kriegen ist.
Ein Spiel beginnt - und Romina muss entscheiden, was sie wirklich gewinnen will.
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🩸 YAKUZA'S DIRGE- "A dirge is a funeral hymn, and his love was a slow, brutal mourning-not for her death, but her freedom." "Do you know why I keep you locked up?" Her breath hitched. Her fingers curled against his chest - hesitantly, reverently - and oh god. The feel of him. Hard. Unforgiving. A wall of heat under her trembling hands. His chest was broad, every muscle taut beneath the thin shirt, his pecs shifting as he breathed - not shallowly, but deeply. Controlled. His teeth grazed her cheek. A bite. Gentle. Carnal. Her lips parted. A broken breath fell from her. Then a whisper - from him. "Hmm?" She shook her head. Too slow. Too dazed. His hand slipped lower, finally, cupping her waist - his palm large enough to cage her, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of her ribs while his other arm remained hooked around her back. Not pinning. Holding. Pulling. She was caged. Held flush to him. Nothing between them but her open robe and his clothed chest. But even then, the heat bled through. He bent again - lower this time. His lips kissed the corner of her jaw. Not sweetly. Possessively. Then he whispered something so sinful, so deliberate, it felt like it was made of oil and ash and honey: "Because if even one man saw you like this... he'd forget his god. He'd fuck his name out of your mouth and never ask if you were promised." Her thighs trembled. Her hand fisted in the fabric at his chest - not to resist. To survive the feeling. He dragged his lips to her jaw again. Her ear. He didn't press them to her skin. He simply hovered. Teased. Waited. She could barely breathe. Her body shook in his hands, her inner thighs slick with her own arousal, every nerve burning like she was being readied for slaughter. Then-her voice. Small. Too soft for anyone else to hear. But he was not anyone. "...But I already attracted the worst kind." His head stilled. Eyes lowered to her again. She swallowed. Then added-"Didn't I?"
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Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger keep "glaring" at each other more like staring, and what's with Malfoy keep visiting the Library each time and talking to Hermione more well there's not that much talking involved. Ron is beginning to notice and jealously is a bad thing Warning-sexually content and dark themes