Story cover for No Rest For the Wicked by Penumbra-Soul
No Rest For the Wicked
Penumbra-Soul
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Penumbra-Soul
Ongoing, First published Sep 10, 2015
Mature
assassinbadassfictionheartbreaknewadultpassionreunionromancesecretstragedy
*EXCERPT*

The lights of the hotel room were all turned off with the exception of the entrance lamp. Enough to see the woman standing in front of me. She wore an expensive maroon silk dress, accompanied by a black fur shawl adorned with luxurious jewels and diamonds. 
Approaching me she closes the space between us and brings her lips to my ear. 
"Mon Chéri," she whispers "let's go to bed and rest." The seductive look in her eyes tells me she plans on doing anything but rest. 
Placing my hands on both sides of her face I tilt her head up so that she's looking directly in my eyes. 
"Darlin'," I smile "there is no rest for the wicked." My hands tighten around her and confusion flashes through her eyes. Quickly, before she can utter a word, I snap her neck. Letting her body fall to the carpet with a heavy thud. 
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assassinbadassfictionheartbreaknewadultpassionreunionromancesecretstragedy
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Body & Soul

16 parts Ongoing

As I sank deeper into the blissful comfort, a gentle warmth enveloped me, stirring my senses. I shifted, seeking more comfort, and nestled my head into the soft-yet-firm pillow I'd been cradling for what felt like an eternity. But the warmth soon spread to my cheeks, beckoning me to surrender further. Just as I realized my tranquil slumber was ending, the soft morning light danced across my eyelids, and I succumbed to its gentle persuasion. As my eyes opened, I froze, startled. Instead of a pillow, my head rested on the chiseled, bare torso of a man I never imagined sharing a bed with. Panic set in, and I hastily lifted my throbbing head. My favorite peacock blue chiffon saree lay rumpled on the floor, a stark reminder of the previous night's events. Memories flooded back: Didi's reception, the stinging fat-shaming comments, the four shots of some unknown shit, and the desperate longing to shed my perpetual singleton status. Shame, guilt, and anguish welled up, threatening tears to spill out. Ignoring my pounding heart and aching head, I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, ready to flee. But a warm hand enveloped my freezing wrist, halting my escape. "Where are you going?" a deep, velvety voice whispered, sending shivers down my spine. ******* At 23, Antara had resigned herself to perpetual singleness, blaming her curvaceous figure for her lack of romantic prospects. To shield herself from potential heartache, she'd developed a carefree facade, deflecting inquiries about her love life with a dismissive smile. Yet, beneath this veneer, Antara nurtured secret dreams forged from childhood fairy tales of Cinderella and Princess Tora. Despite societal beauty standards overshadowing her own, she clung to the ancient myth of the red thread - the invisible bond connecting two destined souls. Antara secretly hopes that the universe has destined her to be with someone whose gentle touches have already sparked a deep emotional connection within her.

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