The Difference Between Heaven And Hell
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- Parts 12
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Strawberry
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.Complete![πΉπππππ
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πΉπππππ πππ π¨πππππ π¬ππππ₯π€ [18+]
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I live Till I die
Valenya-a young woman from the impoverished land of Raviennes-finds her life bound to a stranger, a man ten years her senior, once known to her only as her teacher. When she leaves her homeland as his wife, the distant realm of Belgsem becomes her new home. There, surrounded by the few people she dares to love, Valenya begins to weave the fragile threads of a new life. But what begins as a loveless marriage soon unravels into turmoil: unfamiliar emotions awaken within her, a kidnapping shatters her fragile peace, and the enigmatic Moreatty twins threaten her husband's strength and fate. Around her orbit lives entangled in secrets: A man she calls father, though he never truly was. A mother broken by marriage and society. A friend haunted by a tragic accident from the past. A young man consumed by revenge. A brother's betrayal that cuts deep. A man who loves with a devotion so pure, though no one believes it. This is a story of a society built on lies and deception, where nothing is as it seems and truth hides behind masks. A tale of love without certainty, of betrayal and sacrifice, of passion that battles despair-and of the relentless desire to grasp even a fleeting taste of happiness.
Nudes
One girl's hate leads to the other's downfall.Complete
Echoes of imagination
This book is a collection of romance stories celebrating happy endings and filled with moments that will give you butterflies. As a new writer, I'm exploring storytelling and creativity while refining my style. It's a work perfect for romance lovers. Happy reading!!Complete
Still in Love With You.
DISCLAIMER - This is a work of entertainment. No characters are real, all are made from my imagination. This story is mine and a work of my imagination. Pictures are used as a guide only as to how I picture the characters when writing them. This will have strong language, strong sexual scenes; including hate/anger-sex, secrets, affairs and a love that knows no bounds.Complete
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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