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Grandmama’s Curiosity
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The sun was shining brightly as Aurelia and Abaddon made their way to the piano gallery. The excitement in the air was palpable, and Aurelia could not help but smile at the prospect of finally finding the perfect piano for her home. As they walked side by side, Aurelia could not resist playfully scolding Abaddon. "You know," she said with a grin, "you did that on purpose, didn't you? Interrupting my conversation with my grandmother to make her curious about you." Abaddon kept his face stoic with his eyes gleaming mischievously. He was not going to admit it but once he saw her smiling face, he broke. "Guilty as charged. I couldn't resist giving her a little hint." Aurelia shook her head, but there was fondness in her eyes. "Well, just be careful. My family can be... difficult." Abaddon's expression hardened, and he placed a reassuring h
What It Means to be His Yamaha YUS5
As they explored the piano gallery, Aurelia's eyes widened with wonder at the collection of exquisite instruments. Abaddon watched as she danced with excitement. She then paused and frowned. The lingering sense of practicality held her back. "This one is beautiful," Aurelia remarked, running her fingers along the polished wood of an upright piano. "But it's quite expensive." Abaddon smiled, understanding her concern. "Aurelia, I want you to have the piano you truly desire. And I can help make that happen. Let me take care of the cost. Consider it a gift from me to you." She looked at him, touched by his generosity but still hesitant. "Abaddon, that's incredibly kind, but I told you that I don't want you to feel like you have to do this." He gently took her hands in his, looking into her eyes with sincerity. "I'm doing this because I want to, not because I have to. I care about you, Aurelia, and I want to support your dreams. This piano means a lot to
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The night sky enveloped the city in a dark embrace, mirroring the heart of Abaddon's empire. As the cold and ruthless mafia boss, Abaddon was a figure of mystery and terror, ruling the underworld with an iron fist. To protect his identity, he hid behind the title of "Don" when conducting business, while his true self remained shrouded in shadows. To those of lower rank and no value, he was addressed as D. In the heart of the city, one of Abaddon's luxurious penthouses stood tall, a symbol of his power and influence. Looking amongst the lively city, Axel found himself pondering the purpose of their upcoming visits to their legitimate businesses. "You know, Don, I've always wondered about those puppet CEOs. They are just pawns in your grand game," Axel remarked, his voice tinged with cynicism. Abaddon turned to Axel, his stoic expression hiding the amusement that flickered in his eyes. Axel was an enigmatic figure with an appearance that matched his ecc
What It Means to be His The Start of Regrettable Decisions
I groaned as I stood in line outside a brick building with loud music pouring out of its entrance. I pulled out my phone to check the time. It was so late. Oh, what I would give to be at home with a book right now… “This is so not a good idea,” I said to my friend standing beside me. “What,” she exclaimed. She spun on me, and I jumped out of the way afraid she would hit me for saying something she deemed stupid. “Are you kidding me? I have been trying to get you out of your house for months! You are stuck with me now. You are not getting out of this.” Sighing, I pushed my hands deeper into my pants pockets. This is a nightmare. My friend, Melissa, has been trying to get me to go clubbing with her for a while now. It is not really my scene, but she swears it would be better with me there. I am only here because I worry. It is better that we are in pairs than alone. There has been a streak of kidnappings lately. I agreed because it is less likely they will take two at once.
What It Means to be His The Gentleman in Black
A man dressed in an all-black suit and tie strolled into a dimly lit room. Slowly he removed his suit jacket and eyed the other occupants. He placed his jacket on the back of the chair and sat down. There were three other men. Two were standing on opposing walls to the left and right of the mysterious gentleman. The third sat in a chair before him, bound by every knot that could keep a man incapacitated. Though he was in a less than imaginable position – one most would find extremely uncomfortable – the bound man seemed to be… unfazed by it. “I’m trying to decide,” began the immaculately dressed fellow, “whether I want to slit your throat with a machete and watch you bleed and die a slow and painful death… or shoot you in the head and get it over with.” He tilted his head to the side. “I’m finding myself completely repulsed by the look of your face.” No one spoke. The bound man sat silently, waiting for any idea of what would come next. Surely, this man would not just talk abo
What It Means to be His The Art of Eye Contact
I... am drunk. Mel and I were on the dance floor with drinks in our hands, her chest to my back, grinding forward, coordinated. I was having the time of my life with my best friend. I was so glad I decided to let my hair down. “I’m going to get another drink, do you want one,” she asked. I quickly drank the remainder of my drink, now accustomed to the flares that the alcohol produced. I nodded and handed the empty glass to her. I continued dancing as she walked to the bar. Looking around to take in my surroundings - now that my second was not around - I tried to keep an eye on everything around me. That is something hard to do when your brain is fuzzy from copious amounts of liquor. I threw my head back, sighing. My eyes closed as my hands caressed the sides of my face. I swayed my hips as my fingers trailed down my neck and went behind and pushed up my hair. My eyes opened and met amber ones. From up above on the upper level – for those super important people – leaning aga
What It Means to be His A Drunken Fuss
Dante offered his hand to me, and I looked down at it with new eyes. I took the offered hand and climbed over the rope. He led me to the dance floor and spun me, pulling me to his chest. “Wow,” I said. “I see you have some skill.” He raised his brows and chuckled. “Okay, so maybe you are not as shy as I thought. You speak!” I rolled my eyes and slapped his chest with a smile. He looked down at the assaulting hand and peered over to my breast. His eyes seemed to glaze over, and I frowned. I was beginning to wonder if he was a bit more hammered than I. “Like the view?” He blinked and looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I just really like your outfit.” “No,” I gasped out sarcastically. “Really? I never got that.” “Am I that obvious?” “A tad bit,” I said with a smile. “I mean, I could be wrong, but I knew something was up when you stared at my tits like a nursing infant in need of feeding.” He laughed out, head falling back. “I am so sorry. I did not mea
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Ambers. It was the man from the banister on the top floor! “Are you alright?” “I-I...” I could not speak. From a distance I could not see all his features but up close... the man was devastatingly gorgeous. I spun around to face him fully since I only craned my neck. He was tall with a strong and broad structure. He had long dark hair that passed his shoulders. He had two scars on his face, one on his left brow and the other on the right curve of his chin cutting through his perfectly groomed beard to the bottom of his jaw. He wore a black button down with the top two buttons undone and his sleeves expertly rolled up to his elbows. The skin of his exposed arms and chest were blessed with beautifully intricate tattoos. The way he stared down at me, in all his glory, sent shivers down my spine. It reminded me of the striking gaze of a wild wolf on the prowl. There are only two words I would use to sum up and describe this man. Sexy and dangerous. And the two words I would u
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