Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 23 Feb 2022 20:53:29 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 The Rake (Boston Belles #4) Read Online L.J. Shen http://www.books2020.com/the-rake-boston-belles-4-read-online-l-j-shen Wed, 23 Feb 2022 19:28:22 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-rake-boston-belles-4-read-online-l-j-shen Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Dark, New Adult, Romance Authors: L.J. Shen Series: Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >130

Read Online Books/Novels:	The Rake (Boston Belles #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	L.J. Shen
Language:	English
Book Information:
Boston’s most infamous femme fatale meets her match in a dangerously mild Englishman who has vowed to never marry in this romantic standalone from Washington Post bestselling author L.J. Shen Emmabelle Penrose has cruised through life never needing a man, a plan that has worked stunningly well until about five minutes ago, when she decided she must have a baby. Devon Whitehall is 6’2” of premium DNA, financial security, and British royal titles. Best of all, he fears the one thing she dreads the most: getting hitched. Emmabelle figures it’s a no-brainer when Devon offers his services—sperm and involvement in her future child’s life. What begins as an innocent, modern-family arrangement, quickly erodes into a web of lies, dark pasts, and unfurled secrets. Inside this chaos, Emmabelle and Devon are forced to face the awful truth—they are capable of love. Even worse, they might feel it toward each other.
Books in Series:	Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Books by Author:	L.J. Shen

Empara Mi: “Alibi”

Purity Ring: “Obedear”

Rolling Stones: “Under My Thumb”

Young Fathers: “Toy”

Everybody Loves an Outlaw: “Red”

I’d been betrothed shortly before I was conceived.

My future written, sealed, and agreed upon before my mother had her first ultrasound appointment.

Before I had a heart, a pulse, lungs, and a spine. Ideas, wishes, and preferences. When I was no more than an abstract idea.

A future plan.

A box to be ticked off.

Her name was Louisa Butchart.

Lou, really, to those who knew her.

Though I would not be aware of the arrangement until I turned fourteen. Told right before the traditional pre-Christmas hunting trip the Whitehalls had with the Butcharts.

There was nothing wrong with Louisa Butchart. Nothing that I could find, at any rate.

She was lovely, well-mannered, of excellent pedigree.

Nothing wrong with her at all, except for one thing—she wasn’t my choice.

I suppose this was how it all started.

How I became who I am today.

A fun-loving, whiskey-drinking, fencing, skiing hedonist who answered to no one and tumbled into bed with everyone.

All the numbers and variables were there to create the perfect equation.

Great expectations.

Multiplied by crushing demands.

Morally divided by more money than I could ever burn.

I’d been blessed with the right physique, right bank account, right smirk, and right amount of charm. With only one invisible thing missing—a soul.

The thing about not having a soul was that I wasn’t even aware of it.

It took someone special to show me what I’d been missing.

Someone like Emmabelle Penrose.

She cut me open and tar spilled out.

Sticky, dark, and never-ending.

This is the true royal rake’s secret.

My blood never ran blue.

It was like my heart, pure black.

Fourteen Years Old.

We rode at sunset.

The hounds led the way. My father and his comrade, Byron Butchart Sr., followed closely. Their horses cantered in perfect rhythm. Byron Jr., Benedict, and I trailed behind.

They gave the young lads the mares. They were unruly and harder to break. Taming young, spirited females was an exercise men of my class had been given from a young age. After all, we were born into a life that required a well-trained wife, pudgy babies, croquet, and alluring mistresses.

Chin and heels down, back ramrod straight, I was the picture of a royal equestrian. Not that it helped me avoid being thrown into the sweat box, curling into myself like a snail.

Papa loved throwing me in there for the sake of watching me squirm, no matter how hard, how diligently, how desperately I tried to please him.

The sweat box, also known as the isolation bin, was a seventeenth-century dumbwaiter. It had a coffin-like shape and offered the same experience. Since I was notoriously claustrophobic, this was my father’s go-to punishment whenever I misbehaved.

Misbehaving, however, wasn’t something I did often, or even at all. That was the sad part. I wanted badly to be accepted. I was a straight A student and a gifted fencer. I’d even made it to the England Youth Championship in sabre, but was still thrown into the dumbwaiter when I lost to George Stanfield.

Perhaps my father always knew what I tried to keep concealed from view.

On the outside, I was perfect.

On the inside, however, I was rotten to the bone.

At fourteen, I’d already slept with two of the servants’ daughters, managed to ride my father’s favorite horse to its untimely death, and flirted with cocaine and Special K (not the cereal).

Now, we were going foxhunting.

I quite hated foxhunting. And by quite, I meant a bloody lot. I detested it as a sport, a concept, and a hobby. I drew no pleasure from killing helpless animals.

Father said blood sport was a great English tradition, much like cheese rolling and Morris dancing. Personally, I thought some traditions did not, in fact, age as well as others. Burning heretics at the stake was one example, foxhunting another.

Noteworthy to distinguish foxhunting was—or shall I say is—illegal in the United Kingdom. But men of power, I’d come to learn, had a complex and oftentimes tempestuous relationship with the law. They enforced and determined it, yet disregarded it almost completely. My father and Byron Sr. enjoyed foxhunting all the more because it was forbidden to the lower classes. It gave the sport an added shine. An eternal reminder that they were born different. Better.

We were heading into the woods, passing the cobbled path to the grand iron-wrought gate of Whitehall Court Castle, my family’s estate in Kent. My stomach churned as I thought about what I was about to do. Kill innocent animals to mollify my father.

The soft tapping of Mary Janes clunked behind us, hitting the pebbles.

“Devvie, wait!”

The voice was breathless, needy.

I leaned back on Duchess, pushing my feet forward, pulling at the reins. The mare gaited back. Louisa appeared at my side, clutching something wrapped haphazardly. She was in her pink pajamas. Her teeth were covered in colorful, horrendous braces.

“I got you thomthing.” She slapped away pieces of the brown hair sticking to her forehead. Lou was two years my junior. I was at the unfortunate stage of adolescence where I found anything, including sharp objects and certain fruits, sexually appealing. But Lou was still a child. Loose-jointed and pocket-sized. Her eyes were big and inquisitive, drinking in the world in gulps. She was not exactly a looker, with her average features and boyish frame. And her braces gave her a speech impediment she was self-conscious about.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >130

Advertisement The Monster (Boston Belles #3) Read Online L.J. Shen http://www.books2020.com/the-monster-boston-belles-3-read-online-l-j-shen Sat, 19 Jun 2021 15:08:55 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-monster-boston-belles-3-read-online-l-j-shen Genre: Contemporary, Dark, Mafia, New Adult, Romance Authors: L.J. Shen Series: Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >130

Read Online Books/Novels:	The Monster (Boston Belles #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	L.J. Shen
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B08ZZ1W8F3
Book Information:
“Maybe we were never meant for each other. But that night at the carnival, when you showed me who you were, I figured out who I wanted to be.” The most important thing I’d ever read was scribbled on the door of a portable restroom, engraved into plastic at a carnival on the outskirts of Boston. Lust lingers, love stays. Lust is impatient, love waits. Lust burns, love warms. Lust destroys, but love? Love kills. Maybe it was always my destiny to fall in love with a monster. When other kids stayed awake at night fearing the pointy-toothed beast hiding in their closet, I longed to see mine. I wanted to feed it, domesticate it, understand it. Sam and I were only allowed to love each other in the dark. Once our story unfolded, and the truth came to light, I was the one to cut the cord. My name is Aisling Fitzpatrick, and I have a confession to make. Sam Brennan is not the only monster in this story.
Books in Series:	Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Books by Author:	L.J. Shen

“You Are in Love with a Psycho”—Kasabian

“Rock & Roll Queen”—The Subways

“I’m Not in Love”—Kelsey Lu

“Good Girls Bad Boys”—Falling in Reverse

“Wow”—Zara Larsson

“Listen Up”—The Gossip

“The End of the World”—Skeeter Davis

“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.”

—Werner Herzog

Age 9

This is the last time you ever cry in your life, shithead.

That was the only thing that went through my head when the woman who gave birth to me punched the doorbell five times in a row, clutching the back of my shirt like she was disposing of some punk who’d TP’d her house on her neighbor’s doorstep.

The door to Uncle Troy’s penthouse swung open. She shoved me past the threshold.

“Here. All yours. You win.”

I flung myself into the arms of Aunt Sparrow, who staggered backward, pulling me to her chest in a protective hug.

Sparrow and Troy Brennan weren’t really my aunt and uncle, but I spent a lot of time with them—and by ‘a lot’, I mean still not enough.

Cat, AKA the woman who birthed me, was giving me away. She’d made up her mind tonight when she’d passed by me, on her way to her bedroom.

“Why are you so small? Pam’s kid is your age, and he is, like, huge.”

“Because you never fucking feed me.” I flung my joystick to the side, giving her stink eye.

“You’re, like, ten or eleven, Samuel! Make yourself a sandwich.”

I was a nine-year-old and a malnourished one at that. But she was right. I should make myself a sandwich. I would if we had the ingredients for it. There weren’t even condiments in our house, only drug paraphernalia and enough booze to fill the Charles River.

Not that Cat cared. She was blind with rage because I stole her cocaine and sold it to some wiseguys down the street then used the money to buy four McMeals and a Nerf gun, when she left me unattended tonight.

Grandma Maria was the one who did the heavy lifting when it came to raising me. She lived with us, working two jobs to support us. Catalina was in the background, like a piece of furniture. There, but not really. We lived under the same roof, but she moved out whenever her boyfriends were whipped enough to let her stay with them. She went to rehab centers, and dated married men, and somehow had money to buy expensive bags and shoes. Kids at school kept telling me their dads said Cat knew the curve of every mattress at our local Motel 6, and even though I wasn’t sure what it meant, I was sure it wasn’t good.

I once eavesdropped on Uncle Troy telling her, “He is not the fucking Hamptons, Cat. You can’t visit him periodically, when the weather allows it.”

Catalina had told him to shut his trap. That I was the worst mistake she had ever made while she was high.

That day, I got expelled. Beat the shit out of Neil DeMarco for saying his dad and mom were getting a divorce because of my mom.

“Your mom’s a slut, and now I have to move to a smaller house! I hate you!”

I’d given him a different reason to hate me by the time I was done with him, one he would always remember because it changed his face.

When Cat picked me up, she’d yelled at me that she’d fuck up my face like I’d done to Neil, but I wasn’t worth breaking her new nails over. I’d barely heard her. Everything inside my head was swollen from the fight and from thoughts that made my head hurt.

But I knew she’d be too cheap to take me to Urgent Care, so I didn’t complain.

“All ours?” Aunt Sparrow narrowed her green eyes at Catalina. “What are you talking about? Today is not our day with Sam.”

Aunt Sparrow had red hair and freckles and a body like a scarecrow, all bones and skin. She wasn’t as pretty as Catalina, but I still loved her more.

Cat rolled her eyes, kicking the duffel bag with my stuff. It hit Uncle Troy’s shins.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t been gunning for this all along. You take him on your family vacations, he has a room here, and you go to all his soccer games. You’d breastfeed him if you had any tits, which sadly, you don’t.” Catalina swiped her eyes along Sparrow’s body. “You always wanted him. He’ll complete your boring little family, with your boring little daughter. Well, it’s your lucky day, because the asshole is officially yours.”

I swallowed hard and glared straight ahead at the flat screen TV behind Sparrow’s shoulder. Their living room was a mess. The good kind of mess. Toys strewn everywhere, pink fluffy blankets, and a purple, glittery toddler scooter. Brave was playing on the screen. It was Sailor’s favorite movie. She was probably asleep.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >130

Advertisement The Villain (Boston Belles #2) Read Online L.J. Shen http://www.books2020.com/the-villain-boston-belles-2-read-online-l-j-shen Fri, 18 Dec 2020 22:36:51 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-villain-boston-belles-2-read-online-l-j-shen Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Authors: L.J. Shen Series: Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >131

Read Online Books/Novels:	(Boston Belles #2) The Villain
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	L.J. Shen
Language:	English
Book Information:
Cruel. Coldblooded. Hades in a Brioni suit. Cillian Fitzpatrick has been dubbed every wicked thing on planet earth. To the media, he is The Villain. To me, he is the man who (reluctantly) saved my life. Now I need him to do me another, small solid. Bail me out of the mess my husband got me into. What’s a hundred grand to one of the wealthiest men in America, anyway? Only Cillian doesn’t hand out free favors. The price for the money, it turns out, is my freedom. Now I’m the eldest Fitzpatrick brother’s little toy. To play, to mold, to break. Too bad Cillian forgot one, tiny detail. Persephone wasn’t only the goddess of spring; she was also the queen of death. He thinks I’ll buckle under the weight of his mind games. He is about to find out the most lethal poison is also the sweetest.
Books in Series:	Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Books by Author:	L.J. Shen

Sub Urban: “Cradles”

Bishop Briggs: “River”

White Stripes: “Hardest Button to Button”

Gogol Bordello: “Sally”

Milk and Bone: “Peaches”

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: “Red Right Hand”

To Cori and Lana.

Lost in Hell, Persephone,

Take her head upon your knee;

Say to her, “My dear, my dear,

It is not so dreadful here.”

—Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems

The bleeding heart is a pink and white flower that bears a striking resemblance to the conventional heart shape. It is also referred to as the heart flower or as lady-in-bath.

The flower is known to be poisonous to the touch and deadly to consume.

And, like the mythological goddess Persephone, it only blossoms in spring.

My love story started with a death.

With the sound of my soul shattering on the hospice floor like delicate china.

And Auntie Tilda, wilting inside her hospital bed, her breath rattling in her empty lungs like a penny.

I soaked her hospital gown with tears, clutching the fabric in my little fists, ignoring Momma’s soft pleas to get off her ill sister.

“Please don’t leave, Auntie. Please,” I croaked.

The cancer had spread to her lungs, liver, and kidneys, making it excruciating for my aunt to breathe. For the past few weeks, she’s slept sitting upright, falling in and out of consciousness.

At twelve, death was an abstract concept to me. Real, but also foreign and faraway. Something that happened in other families, to other people.

I understood what it meant now.

Auntie Tilda was never going to scoop me in her arms, pretending to strum her fingers on me like I was an air guitar again.

She’d never pick Belle and me up from school with Ziploc bags full of apple slices and strawberries whenever our parents worked long hours.

She’d never braid my hair again, whispering magical tales about Greek gods and three-headed monsters.

My aunt tucked wisps of blond curls behind my ear. Her eyes shimmered with sickness so tangible I could taste it on my tongue.

“Leave?” She belched. “Oh, my, that’s a big word. I’d never do that, Persy. Dead, alive, and in-between, I will always be there for you.”

“But how?” I tugged at her gown, clinging to her promise. “How will I know you’re really here after your body is gone?”

“Just turn your face up, you silly goose. The sky will always be ours. That’s where we’ll meet, between the sunrays and the clouds.”

On hot, sticky summers, Auntie Tilda and I would lie on the grass by Charles River, cloud-spotting. The clouds came and went like passengers at a train station. First, we’d count them. Then we’d choose the funny-shaped, extra fluffy ones. Then we’d give them names.

Mr. and Mrs. Claudia and Claud Clowdton.

Misty and Smoky Frost.

Auntie Tilda believed in magic, in miracles, and I? Well, I believed in her.

While my older sister, Emmabelle, chased after squirrels, played soccer with the boys, and climbed trees, Auntie Tilda and I admired the sky.

“Will you give me a sign?” I pressed. “That you’re there in the sky? A lightning? Rain? Oh, I know! Maybe a pigeon can poop on me.”

Momma put her hand on my shoulder. In the words of my sister Belle—I needed to take a chill pill, and fast.

“Let’s make a deal,” my aunt suggested, laughing breathlessly. “As you know, clouds are more reliable than shooting stars. Common, but still magical. When the time comes and you grow up, ask for something you want—something you really want—when you see a lone cloud in the sky, and I will grant it to you. That’s how you’ll know I’m there watching. You only get one miracle, Persephone, so be careful what you wish for. But I promise, whatever your wish may be—I will grant it to you.”

I’d kept my Cloud Wish for eleven years, harboring it like a precious heirloom.

I didn’t use it when my grades slipped.

When Elliott Frasier came up with the nickname Pussyfanny Peen-rise sophomore year, and it stuck until graduation.

Not even when Dad got laid off and McDonald’s and hot water became rare luxuries.

In the end, I wasted the Cloud Wish in one, reckless moment.

On a doomed desire, a stupid crush, an unrequited lover.

On the man every media outlet in America referred to as The Villain.

On Cillian Fitzpatrick.

Three Years Ago.

I was drunk before noon the day my best friend, Sailor, got married.

Typically, I was fun-drunk. Responsible drunk. The kind of drunk who talked a little louder, snort-laughed, and danced like no one was watching, but also called an Uber, saved her friends from bad hookups, and never let anyone in my vicinity get a tattoo they were going to regret the next morning.

Not this time.

This time, I was crank-up-the-Enola-Gay plastered. The kind of hammered to end up in the hospital with an IV drip, an oopsie baby, and a criminal record.

There were a variety of reasons I was so drunk, and I would point all of them out if I were able to hold a steady finger in the air.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >131

Advertisement The Hunter Read online L.J. Shen (Boston Belles #1) http://www.books2020.com/the-hunter-1-read-online-l-j-shen Tue, 08 Oct 2019 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-hunter-1-read-online-l-j-shen Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance, Sports Authors: L.J. Shen Series: Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 120134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >126

Read Online Books/Novels:	The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	L.J. Shen
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	1732624747 (ISBN13: 9781732624740)
Book Information:
Hunter I didn’t mean to star in a sex tape, okay? It was just one of those unexplainable things. Like Stonehenge, Police Academy 2, and morning glory clouds. It just happened. Now my ball-busting father is sentencing me to six months of celibacy, sobriety, and morbid boredom under the roof of Boston’s nerdiest girl alive, Sailor Brennan. The virginal archer is supposed to babysit my ass while I learn to take my place in Royal Pipelines, my family’s oil company. Little does she know, that’s not the only pipe I’ll be laying… Sailor I didn’t want this gig, okay? But the deal was too sweet to walk away from. I needed the public endorsement; Hunter needed a nanny. Besides, what’s six months in the grand scheme of things? It’s not like I’m in danger of falling in love with the appallingly gorgeous, charismatic gazillionaire who happens to be one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors. No. I will remain immune to Hunter Fitzpatrick’s charm. Even at the cost of losing everything I have. Even at the cost of burning down his kingdom.
Books in Series:	Boston Belles Series by L.J. Shen
Books by Author:	L.J. Shen

“I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

―F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

In this book, she isn’t.

“A Little Party Never Killed Nobody”—Fergie

“The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows”—Brand New

“Kill and Run”—Sia

“Truly, Madly, Deeply”—Savage Garden

“One Armed Scissor”—At The Drive-in

“When You Were Young”—The Killers

“Lullaby”—The Cure

Once upon a time there was a magic castle in which everything wilted but the soul of one boy.

He was six when she met him.

The girl had arrived with her mother to prepare a festive meal for his family. She roamed the hallways, gliding over the marble floors of his mansion on socked feet. She was five—far too young to appreciate the grand arches and courtyards of roses. She slid back and forth, occupying herself until her mother was done, while thunder cracked outside.

It was the kind of winter Bostonians talked about for years afterward, unyielding and persistent. The dark sky shot needles of hail down on the castle, the ice banging over the curved windows angrily. The girl slid toward one of the Gothic windows, pressing her hand against the cold glass.

She was surprised to see a small shadow lying on a sunbed by the pool, out in the rain. A boy. He lay very still, letting the downpour hit him without resistance. He simply took it, accepting the punishing lashes of hail on his skin.

Panicked, the girl began to pound the window. What if he was injured? Unconscious? Dead? Did she even know what death meant? She heard about it sometimes, when her parents thought she wasn’t listening.

She banged the glass harder. His head turned slowly her way—lazily, almost like she was of no importance.

His gray-blues met her light greens.

“Come in!” she shouted, looking left and right to find a door handle.

He shook his head.

“Please!” she cried.

“They’re sending me away.” She read his moving lips, but couldn’t hear him. “I’m leaving.”

“Where? Where are you going?” she called.

But he just turned around, angling his face toward the sky, welcoming the whiplash of the hail.

His eyes were open, she noticed. She followed his gaze, looking up at the black velvet of the night. There was no moon. No sun. The earth seemed so terribly lonely without one of them to watch over it.

The girl wondered what would happen if the sun kissed the moon.

She had no idea she’d find an answer to that question one day.

Or that the person to give it to her would be that very lonely boy.

Present

“Time to wake up, Captain McCrabson,” my friend/angel on my shoulder, Knight Cole, announced. The tip of his Margiela sneaker nudged my back.

Based on the hard surface underneath my aching muscles, I gathered I’d crashed on the floor again. And by the sticky feeling in my groin, followed by the breeze rolling through my neatly trimmed pubes, I knew I’d shoved my cock into holes I shouldn’t have the night before, and I was gloriously naked.

I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and rolling over on top of another warm, naked body. Tits. I felt tits. Nice, plump, and natural. Without opening my eyes, I brought a nipple into my mouth, suckling on it idly.

“Want some coffee with your milk?” Knight wondered aloud.

My hand descended its way along the chick’s stomach, down to her holy grail. She was wet and hot, arching her back, her thighs quivering with need. I began to rub her swollen clit, prepping her. My cock yawned its way into a semi, just as another body pressed against me from behind.

Jackpot.

“Taking your coffee with milk is like going down on a woman with a condom on your tongue. The Italians would exile you for less,” I murmured, eyes still closed, my lips against this girl’s skin.

“Thanks for the imagery,” Vaughn Spencer, my other good friend, quipped flatly.

“Pay no heed to me, old sport.” My available hand patted the flesh behind me, curling the other chick’s leg over my waist. Where are my condoms? Why were Knight and Vaughn offering me coffee and conversation instead of a rubber? They should be fired and replaced with wingmen who’d actually help me score. Not that I had any trouble in that department. “Just throw me a rubber before you leave, will ya?”

“Give your cock a timeout and wake the fuck up.” A muddy boot found its way to the side of my head, threatening to squash my skull.

Vaughn, AKA the devil on my shoulder.

On anyone’s shoulder, really.

I had a love-hate relationship with the motherfucker.

Love, because he was, after all, one of my best friends.

Hate, because he was, despite the abovementioned title, a cunt of gargantuan proportions.

My eyes popped open. The rest of my body signaled my brain that this orgy might die prematurely. Grains of sand and dirt from his boot dusted my temple. I felt my nostrils flaring, my pulse spiking up.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >126

Read Online Books/Novels:

The Rake (Boston Belles #4)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

Read Online Books/Novels:

The Monster (Boston Belles #3)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

B08ZZ1W8F3

Read Online Books/Novels:

(Boston Belles #2) The Villain

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

Read Online Books/Novels:

The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

1732624747 (ISBN13: 9781732624740)