Folding Warhammer Table Novels & Stories

“I need this job, Ralph, and I’m willing to do anything to get the job, I mean anything you want.” I told him, walking over to his side and sitting on his table, spreading my legs to give him a good view of my thong. “What makes you think I would fall for this cheap act of yours, what makes you even think I’m interested in your body?” he asks me, his eyes fixed on my cleavage. “I know you like me, Ralph, you can’t take your eyes off my body, I see you drooling when I walk by and I know you want more of me. Besides, how can you not want more when you’ve had a taste of me already. You popped my cherry, remember?” I asked him, putting my legs on his armchair, fixing my eyes on his. “Fine, you win, you got the job, goddamit! Just get out of my office before I do something stupid.” He yelled at me, pulling his hand through his hair in frustration. I smiled excitedly as I jumped down from the table, heading for the exit. “And Victoria, ”he called out to me as I opened his office door. I turned with a raised brow praying in my heart that he doesn’t change his mind. “Be very careful around me, I can be very dangerous when provoked. This emotional blackmail won’t work on me all the time. The next time you try to seduce me again, I won’t hold back, I would screw you right here on the bare table,” he warned me sternly. I know that was meant to sound like a threat, yet I moaned at the thought of him bending me over on his table and screwing my brains out.

Getting a good job that pays is kind of difficult and an offer came to her to commit a crime when she is no killer but for the money, she had no choice. She never planned to love but planned to be the billionaire hit woman, what happens when the table turns?

Stephan had wanted to use parsley his fiancee to blackmail his uncle into giving him a contract while having affair with her step sister . unfortunately for Stephan his uncle who was known to be ruthless cold and arrogant turned the table on him and made parsley his.

One day, billions woke up on an endless highway. One vehicle each. One life each. No exits. Others got scooters, bicycles, or tractors. Jake Maddox got a beat-up motorhome. Level-one zombies have 20 strength. Humans have 5. And Cthulhu monsters lurk in the mist. This isn't a game—it's a slaughter. But Jake has a cheat: Gold Mods. He glances at his status screen and smirks. "Not enough stats? Gold mods to the rescue." [Fuel Tank] + [Infinite] = unlimited fuel. Floor it and leave everyone choking on dust. [Tires] + [Indestructible] = unbreakable, unshakable, unstoppable. No attack gets through. [Motorhome] + [Spatial Folding] = a mobile fortress that fits it all — storage, pool, villa, armory, and more. [Windows] + [One-Way Transparent] = armored steel to the outside, panoramic views from within. Total safety, zero claustrophobia. While others shiver and barter their souls for half a bottle of gas, Jake sits in his climate-controlled motorhome, eating a steaming-hot chicken pie, watching a Cthulhu boss try to break in. His calm response? "That tentacle would taste pretty good grilled." … From Lv.1 Beater Motorhome to Lv.100 Ark of the Old Ages—as long as Jake can imagine it, no mod is off the table. Gold mods. Show me your limits.

Due to my heightened sensitivity, even the slightest touch causes an uncontrollable reaction. My husband, concerned, sends me to the hospital for treatment. As I lie on the operating table, the attending doctor unexpectedly triggers a wave of intense response from me—right in front of my husband.

I confirmed Vincent Lowe was cheating on me on the day of our third wedding anniversary. The dining table was filled with dishes, yet he barely touched his fork before heading out the door. "Where are you going?" I asked. His answer was unnervingly straightforward. "A friend's treating me to dinner. Cassidy Mason—you know her, right? It's a free meal. It'd be a waste not to accept." An hour later, however, I received a voice message from Cassidy. In the message, Vincent's voice was lighter and livelier—so different from how he ever sounded with me. "They say you should marry someone you can truly enjoy a meal with. I really regret meeting you so late. If only I had known you earlier, I would've married you instead." I listened in silence. Then, alone at the table, I finished every last bite of the meal I had prepared. Afterward, I left a divorce agreement behind.

I'm undressed and bound to a testing table when my family comes to pick me up. A thick, sharp needle pierces into my neck. A drug is administered into my blood, and the pain almost makes me lose consciousness. Behind me, I can feel a man's cold hands stroking my skin amorously. Before me, several people are staring at me. They point at me and treat me like an educational instrument. I tremble in fear and curl up on the testing table in pain. Three years ago, my brother sent me to Mykorra's war zone to stand up for Yvette Sanders. Those were the three most insulting and torturous years of my life. They burned away my hope for kinship but not my desire for survival. As the hands roam lower on my body, I bite my lip so hard that I almost draw blood. As the hands start to go overboard, someone knocks on the door. "Wendy Sanders, your brother is here for you."

My dad arrives at the hotel after taking three bus rides from the town two hours before the wedding starts. He's wearing the old suit that he has kept for the past ten or so years. The cuffs have gone white from all the washing, and his shoes shine brightly from all the polishing. Before entering, Dad has specifically pinned the red boutonniere to his chest several times while looking at his reflection in the glass of the hotel's main entrance just so he can get it right. After all, it symbolizes his status as the bride's father. When Dad is about to take his seat, he grasps the card that shows his seat as he approaches my future husband, Elliott Chambers, tentatively. "Elliott, there seems to be a mistake with my seat." Elliott merely glances at the card before pushing it back to Dad. "Your seat is correct. There are limited spots at the main table, so you'll have to sit at a spare table at the back." Dad is stunned by Elliott's answer. "But it says here that I'm meant to sit at the main table…" Elliott frowns at Dad. "This is a last-minute adjustment. The shareholders and important clients of Chambers Corp will be attending my wedding today. Not everyone gets to sit at the main table." Dad looks down at his old suit before he slowly stuffs the card back into his pocket. He wants to take off the boutonniere, but the pin gets stuck in the fabric of his jacket. The more he wants to take it off, the more his hand keeps shaking. That's when Elliott's mother, Catherine Aldridge, speaks up. "All the seats are the same, Patrick. Don't cause any trouble for Elliott now." Dad quickly nods in response. "You're right. I'm fine with any seat." Then, he picks up the old wooden chest that's sitting by his feet before heading toward the spare table that's located in the corner. I raise my head, only to see a seating card titled "The Carvers" being placed on the most obvious spot of the main table. At the moment, Elliott is helping Claire Carver's mother into her seat. As for my dad, he's hugging the chest containing the wedding gifts meant for me while sitting by the kitchen door.

Two weeks before I stopped waiting, Ethan Hayes gave my island invitation to another woman. Her name was Mia Lawson. Twenty-six, pretty, soft-spoken, and always close enough to him that people had started pretending not to notice. That night, everyone at our table went quiet. Ethan didn't. He placed the envelope in her hand and said, "You've been working too hard. Take a break." Mia blushed like he had given her roses. I looked at the envelope, then at the man I had waited eight years to marry. That island was supposed to be ours. The beach, the villa, the ceremony site facing the ocean. All of it. Maya gripped my hand under the table and whispered, "Claire, say something." But I only smiled, because if I opened my mouth, I was afraid I would beg. And I was done begging. Two weeks later, on that same island, my phone kept lighting up with Ethan's name. I didn't answer. I was already wearing the white dress he had told me to return.

My ex-boyfriend, the Don's heir, was getting married today. In the grand reception hall, the bride, Elena, moved through the crowd with a champagne flute in hand, toasting the bosses and captains who'd flown in from across the island. In the dressing room, Luca had me pinned against the gown the bride had just changed out of, fucking me hard. The mirror gave me back a stranger, hair tangled, not a stitch of clothing left on me, my neck covered in marks he'd left like a signature. The camera on the side table blinked red. Three knocks at the door. Luca stood up, straightened the white rose boutonniere on his lapel, picked up the black earpiece from the table and pressed it in. He tossed it at me without looking. "One night. Half a million euros. Anna, you're even pricier than I remembered." I watched his back as he walked out, and picked up the check with shaking hands. Rosa, don't be scared. Mama's got the money to save you.