Forehead Insult Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Desmond,” I breathed out, “don’t.” But he didn't listen to my plea. His lips found my neck, his teeth gently grazing the frantic pulse that betrayed my panic. My skin instantly lit up beneath his mouth, a complete traitor to my mind. When his hand slid lower, tugging at the drawstring of my skirt, a terrifying mix of panic and deep heat crashed together inside me. “Desmond, please. This is wrong.” “Nothing about you has ever been wrong to me,” he growled out against my throat. Clothes instantly fell away as if they had never mattered. My shirt. His shirt. My skirt. The last threads of my will to fight. He settled heavily between my thighs, a burning hot weight. I felt him hard against me, thick and urgently insistent. My breath hitched sharply when the blunt head of his cock nudged my entrance. “Tell me to stop, Ana,” he said, his voice ragged, his eyes desperately locked on mine. “Say the word, and I will immediately.” I opened my mouth to speak. No sound escaped. He pushed in, moving with agonizing slowness, stretching me open inch by painful inch. A broken, strangled sound left my throat as he filled me completely, buried deep to the hilt inside my most intimate space. My inner walls instantly clenched around him, shocked, aching, and intensely alive. He stilled his movement, letting me fully register every powerful throb of him inside me. “Fuck, Ana,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel completely like mine.” Then, he moved again.

My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby. Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul. I became invisible to him. Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times. He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media. [My little angel smiled today!] I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass. "I want a divorce." They all froze. "Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison. Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?" I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."

I was born with a cursed tongue. The words I said came true. So as soon as I understood what that meant, I stopped speaking. For more than twenty years, I never said another word. Then my six-year-old son knocked his pregnant aunt over by accident, and my husband sent him to a kennel. My son had been bitten by a dog before. He was terrified of them. I begged. I went down on my knees and slammed my forehead against the floor until it was bleeding. Connor Grant lifted his sister-in-law Camille Lane up off the ground, ran a tender hand over her swollen belly, and his voice came out cold. "Don't think I can't see what's behind this. He did it because you put him up to it. You're a calculating little mute. He has your filthy blood in his veins. If we don't break him now, he grows up worthless." "Send him somewhere that knows how to teach a child his place. Teach him how things rank in this house. And teach you, while we're at it. Don't touch what isn't yours." By the time I found my son, he was in a cage with five vicious dogs. There was almost nothing left to hold. I pieced the small body back together. I opened my mouth for the first time in over twenty years, and the first words I had spoken in my life were: "Connor Grant. Blood for blood. I will see this house buried."

My Alpha mate's childhood sweetheart was a witch. She told everyone my blood carried a Cursed Bloodline — that bonding with Damon would kill him. On our anniversary, she drew a Curse Circle outside my door, claiming it would suppress my dark energy. At our Mating Ceremony, she disguised herself as a server and swapped our Bonding Tokens for a Curse Rune. Every single time, she'd kneel in front of Damon and cry: "I'm only trying to protect you from the curse. Everything I do is for you!" And every single time, Damon went soft. He said she just cared about him too much. Until the eve of our Marking Ceremony, when she drugged me, put on my Luna ceremonial gown, and crawled into Damon's bed. I woke up just in time and reported her to the Pack Enforcers. Damon went straight to the Enforcers' station to get her out, then turned to me and said coldly: "Serena was just trying to protect me. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of this?" Until I bled out during labor and fell into a coma, and she stood over me with tears in her eyes, telling Damon: "Choose me and let her go — this is the will of the Moon Goddess.." I left this world together with the child still in my belly. Then I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day of the Mating Ceremony, and she was about to slip the Hex Rune into our token box. This time, I didn't hold back. I ripped open the box in front of everyone and slapped the rune onto her forehead: "I think the one who needs cleansing is you!"

Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong. The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack. Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here." But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.​ She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..." But I didn't even blink. She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. There was only silence.​ Completely lost and scared, she found my phone. "Daddy, why is Mommy still sleeping?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.​ In response, Oliver sent a photo of himself having Christmas Eve dinner with his childhood sweetheart. His voice was icy cold when he replied, "She's just sleeping, not dead. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm busy. Tell her to stop playing games and come apologize when she's done sulking." Then he hung up.​ But when the truth finally hit Oliver—when the coroner's report came, when the police knocked on his door right in the middle of his laughter, when he realized I'd been lying dead for four days while he toasted—he broke.

In this tale, two broken hearts are brought together by fate. Cradled with good news to give her husband about their unborn child, Esita caught him in bed with his lover and to add insult to injury, his lover attacked her while she was trying to get answers from him. This confrontation led to her miscarriage and an accident that almost claimed the life of Lucian Nut's only beloved daughter. For many years after his ex-wife and mate walked out on him and their daughter, Lucian had devoted his entire life to taking care of her so when her life was put at risk, he wasn't willing to back down and let the matter slide. However his daughter, Layla is a compassionate woman and sympathetized with Esita especially when her husband showed up with divorce papers for her to sign. Along the line, Lucian recognized Esita as his second chance mate but because she doesn't have her mate, Esita doesn't realize it until much later. Not wanting to be far away from his mate even though he wanted nothing to do with her, Lucian kept Esita around. When the council of elders hand him and ultimatum to get an heir or risk losing his Alpha status, he chooses someone else as a surrogate mother for his child but isn't ready to let Esita go. When jealousy and envy collide, Esita's life and that of her unborn child might be at risk unless Lucian steps up and saves them both from harm. With the arrival of his ex-wife back on the screen, things are about to be more complicated. Can Lucian protect his second chance mate and let go of the hurt of the past enough to be happy with her?

"I love you," he gazed at her eyes which are dropped on the floor while he cups her cheeks with his palm. She doesn't look at his eyes. She seems scared. But with what he doesn't understand. "Do you not like me? Even a little bit?" his voice enunciates but she doesn't response to it. He waits for her answer but she doesn't reply him. He tries to back away from her. But as he is leaving, she holds his hands suddenly. "I don't know. I don't know whether I like you or not. I just don't want you to go away. I just don't want you to leave me," she says with the tears sparkling on her eyes. "Esther!" He presses his forehead against her as his breaths fasten. He can feel that along with his, her breaths are quickened as well. He realizes that the fire is burning on both side and she is equally anxious as she is. A smile creeps on his lips as he feels that. "I love you, Esther. You're made for me and I am made for you. We are made for each other," he smiles and presses his lips against her. "You're day dreaming one more time? What the fuck are you dreaming about Esther? Is it about my old man? Are you dreaming about him?" He pushes her against the wall and punches hard on the wall making his knuckles be red and bleed. "Nooo...Nooo... Caden! You're wrong," she cries.

Don Vincent White and I were known as soulmates. Everyone in the city said so. But our wedding never happened. Every time we tried, something got in the way. Bad weather. Scheduling conflicts. Emergencies. Three years ago, Vincent had to leave overseas to handle urgent family business. Before he went, he kissed my forehead and said, "I promise this is the last time. Wait for me." I believed him. So I waited. One thousand, ninety-five days. Ten days ago, he finally came back. I thought the three-year wait was over. I thought we would finally have our wedding. Then last night, I overheard him talking to his underboss, Marco Blue, outside his study. "You're really going to marry Miss Black? What about Vivian and the boy? Luca is over two years old now. He's your own son. This won't stay hidden forever." "Back when Vivian was pregnant, you made up every excuse to delay the wedding. But if Miss Black ever finds out—" Vincent's eyes cut like a blade. "Sophia must never know. My wife will only ever be Sophia. Tell Vivian to watch her mouth and keep that child in line." Luca. Two years old. His own flesh and blood. So while I spent three years waiting for him to come home and marry me, he already had someone else. A child over two years old. I stumbled back to the bedroom. Hands shaking, I called my grandfather. "Grandfather, I'm ready. I'll take your place and become the Donna."

Mina Mendoza never expected her quiet life to end with a blood-soaked stranger collapsing in her bar. Luciano is older, dangerous, and carries the kind of power she knows better than to get close to. One night of helping him turns into a war she never meant to step into, and the mafia world she avoided pulls her in with no way out. But the worst part is not Luciano. It is the man standing behind him. Frankie, Luciano’s younger brother, is Mina’s first love, the boy she lost and never honestly forgot. Now he is caught between loyalty to his brother and the feelings he buried years ago. Mina is trapped between the man who crashed into her life like a storm and the man who still owns a piece of her heart. As danger closes in, Mina must choose whom she trusts, whom she loves, and whom she is willing to risk everything for. Saving Luciano changed her world. Loving either brother might destroy it. ~SNEAK PEEK~ His voice dropped, low and possessive. “Fine. One kiss, then we wait.” I told him I didn’t care. “I want you now.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Once we start, there is no going back.” I nodded, and something shifted in his eyes. He leaned me back on the bed, hands braced beside me. “Are you sure?” “If I weren’t sure, we wouldn’t be here.” His kiss was deep, powerful, slow, stealing my breath. I arched into him as his mouth traced my jaw and throat, heat racing through me. “I need you,” I whispered, and everything changed.

I masterminded a half-billion-dollar art auction to wash money for Miles’s family. But at the celebration party, Miles gave all the credit to Rebecca. His childhood friend. The daughter of the family’s consigliere. I stormed into his study. “Miles, head curator was Rebecca? Are you sure about that?” He looked up from a cloud of smoke, pulling me into his arms. His voice was a low, soothing rumble. “Valerie, I know you want to prove yourself, but this was all Rebecca. Especially the Caravaggio. The real one, worth three hundred million. She’s the one who pulled it off.” His lips brushed my forehead, his breath hot. “I don’t love you because you can fix some old paintings. You’re my queen, always. My girl. You don’t have to worry about her.” I almost laughed. The anger was choking me. “She can’t tell the difference between oil and acrylic. How the hell would she know a real from a fake?” “Enough!” Miles cut me off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I know what Rebecca can do. Don’t make a scene just because you’re jealous.” His hands tightened, trapping me in his smoky embrace. “Don’t disappoint me, Valerie.” But he already had. When I’d had enough of his favoritism and his blindness, I walked. And that's when he went crazy. Scoured the earth looking for me. Begging me to come back, saying he was blind, that he’d been wrong about everything.