Sharing A Shower Novels & Stories

During the Thanksgiving holiday week, my husband, Caleb Whitman, keeps working overtime. I feel sorry for how hard he's working, so I take over all the household chores. While doing the laundry, I pull a food delivery receipt from the pocket of his coat. Everything on the order appears to be intended for a pregnant woman. It has bone broth, baked salmon, and fresh seasonal vegetables. It's obvious that everything was chosen with care. There's even a note that says, "For an expectant mother. Keep it low in oil and salt. Make sure the utensils are sterilized." The delivery was sent to a luxury apartment above Caleb's office building. I crumple the receipt, let out a cold laugh, and deliberately call him during lunch. "So, when's the baby shower for your kid? Don't forget to send me an invite."

Fresh from a business trip, my husband swept me into his arms and pulled me toward the bathroom for a passionate shared bath. As our lips met in a dizzying kiss, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye: the toilet lid was down. Seven years ago, after reading an online article claiming that men urinating while standing could splash bacteria onto the seat, he insisted we always keep the lid up for hygiene's sake. In all our years of marriage, it had never been lowered until now. A chill ran through me. The bathroom was pristine, not a stray hair in sight. But then I noticed the shower's water temperature was set five degrees higher than the 98.6°F he always preferred. Men preferred cooler water, and women warmer. In an instant, I realized that Nick Doyle had betrayed me.

"Damn you, woman! How... you're my father's wife, how the hell are you still a virgin?" It was our wedding night, but instead of sharing a bed with my old, billionaire husband, I was rolling in cash. One million dollars—that was the price of my freedom, given to me just for marrying him. For a girl who used to survive on pennies, denying this offer would have been a sin. So, who cares if he’s old? I’m filthy rich now!

When I started college, my new roommate secretly used my phone to take a selfie. She sent it to the guy I was in an online relationship with and added the caption: [Baby, do you think I'm beautiful?] My boyfriend replied with a giant question mark, followed by a voice message full of curses. "Just thinking about dating someone with that face makes me want to puke!" "Let's break up, you ugly freak. Stay far away from me!" By the time I got out of the shower and tried to explain, I realized he had already blocked me. My roommate, holding her own phone, smugly told me, "The streamer I've had my eye on just added me. He says he wants to start an online relationship." When I looked at the account, I saw it was none other than my ex-boyfriend.

While my boyfriend, Caleb Lawson, is in the shower, I grab his phone on a whim and drop a message in the group chat he's in with his friends. "Guess who I'm with tonight." I expect them to say my name, but their reply blindsides me. "That freshman who used to chase you when you were a sophomore? She's obsessed with you. She's definitely easier than your girlfriend. Want us to swing by tonight?" My gut tells me he's hiding more than an affair. Just as I start scrolling through his messages with the freshman, a notification from her pops up. "Caleb, I agree to the threesome. I'll do anything you want." Seconds later, another message appears in the group chat. "Just be careful this time. We don't need another body on our hands."

Julian Fontaine came to Boston University with one goal: win the annual skating championship. He is a focused and disciplined figure skater with no time for distractions. Asher Beckett on the other hand is a loud golden-boy hockey jock, and the last person Julian wants anywhere near his ice. But when sharing a rink turns into stolen glances and unexpected late-night practices, Julian starts to wonder if falling for Asher might be the one risk worth taking. Because love, like skating, is best when you finally let yourself fall.

Marie Samantha Fortalejo was the average girl, with steady job as waitress and sharing an apartment with her best friend Linda, and living in Manhattan, New York. Iñigo Callan was a powerful cold man, then meant business when it comes to his powerful company. Iñigo never had a time for girls nor did he never want to get involved in one. But when her mother throws an ice ball party at his building, Samantha stumbled in a wearing blue beautiful dress. Iñigo couldn't help but feel captivated by the beautiful woman behind the mask.

A young woman, on the brink of death, has her life eternally changed forever. Sloan refuses to play the victim and becomes a strong Bounty Hunter who only needs to count on herself for survival. Her mission is to take down the scum of the earth, in hopes to save an innocent victim from sharing in her trauma. She enjoys her life of solitude, but what happens when she has a run-in with a soon to be Alpha while she's after a murderer? Will they tear each other apart or will Sloan find herself part of something she never imagined? Copyright ©2021 by Cc Lopez. All rights reserved.

Desire might be gentle but not here, it is filthy, possessive, obsessive and once you taste it you can never get enough. Steamy Sessions is NOT sweet slow burn novel with a charming prince, this collection contains quite a number of EXPLICIT ADULT CONTENT including: •Intense power play. • Pet play, pain play, bondage, obedience training. •Dubsub elements. •Possessive, obsessive, morally questionable love interests. •Dark Fantasies. •Exhibitionism, degradation and praise. •Noncon/Dubcon. •Sharing, Public Submission. •Sadistic Dom, Brutal Switches and Feral Brats. •Queer Characters. •Possessive Monsters.

My health was not good, but I had always wanted a child. My husband, citing concern for my health, avoided intimacy with me for a year. Then I stumbled across his private messages with another woman. [You'll spend Valentine's Day with me, right? You're not going to touch her tonight, are you?] [You know I don't like doing it just to make babies. Got you some lingerie. Wear it for me tomorrow.] That ill-fitting lace lingerie he was talking about was on my body. I'd slipped it on while he was in the shower, thinking it was a Valentine's Day surprise from him. Turned out, he hadn't bought the wrong size. He had just sent it to the wrong address. I clicked on the woman's profile. Her latest video showed her at the beach, hand in hand with the person filming. I recognized her hand instantly. It belonged to my best friend.