Unholy Cravings (Collection of Short Stories)

SaraThe bedroom door was cracked open. I knew I shouldn't be there. I told myself that as I crept down the hall, my bare feet silent against the floorboards. But it didn't matter. I wasn't thinking with my head.I was thinking about the way he looked at me last night.And the man I'd been aching for since I stepped into this house. He was lying in bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head. The TV was on, reflecting a soft blue glow across his chest and the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes shifted toward the door—and then to me. Neither of us said a word.I slipped in, shut the door behind me, and took slow steps toward him in nothing but one of his flannel shirts I'd stolen from the laundry earlier. It barely reached the tops of my thighs.He sat up slowly, eyes locked on me. Then his gaze dipped lower—down my legs, to the hem of his shirt brushing my thighs. He took his time taking it all in. I knew that look so well. "You're late," he said, voice rough like gravel.I bit my lip. "Ha

CarsonHer scent hit me the second I passed the guest bathroom. Sweet. Warm. Wet.I should've kept walking, Instead, I pushed the door open. She was at the sink, toothbrush in her mouth, wearing that tiny tank top with no bra, nipples hard beneath the thin fabric.She froze when she saw me in the mirror. But she didn't flinch. She just stared—mouth slightly open, daring me."You left the door unlocked," I said, stepping in and closing it behind me. "That's a dangerous habit."I didn't wait for permission. My hands were already on her hips, dragging her against me as I pressed my mouth to her neck. Her toothbrush hit the sink with a soft clink."You want to be caught, don't you?" I growled, my hand sliding under her tank and grabbing her bare breast. "You like playing dirty in my house."She moaned low, rocking back into me. "You're the one who walked in."I spun her around, lifted her to sit on the edge of the sink, and shoved the tank up to her collarbone. Her legs spread without hes

Carson I'd just killed the engine and was about to step out of the truck when I saw Layla and Sara walking down the driveway. My hand paused on the door handle.Layla headed straight for the driver's side window, hair pulled up in a lazy ponytail, her phone clutched in one hand. Sara trailed a few steps behind her, eyes already on me.My grip tightened."Thank God you're back, Dad," Layla said, knocking once on the window with her knuckles. "Can you drop us off at the shopping mall?"I leaned back in my seat, eyes shifting to Sara for the briefest second. Her gaze didn't waver. She wasn't flustered. Wasn't nervous. If anything, she looked like she'd been expecting me."What are you going there for?" I asked, keeping my tone even.Layla rolled her eyes playfully. "Sara and I have a few things to get. Since you haven't even gotten out of the car, please take us. It won't take long.""Please?" she added, drawing out the word in that persistent daughter-way she'd perfected since she was

SaraLayla almost caught us. Again.That makes it the second time now. And I swear, the way she looked at me—wide-eyed, like something wasn't adding up—it's only a matter of time before she pieces things together.I've tried to act normal around her. Smile at her stories, laugh when I'm supposed to, nod along like my insides aren't tangled up in guilt and heat. But deep down, I know I'm slipping. We're slipping.Right now, I'm sitting on a plastic white chair under some fairy lights that don't do much to brighten this dull little backyard gathering Layla dragged me to. "We're always cooped up at home," she had said. "You need to socialize, Sara. You're starting to look like you live in my dad's garage."I had forced a laugh. If only she knew how often I was in his room.Everyone here was chatting, music low in the background, drinks being passed around in red cups. It's typical, harmless. But all I can think about is being home. Being with him.The way his eyes darken when no one else

CarsonThe minute I stepped through the front door, I heard voices. Laughter coming from the kitchen.I didn't have to wonder who it was. Layla's guest. I set my bag down by the staircase, wiping a hand across the back of my neck. I hadn't even made it to the kitchen yet, and I was already thinking about getting this over with.The three were around the island, a deck of cards spread between them. Layla sat cross-legged on a stool, smiling like she didn't have a single worry in the world. Beside her was the guy—mid-twenties, wearing confidence like cologne. And across from him, leaning against the counter with one leg tucked under the other, was Sara.Her eyes found mine instantly. She froze. Not for long just a flicker but I saw it."Dad," Layla said, sitting up straighter. "You're back.""Yeah," I muttered, still looking at Sara.She quickly dropped her gaze to the guy, “Meet my friend Jayden,”“Jayden meet my Dad,” she introduced us. The guy stood, brushing his hands on his jeans.