Best Fantasy Short Stories Novels & Stories

How can we put an end to this if we don’t stay away from each other? We were not in any kind of relationship, but when I write my diary entry that night, it feels like I’ve been jilted. I strike through the whole entry, determined not to let him mar my sexy fantasies. Just because I stopped acting on these fantasies doesn’t mean I can’t write them. This time, I’m writing from experience. When Rhys touches me in my fantasies, I feel his touch as though it were real, the scent of his skin when he embraces me so unadulterated that the lines between imagination and reality start to blur.

he said, stepping behind her. She obeyed. His hand brushed down her spine, fingers grazing every vertebra. The touch was light, maddening. When he reached the small of her back, he leaned in. His mouth hovered near her ear. “You know what makes your stories so dangerous?” he whispered. “They were begging to be made real.” She whimpered, barely able to hold still. He moved in front of her again and brought the glass to her lips. “Drink.” She sipped the whiskey. It burned her tongue, her throat, her chest. But it grounded her. Reminded her she was real. Alive. Here.

it was an erotic story ,titled the hot kidnapper) I raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in my eyes. I push off from the desk and walk closer, my heels clicking on the floor. “A story, huh? You think you can just walk in here and write a tale for me? How about you show me what you’re made of first? Tell me, what’s your fantasy? What gets you going in the dark?” I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, my large breasts pressing against your arm. (Pushing the paper to you I ask you to read it aloud ,you cheeks turn a faint red as you try to explain you brought the wrong story,I press a finger to your lips shushing you and telling you to read, you read it all)

I had arrived at The Dungeon of Desires, a clandestine BDSM club hidden away in the heart of the city, where only the most depraved and perverse souls dared to tread. As I adjusted my black mask, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation coursing through my veins. The dim lighting cast an eerie glow across the room, revealing various stations of depravity: whipping posts, spanking benches, and an array of torture devices that would make even the most hardened masochist shudder.

He used his blunt fingers to stretch me wide, digging into my soft skin, making sure he could reach every sensitive nerve ending. “I never dreamed of a day like this,” he muttered against my wet skin, his tongue swirling around my clit. “A day where I could fulfill all my sickest fantasies on a sleeping, half-dead woman. You’re my favorite toy, Amy. My perfect, silent, dripping toy. You're so wet for me, and you don't even know it.”

“Obsessed with the aesthetics of surrender. You collect it. You consume it. But you never ask yourselves what it would cost to live it.” He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—something sharp, cedar and smoke. “What’s your sickest fantasy?” he asked me. “Not the polished p**n version. The real one. The one that makes you wet just thinking about it.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I glanced at Philip. He nodded—tiny, almost imperceptible.

I melted into the kiss, tasting the wine and the passion and the promise of many more nights exactly like this one. Best drunk sex of my life.

I can see them all now, four walls of muscle, four sets of eyes glowing with an unhinged, animal hunger. The Feral doesn't wait for permission. He is sick with the need to touch me. He lunges forward, his hands grabbing the back of my head. He forces his fingers into my mouth, stretching my lips until they hurt. "Taste me," he growls, his voice sounding more like a wolf than a man. "Taste how much I want to break you." I can’t even scream. I can only moan against his hand, my eyes rolling back as I feel the first real contact of the night.

I was inspired by Eoin Colfer and fused his style with my own and in fantasy genre. And lastly as for another work on Goodnovel.com I've a contemporary romance I'd love to suggest because now I'm aware of the flash forward style of GN. It's entitled as "Winning Over The Cold Heiress." Thank you~

Her mind got stuck on the mention of Dabir's name. "And then Mom told Zamin to... Aunt Iman?" Madiha was halfway through her story but realized Iman was not listening. "Huh? What were you saying?" "Nothing." Madiha shook her head. It wasn't anything important. "Can you please make laddoo for me?" The sweet little balls of gram flour were Madiha's favorite, especially the ones that Iman makes. "Of course." Iman andwers as memories of past flodded in her brain.