Best Short Story Collections Novels & Stories

“So, what now? What are you asking me to do? To choose between the two of you? Who gets to fuck Nathan’s widow next? He isn’t even cold on the ground yet!” I instantly regretted sounding so harsh, but I was angry and confused. What the fuck was going on? Why had Nathan asked his best friends to do this? Never once had he treated me like a piece of ass to be pawned off to any man. Clearly, the illness had inhibited his ability to make sane decisions . “Listen, y’all. Franklin is gone. You don’t have to go through with this ridiculous plan to take care of me.” I did air quotes around take care of. “I have other shit to focus on.

My thighs pressed together on instinct, but it was already too late. A slick rush of wetness flooded my panties, hot and sudden, soaking the delicate lace until it clung to my swollen fold. My clit pulsed hard, as if his voice had whispered the command straight against my skin. God. I was dripping. Just from an email. Just from the knowledge that the most explicit thing I’d ever written...forty-three pages of raw, shameless fantasy...was now sitting in his inbox. I had submitted the wrong file. On Monday night I’d been running on cold coffee and three hours of sleep, watching a course submission portal count down the last two minutes before the deadline.

It won't happen again. "No, it's fine," I lied smoothly, trying to ignore the way my core tightened just remembering what I'd done while listening to him. "I needed to get some writing work done anyway." He leaned his heavy shoulder against the wall, sipping his coffee while his silver eyes thoroughly studied my face. "What do you do?" "I write books," I said. An eyebrow lifted, his interest clearly piqued. "An author? That's Impressive. What kind?" I stared into my cup, definitely not wanting him to know what kind of books I wrote. "Romance."

My fingers shivered as I submitted my creative writing piece to her. I prayed this time she wouldn't criticize my work again and force me into one of those dreaded makeup tests that I always had to take alone, which I hate so much. The manuscript felt weighted with my hidden thoughts, yet I'd managed to capture them on paper. I had poured my most secret longings into this narrative easily after watching my roommate shower, their skin glistening with water. That's when the concept for my story began to form for me.

“Someone who actually reads. Who’s been broken before and didn’t turn careful forever. Someone who… sees me. Not the version I put on dating apps. The real one. Messy and scared and all of it.” The words hung there. Vulnerable. Too much. Callum went very still. His hand moved to his jacket pocket. He pulled out the wrapped book and set it on the table between them. Sloane stared at it. Her throat felt tight. “Who was it for?” she asked, voice small. He rubbed the back of his neck. “My date. She mentioned Zaha Hadid once. I spent three days hunting this down. Essays on beauty in architecture. Stupid, right?”

Forever. End of book 36

The library stood silent, its towering bookshelves casting long shadows under the dim overhead lights, a sanctuary of knowledge where I retreated to lose myself in words. I was introverted, my mind a labyrinth of intellect, but beneath my reserved exterior simmered a curiosity about my own hidden fantasies—erotic encounters in quiet, public spaces, a thrill I’d explored before with lovers past. My skirt brushed my thighs as I moved, a book in hand, the rustle of pages masking the quickening of my breath as I imagined being caught in passion here.

They had dived into their favorite topic of discussion, their boyfriends. “Gideon is sooo good! He literally makes me come every time, every fucking time” Lauren said, fanning herself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Here we go again. “Me too!!!!” Helen giggled, eyes wide with excitement. “Brian does this thing with his tongue, and, oh my God, my eyes roll! I literally have to beg him to stop” They yapped none stop for hours. Who was better in bed. Who had a bigger dick. Who was freakier, Who ate pussy better. It was getting damn annoying because , my lovely boyfriend, was shit.

Until now, strange short stories had only very short stories. But from volume two I intend to add stories that have 10 to 20 captains as well. These stories are not so long nor have so much visibility as a separated book. For this reason, I decided to move all then into strange short stories, that is already a storybook of different themes.

Both things were equally disarming. “Where did you learn to watch like that?” she asked. “On trains,” he said. “As a boy I crossed borders and learned that eyes are passports. If you look, people hand you their stories. If you keep looking, they hand you their breath.” She felt the line of the dress against her spine as she straightened. The glass sweated against her palm. Down on the water, the tide changed key. It throbbed deeper. The cliff threw the sound back in a way that made the night feel occupied.