Clara Read Novels & Stories

Clara shook me, snapping me from the darkness of dizziness. I couldn't grasp the situation and I felt the urge to close my eyes and shut down everything around me. Guess I did it but the result was worst. ____________________ Hey you all! If you guys can answer, can you tell me what kind of stories do you like to read more (based on the genres too)? Lya all ♡♡

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Clara sat in the window of the first possible coffee shop and muffled a yawn. She had been here for several hours staring at everyone who came in through the door. So far, she had seen a lot of people in office wear picking up orders, but none of them had been Caiden. She picked up her phone and took her gaze off the door. She texted Arthur to complain about being bored and checked her emails. Whilst she was occupied, her attention slipped and she missed the person she had been waiting for walking through the door.

"I've heard tales of a human living among werewolves—a human with a unique connection to the alpha. You must be Clara." Clara stepped forward, her gaze steady. "That's right. And you are?" Elara's smile widened, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I am Elara, a friend—or at least, I could be." I kept a protective stance, not fully trusting her intentions. "What do you want with us?" Elara's gaze shifted between Clara and me, a hint of intrigue in her eyes. "I have an offer for you, Clara. An exchange of information for a small favor. It could be beneficial to both of us."

Smiles she’s seen before, now rearranged into something unmistakable. The timestamps sit beneath each image like quiet witnesses, impossible to argue with. Clara's chest tightens as the messages appear. For months. I watch her as she scrolls, my expression unchanged. I was standing looking at Clara, not to point things out. I let the evidence speak for itself. The glow of the screen reflects faintly in Clara’s eyes as she reads, as understanding settles in with brutal clarity. Aiden. Gina. Together.

A small, clear voice—hers, yet not hers—emerged from the chaos: “Breathe. Just breathe.” She obeyed, slowly, shakily. Inhale… exhale… Inhale… exhale… The voices faltered, momentarily confused by the rhythm. She clung to the small, tangible sensations: the rough carpet under her palms, the steady thump of her heartbeat, the faint hum of the radiator.

Claire touched her forehead. “Later me.” “Future?” “No.” She looked confused. “After compression.” “But before now?” “Yes.” Root frowned. “That is contradictory.” Claire smiled. “Welcome to being me.” Elena stepped closer. “You told me you stopped reading.” “I remember.” “Was it true?” “Yes.” “What were you reading?” Claire’s smile disappeared. “Not your story.” “I know.” “The archive.” “No.” Claire shook her head. “I thought it was the archive.” Silence.

Clara said, then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, making her mom smile. "Are you sure you won't wait for breakfast?" Dr. Ellen asked, her voice a mix of disappointment and concern. "No way! And risk going late and landing into more trouble? I'm off," Clara said, then took the car keys on the dining table. Vivian sat on the couch, holding a cup of steaming hot chocolate in one hand while the other was holding the novel Tales of the Great Gatsby, even though Damian had spoiled the story for her by telling her what happened at the end. She was still determined to read it to the end herself, trying to lose herself in the book.

His deep voice alone made her clit throb. “I’ll be there in an hour.” Clara got ready carefully. She put on a light summer dress, short, with no bra and no panties. Her shaved pussy rubbed against the fabric with every step, already starting to get wet. She grabbed her laptop just for appearances, but she knew she wouldn’t use it. She wanted to live the scene, not write it.

How? Only one person came to mind. Clara. ****** Across the city, Clara smirked as she tossed her phone onto the couch. The thrill of power of control buzzed in her veins. “So, the little dove didn’t fly away after all,” she murmured, pouring herself a glass of wine. “Perfect.” She picked up her phone again and typed a new message on an anonymous number.  Leave before I make you regret staying. She hit send. Then she dialed another number — one she hadn’t used in years.