Classic Short Stories Novels & Stories

We never got to see how they lived happily though, but the smile in the last scene after which the The End, flew or swivelled or zoomed in, made it obvious. Nisim did tell me later that The Thief was a short story and short stories ended that way! It was five pages long, much longer than the stories in the book Deuta had gifted me on my eleventh Birthday – Aesop’s Fables – the stories in this book were never more than two pages. And always with a moral at the end. The Thief didn’t have a moral – that was the best part though – I never liked memorizing morals. But the thing was, my brother was calling the longest story I had read till then, a short story! By then, though, I had some idea of a

And the silence hurts worse than anything. End of story 3

Cora’s POV. “SMACK!” My skin sizzled from the impact of Ace's spank. I couldn't hold back the helpless moan escaping my lips. His palm grabbed onto the seam of my bum shorts, and he pulled it really hard, letting the fabric sit tightly between my folds. It felt so teasing, so hot, and my clit throbbed in response to the friction. “The way those pretty pink lips of yours fall out of your shorts is quite the sight. I wonder what they'll look like by the time I'm done fucking you,” he growls, now pulling the seam of my shorts back and forth.

Intimate. “Shh.” One finger pressed against my lips. “No more talking unless I tell you to. We wouldn’t want security to hear the prim little library assistant moaning like a whore when they finally check the building.” The crude word sent a shameful thrill straight to my core. I was already wet, embarrassingly so, just from one kiss and the way he was looking at me like he planned to devour me slowly. He stepped back slightly, eyes never leaving mine, and reached for one of the leather-bound books on the nearby table. It was an old edition of The Decameron, Boccaccio’s tales of lust and sin during the plague. One of the restricted volumes he’d borrowed before.

Why would he suddenly ask me that? I’d love to read one of your stories sometime," he murmured, his voice dropping into that dark, suggestive tone from my fantasies. He began to step back toward his apartment door. "Don't forget what I said. If you need anything at all, just come over. See you later, love.” He headed back to his apartment and I stood there like a statue, watching the way his gray sweatpants sat perfectly on his hips until his door finally clicked shut. ★★★★★ By Saturday night I had half a chapter and a problem.

Ethan ran a hand through his messy hair and leaned closer sharing stories about tough coaches and teammates riding his ass to perform. His voice dropped sometimes and each word made my nipples ache more. I added my own careful bits about feeling out of place without spilling the full disguise truth. The connection built fast with laughs over stupid people watching ideas like guessing who was about to get laid in the quad or who was hiding a bad hangover. “Imagine observing that couple over there,” he said nodding toward two students arguing quietly. “Guy looks like he wants to bolt but she has him by the balls. Classic.” I chuckled deep. “Yeah and he is probably thinking about the girl from

I didn't even wait to hear the rest of the sentence because the moment Kade's gaze left mine, I took to my feet and ran. I ran so fast to the room Lorena and I had been sharing that I could barely feel my legs hitting the carpet. By the time I reached the room, I hurriedly got inside and locked the door hard behind me, my breathing so loud in the quiet space. I hadn't realized how forcefully I'd locked it until I heard the echo nearly wake Lorena—she turned on the bed, making sleepy humming noises after I'd shut the door.

"And I tell them stories." "What kind of stories?" Herb said. This was the part that had gotten him out of bed early on a Saturday morning (his only day off from selling mattresses the rest of the week) to come over here. Willie had mentioned stories when Herb got after him for being late coming home so often. It seemed they made quite an impression on the kid, but when Herb asked what kind of stories they were Willie clammed up. The Brookwood woman shrugged. "You know: ghost stories. The kind children like. Mostly ones my grandmother told me when this was her home. I could tell you one, if you like? So you'll see that they're not so bad."

It doesn't help that we just had to turn the clocks back an hour for daylight saving, so now it’s already dark at five o’clock in the evening. Jon's Auto Shop is one of only two shops in the small town of Randleman, North Carolina. This is where I grew up and have lived my entire life. I want to leave, but I have nothing to leave for. I'm twenty-three, 5'5" with shoulder-length golden brown hair and hazel eyes. I'm not bad to look at in my opinion, but when all the eligible bachelors are men you've grown up with, it kind of decreases the options in the dating pool.

Renata was a girl who lived very modestly in a popular neighborhood in Mexico, she lived with her parents and three sisters, one of them was already married and had done very well, she had a very strong character and was the only one who faced her father without fear of being beaten. One day when she was still living with them, she came home from work and her father was hitting her mother, she interposed herself and her father was ready to hit her too, so she said to him: "Come on, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me: