Novel & Cerita Collection Of Short Stories For Adults

Still humming with it. And maybe—just maybe—I’d bring cream puffs so full they burst at the seams instead of those neat perfectly square little lemon bars. It had been almost a year since I’d actually been fucked—and let’s be honest, whatever Adam and I did barely qualified. Especially after what I’d seen here. Compared to the things I’d watched in this club, he may as well have been reading me a bedtime story. And tonight? I wasn’t in the mood for fairy tales. Maybe it was time to admit I wanted more.

he panted, trying to get his breathing back to normal. ‎ ‎"Really? I've thought about taking your gym shorts off every morning when you walk past my house, but I could not bring myself to do or say anything" I whispered to his lips as he kissed me again. ‎ ‎"Well that makes two of us. I guess we could thank the heat wave, yeah" he added inbetween kisses. ‎

Forever. End of book 36

“Remember how you’d get all dressed up in barely anything under your clothes and we’d go to Coverts? We’d watch the other couples, get so turned on and fuck all night” I swallowed, my nipples tightening at the memory. I hadn’t thought about Coverts, the members-only swingers club, in years. Nathan and I were more watchers than swingers, watching everyone’s pleasure, which heightened our own. When we first began dating, we went often. Each time, we’d end up having some of the best sex of our lives.. We would role play or do some light kink. The last time we had gone to Coverts, Nathan was as fit as a horse. Or so we thought...

Forbidden Pleasures Forbidden Obsession 1 The Inheritance The heavy gray rain fell in thick sheets, hammering loudly against the fabric of the black umbrella that Lillian held in her trembling hand. She stood entirely still on the wet grass, staring down at her mother’s fresh grave. She was only twenty-one years old, but as she looked at the dark earth, a terrible truth settled deep into her chest: she was now completely alone in this world.

Liora Vale had always loved the quiet. At twenty-one, she worked the night shift at the old city library. Most people thought the job was boring, but Liora loved being alone with the books after midnight. The tall shelves felt like old friends. One rainy night, while sorting the rare books section, she found a strange leather book hidden behind others. It had no title. When she opened it, the pages glowed softly. Words appeared. Choose a story. Bring him to life. One night only.

The old Victorian house on the hill had always felt haunted by secrets. This summer, it held new ones. My cousin Mia and I were staying with Uncle Victor while our parents traveled through Europe. At 23 and 25, we told ourselves it was just practical—free rent, a quiet place to finish our grad school projects. But the moment Uncle Victor opened the door, shirt unbuttoned at the collar and that familiar hungry look in his eyes, we both knew the real reason we’d come.

I took one step inside, then another, my eyes wide, my brain screaming at me to turn around and run but my body refused to listen. This was his private collection. This was where he brought women like the one I watched last night. This was where he tied them up and used them. I reached out and let my fingers brush over a pair of heavy metal nipple clamps. The chain between them was cool against my skin. My nipples ached so badly I wanted to pinch them myself right then. I picked up one of the smaller dildos, thick and realistic, and my mind flashed to Richard’s cock from last night—how it had stretched that woman open, how deep he had gone.

“I have my moments.” We talk about everything except football—travel horror stories, worst interviews we’ve done (theirs are better than mine), the general absurdity of adult life. Harper tells a story about accidentally interviewing the wrong athlete at the Olympics—fifteen minutes in before anyone realized. Sloane talks about the time she got stuck in an airport for three days covering a story that fell through. I tell them about the teammate who thought “per diem” was a type of pasta. It’s easy. Natural. The kind of conversation that makes hours feel like minutes.

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