Desire And Decorum Novels & Stories

he whispered. My breath stopped. “But I regret wanting more.” My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. He leaned closer…so close our noses were almost touching. “I regret wanting to pull you into my room last night,” he continued softly. “Regret, wanting to finish what you started...Regret losing control because of you.” “Clark…” “And most importantly,” he whispered, eyes darkening, “I regret how much I still want you right now.” My lips parted and my entire body heated.

This hint of cruelty and ruthlessness that only added to his appeal. There was just something about his demeanor that elevated him in my heart—it was like he existed two realms: The human, and the underworld realm where beauty, grace, and charisma converge into a singular, breathtaking form. It was actually sickening the way I had fallen so hard for him. “Fuck, I think he’s coming over here.” I snapped my head, staring pointed at Rowan to act normal. She merely gave me a cheeky smile before returning her gaze to watch Kai. A deep frown appeared between her brows a minute after. “What’s wrong?” I asked, mirroring her frown.

"You're my wife. I won’t tolerate you getting cozy with other men—no matter how innocent you think it is. I know what men are like. They all want the same thing." The words hit me like a slap. "Is that so?" I asked quietly, my voice tight. In an instant, every inappropriate moment between him and Desiree flooded my mind. The foot flirting under the table. The lingering touches that lasted too long. The sight of her wearing his shirt like it was nothing. The way he held her while she cried. Did he want what all men wanted... with her? I turned sharply on my heel, marching toward the exit, past the gleaming cars and valet stand.

Like I wasn't sitting fifteen feet away with my heart trying to escape my chest. "Desire," he said, writing the word in sharp, aggressive strokes, "is not neutral. It never has been. Literature doesn't just describe desire-it shapes it. It tells us what we should want, who we shouldn't want, and what happens when we want the wrong thing." He paced and loosened his tie. I watched his hands and hated myself for watching.

Something that resembles a form of sacred fear. My initial plan, that neat little transaction, seems to belong to another life, to another man. That man was an idiot. He hadn't seen the crack in himself, that crack that only wanted to be filled with her. Now, she's in it. And nothing will ever be able to fill it but her. Desire, strangely, hasn't been extinguished with the easing of physical hunger. It smolders, different. Less urgent, deeper. It's no longer just about taking. It's about care. About marking, still, but through cleanliness, through the intimacy of the act that washes.

“About last night. About… everything we’re not allowed to be.” “Then you’ll wait,” she said softly, eyes locking on his. “And you’ll respect the terms. That’s the rule.” He exhaled sharply, tension draining slightly, replaced by something softer, more intimate. “I’ll wait,” he murmured. “But it’s killing me.” “And it should,” she said lightly, though her pulse raced. “Because desire isn’t about immediate gratification. It’s about… control. About respect. About knowing we’re worth the effort.”

I asked, trying not to sound as startled as I felt. Her lips curved in a faint, apologetic smile. “Especially for a family dinner,” she replied. “The Deveraux place great value on propriety. It signifies respect toward the house and its members.” I turned back toward the mirror and exhaled slowly. “Right,” I murmured. “Then… I’ll wait.” They stepped back, forming a quiet semicircle along the wall, half fearing I would run towards the door the second they looked away. A part of me hoped Cassie would burst in, complaining again about lace sleeves and ribbon trims but the minutes stretched, and my thoughts drifted restlessly.

The kind of proximity that made the air thicken, that pulled memories and desire to the surface whether either of them wanted it or not. “You don’t get to dictate relevance,” he said quietly. “You walked away.” “And you chose comfort over fire,” she replied. “Don’t rewrite that.” The room might as well not have existed. For one breathless second, it was just them, hate sharp as hunger, desire coiled tight beneath years of restraint. Anyone with eyes could see it. Anyone with sense could feel it. The chairwoman slammed her palm lightly against the table. “Enough!” Both of them turned.

“Please excuse me and the interviewee. I’ll handle her myself. He said with a readable smirk. Hmm, what could he mean by that? Does it mean he wants to be inside me as well? Chairs moved backwards and everyone seated stood up and left while carrying their belongings. It was just me and him stuck inside the boardroom. No noise, no stares. Literally two horny bastards waiting to devour one another without hesitation. He got up from his chair and walked all the way from where he sat to where I am sitting. Hmm, this should be interesting. I thought to myself.

Not when it came to her and her desires, no matter how inappropriate or unbecoming they might be. The thought brought a flush of mingled shame and longing to her cheeks. Shame at her own willingness - her desperation, even - to throw propriety to the wind for him without a second thought. And longing for the scorching intensity of his touch, the soul-searing heat of his kiss, the sublime rapture of having him sheathed deep inside her innermost depths as he took her apart with ruthless precision.