Don't Touch Me Im Scared Novels & Stories

I began dancing again, keeping close, reminding him, “Just so you know, you can’t touch unless I say so.” “Got it,” he replied, leaning back in his chair, looking eager. But as I danced, he started creeping closer. I felt his hands reaching out. “Hey, remember what I said?” I warned, trying to keep my voice serious. “No touching until you ask.” He smirked and leaned toward me. “Come on, just a little.” “Seriously, no,” I insisted, stepping away. “I’m not comfortable with that.” Suddenly, he lunged at me, pinning me to the chair. I gasped and felt panic rising. “What are you doing?” I yelled, feeling scared.

Then, I yank my hand away from him. “Yes! Okay! I have been scared!”

It wasn't even close to what he was damaging me with. " Ple-ase. " I sobbed. My tears have been wiped off by him, his rough pad of finger felt like a hot pan to me. I flinched and hiccuped. " Don't...Please. Don't touch me. " My chin wobbled, and my chest was vibrating in fear. It hurts to even breathe.

“Don’t be scared, I won’t…” “Ahhhh, don’t touch me!” Catherine dove into the covers in fright, her body shaking like a leaf. “I won’t dare anymore. I shouldn’t have hit you. You can do whatever you want in the future. I’m really scared now. I’ve learned my lesson!”

In my panic and desperation, I found myself hugging the leg of what appeared to be their boss, clinging to him like a child to a parent. "Don't leave me here! I'm afraid of ghosts!" I cried out, my voice muffled against his leg. The sight of those bodies, the reality of violent death, had shattered what little composure I had left. In my traumatized state, the dead men seemed like they might rise at any moment, seeking revenge on the living. "Fuck," the man cursed, rubbing his temples in obvious irritation. I didn't let go of his leg, my grip tightening with my fear.

Then, his deep voice, commanding me: "Don't stop, Gardenia." Oof. No fear. He'd have to order me away. Only his rejection or a natural disaster could get my hands off this man. An earthquake, maybe, or a forest fire. Even then, I'd wait until the last possible second to let go. He's so warm, so alive under my touch. I feel like I'm petting a tiger. I'm thrilled and smug and powerful–and braced for a snarl any second. Sure enough, Dr Ambrose clears his throat abruptly, then two strong hands take my wrists. He plucks me off as easily as brushing away cobwebs, then nudges me up off his armrest.

I was horrifically mortified, he was touching me without my permission and when his hand didn’t leave my cheek, I jerked back, disgust washed all over my eyes. “D-Don’t t-touch m—me,” I stuttered, balling my petite frame and pinning myself in the sofa. I took a cushion and hugged it tightly. “What are you g—guys going to do with m—me?” I asked frighteningly, my eyes watery as I imagined what actually they could do to me.

I scream, struggling, but I can't even move him an inch. "I'll take care of this wound later! Don't worry, you won't have any scars! He told me without worrying about my cries. His other hand then drifts to my waist, then to the bare skin of my thighs. I swallow hard. "Don't touch me, son of a bitch!" I cried. Do not touch me! He leans forward, covering me with his whole body, while I can't help but sob. " It's going to be fine, my beautiful; don't be afraid!

The circumstances that led me to this unsettling encounter remained a blur, leaving me consumed by a swirling mix of fear and bewilderment. "Do-don't touch me," I stammered, my voice quivering with fear. Beads of perspiration formed on my palms, betraying my escalating anxiety as I instinctively attempted to move back. There was an eerie silence in the air, punctuated only by the ominous sound of our collective breaths. The man remained mute, yet his narrowed eyes bore into me like fiery daggers, steadily closing the distance between us. His gaze seethed with a potent mix of fury and menace, unmistakable signs that I had unwittingly stumbled into a perilous situation.

Hear screaming. Feel hands on my arms, not gentle. I scream and shove him back hard. He stumbles, shock etched across his face. “Don’t touch me!” I gasp, chest heaving. People stare. Alexander looks shaken, not angry. Horrified. “I didn’t…Scarlett, I didn’t…” “Stay away from me,” I whisper, shaking violently. “Please.” He backs away slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll break if he moves wrong. “I would never hurt you,” he says hoarsely.