Erotic Sex Novels Novels & Stories

A dark, erotic, romance novel. The goal was to stop thinking about Alexander, but only ten minutes into the book and I'm already imagining his hands all over me. I'm already imagining him bending me over the fucking window of my room and filling me up ruthlessly until all I can remember is the sound of his name on my lips.

No mistaking what it was. Her body ground against him, every move of her hips rubbing over his hardness. Heat surged through her veins. And then it hit her—his scent. That same scent from earlier. Her eyes snapped open. It’s him! The guy at the counter! Her body burned hotter with that realization. Wetness pooled between her thighs. Flashes of his veiny hand skimming her curves made her bite back a moan. She pushed harder against him, rolling her hips until he groaned into her ear.

Something aching to be molded. I met him in my Tuesday night workshop. "Erotics of Language"—a curated space for writers who wanted to learn how to use sensuality in storytelling. Most came in with curiosity or thinly veiled hunger. He came in with a notebook gripped like a lifeline and questions trembling on his lips. I noticed him in the third session. He waited until everyone had left to speak to me. “I—um—can I ask you something… off the record?” I folded my arms, tilted my head. “You just did.”

Definitely not trying to seduce just the steam sticking to the mirror, the accidental press of bodies in the tight space, the forbidden pull of best friend's brother coming into my house. His eyes went down to my lips, which were open in a gasp, and then down to the very quick breathing of my chest, the nipples of my breasts through the fabric being stretched. "Lila..." His voice roughened, free hand twitching at his side, fighting the pull. Mine mirrored, rising to his chest to push? Or steady? The touch lingered, feeling his heart thunder under my palm. The seduction bloomed unintentional: humidity making my skin glow, his drunk haze blurring lines, our the steam.

I drain him dry, from base to tip, watching as the last drops fall upon the holy items. It is a dirty, taboo sight that makes my pussy throb once more. He pulls me down after, his cum-smeared cock pressed against my thigh. We lay there, breathing heavy, the chapel smelling of sex. My body aches in the best possible way; vows are shattered on the altar. I kiss his neck, tasting salt and the knowledge of this sin binding us.

I stammered. “I see.” He smirked and continued walking. “So what do you think of erotic books? Do they convey the messages purely like movies do? The expressions, the feelings… everything.” I gulped. “It all comes down to how good the writer is.” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I most times prefer to read erotic books instead of watching erotic movies. “Interesting,” he smiled. “We really do have a lot in common.” “Do you get the urge to do it when you read them?” he continued.

Then I opened my legs wider for him, resisting the overwhelming urge to close them and hide. The cool air against my wet folds made me shiver. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, voice low and rough. My face burned with humiliation, but I obeyed again. My fingers moved between my folds, smearing my abundant juices around my already swollen clit. The wet sound was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. I closed my eyes tightly, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Open your eyes,” he snapped. “And do not hide your moans.” I forced my eyes open, releasing my bitten lip. Soft, embarrassed whimpers escaped me as I circled my clit faster. My hips began to rock against my hand without permission.

He reached for a toilet paper on his desk and gently wiped his chest and abdomen. The thought made my nipples, still exposed in the cool air, tighten again. I hadn’t had dirty thoughts about a man other than Nathan. I certainly hadn’t ever had phone sex with anyone besides him. I felt both aroused and ashamed.

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.

“And Evelyn? Wear whatever makes you feel like the filthy little obsession you are.” I left his office on unsteady legs, my thighs were filled with dried juice while I clutched the leather book like a dirty secret.That night in my dorm, I read the marked passages slowly, touching myself the entire time. The words blurred with my own fantasies, his fingers, his voice and the way he had commanded my orgasm like he already owned it.