Erotic Stories Of Seduction Novels & Stories

His tongue flicked over my nipple again as his hand moved beneath my underwear. “Ah… God—yes,” I moaned, my body arching helplessly as he began to stroke my clit in slow, torturous circles. His fingers slid deeper and I buried my face against his neck, breathing in his scent as a muffled moan escaped me. “Just one touch and you’re already this horny” he growled, his fingers pumping in and out of my soaked clit. “That’s because I can’t resist you,” I breathed. “No matter how hard I try.”

Eric was asleep, and Ethan stood by the doorway trying to steady himself. He had practically fucked her on the couch like a madman, but then Eric woke up, and he couldn't have her anymore. His son was important. But it only made him yearn so badly for her. Fuck, Poppy probably hadn't realised he was an insatiable bastard yet, and she would run for the hills when she learned of his dirty desires. She walked out of Eric's room, and he held his breath until she closed the door. Her eyes met his, sucker punching him in the gut with that seductive look.

If I asked, he would always say that his housekeeper had made too much pasta, or that it was raining and he happened to be passing by. I had always been wary of him, worried he was another player in the high-priced game of seduction. But once a game had been played too many times, it stopped being interesting. Staying on my guard had become meaningless too. Maybe I should have controlled myself and not grown attached to Jason's embrace. But when Samuel made me so miserable I could not sleep night after night, Jason was right downstairs. With one text, I could call him to me. He would hold me in silence and stay with me until dawn, his body pressed against my back, his body heat had broken hi

He leaned down, biting my bottom lip hard enough to sting, then sucking it into his mouth before pulling back. "Say it louder," he growled, adding a third finger, stretching me wide, the wet sounds loud in the room as he fucked me with them fast. "Tell me you love my cum inside you." "I love it," I moaned, voice breaking, hips bucking up to meet his hand. "Fuck, Haiden, I love your cum leaking out of me, I love feeling you all day." It was embarrassing how true it was, how my body craved it, pussy soaking his fingers, clit throbbing every time he brushed it with his thumb.

We kissed, and this could be the end of the journey for the therapist and the patient’s story, but a new beginning for lovers who find their path. “I must say, you fuck too good.” I bit my tongue. “I want more, daddy,” I sounded way more seductive than my looks.

He moves like someone calculating leverage. His fingers slide beneath my shirt, his nails grazing my chest. “You’re stressed,” he whispers. “Let me fix it.” It is the same strategy he uses the first night we are together. He acts as if he is about to withdraw, as if he does not care whether I respond. Then, the moment my guard drops, even slightly, he pounces with that intoxicating, controlled seduction that always leaves me wanting more than I should. Before I can reply, his mouth meets mine, hungry, controlling, the kind of kiss that says he is setting the pace, not me.

He didn't use a condom; he didn't care about the risks, only the reward of claiming her completely in the middle of her own sanctuary. He grabbed her ankles and shoved her legs wide, pinning them against his waist. With one brutal, driving thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt. Sloane screamed, the sound echoing through the empty office, her internal muscles clamping tight around him in a desperate grip. The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of pleasure and pain that blurred the edges of her vision. He began to hammer into her, his pace frantic and relentless, each strike hitting her cervix with a force that made her entire body shudder.

The challenge, the subtle resistance—it sparked something controlled but fierce inside him. He sat opposite her. The first touch was accidental, perhaps—her hand brushing his as she reached for her glass—but he allowed it to linger just enough for her to feel it. The electricity was immediate, undeniable. “This arrangement,” he said, voice even but dark, “is not just about files or contracts. It’s about control. Observation. Submission. And yes,” he let a slow, deliberate pause hang in the space between them, “pleasure.” She caught the inflection, the weight behind the word. Pleasure. As in she would be giving it, he would be taking it, and in turn, both would be learning—testing—measuring.

Stories and such to let me know what I might want to try. She surprised me with what she did next. She held her hand up in front of my face. Then she lowered it between her legs and caressed herself. When she brought it back to my face, it was dripping with the honey that had lain in wait behind her lips. The smell of that sweet nectar shattered my resolve. I took her wrist in mine and began to lick the juices from her hand. My arousal went from mostly hard to rock solid with one taste. I was lost to reason -- she would be mine.