Erroric Stories Novels & Stories

My voice came out softer than I wanted. “You can.” His hand moved. His fingers brushed over my wrist as he turned the page. It was not an accident. I felt the rough pad of his thumb slide slowly across the inside of my wrist. He left it there for a second longer than he needed to. “But you have to stop being scared of the heat. This story has real heat in it, Lila. Don’t sand it down. Don’t make it polite. Write the dirty truth.”

My stomach tightened, an entirely different kind of nausea than the morning’s. “There’s no version of this staying private forever,” he said. “The clinic error. You living here. Eventually, the pregnancy itself, once it’s visible. I have a public life whether I want one or not, and the moment any part of this reaches the press, and it will, they won’t print the truth. They’ll print whatever sells.” “So what are you saying?”

Why does he keep calling me that? I stir restlessly again, and my hand shakes. Mrs. Smith holds my hand tighter, preventing me from moving it or pulling it away. I frown, glancing at her with surprise and confusion. “When I confronted Eric about the truth, he told me how it happened.” Mrs. Smith says in a soft voice. “He told me the whole story... And no wonder you were so hurt... A mistake like that is painful... it hurts our soul.” “A mistake?” I blink a few times, surprised and even slightly offended. Of course, Eric twisted the whole story so it wouldn’t come out so wrong... he’s already tried to do that to me; he wanted to make me feel sorry for how he couldn’t control his urges.

Max murmured, “the one your mother mentioned before—she’s that Madam?” “You knew?” Isabella asked, looking at him through reddened eyes. Max nodded. “When I was looking for you after our misunderstanding—remember when you ran away? I told you I met your mom at a convenience store. She explained what really happened between you and your uncle… and she also told me about her past—that her marriage was never approved because your grandmother didn’t know her true origins.” Isabella closed her eyes, pain tightening her chest. “Poor Mom… She suffered so much, Max. Why did she have to go through all that?”

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

“One careless mistake. Do you have any idea how many people I had to smooth over because my assistant couldn’t double-check her work?” “I’m so sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Macy whispered, cheeks burning. “I was rushing and—” “Excuses don’t fix errors.” He stood slowly, towering over her. “In this office, mistakes have consequences. Bend over the desk, Macy. Now.” Her heart slammed against her ribs. She hesitated only a second before turning and placing her palms flat on the cool oak surface, arching her back so her ass was presented to him. Luke stepped behind her. His large hands smoothed down her sides, then yanked her pencil skirt up roughly over her hips, exposing her lacy black thong.

NATHANIEL'S POV I stared at the closed door of my office, the ghost of a muddy, tear-streaked face still burned into my retinas. Incompetence makes my skin crawl. It's like a physical itch I can't scratch. I don't care if a car drove through a puddle or if a shoe decided to quit its job; I care that my coffee was sixty degrees below the optimal sipping temperature and my morning brief was riddled with a five-hundredth-of-a-percentage-point error.

“I love black holes.” I squirmed in my seat. “What are you doing?” I looked around. We were near the back of the planetarium with no one around them, but we were still in public. When I felt Kai’s hand slide inside my pants, his fingers finding my wet folds, I let out a hiss. I gripped the armrests as he slipped up and down my slit. “Kai, we shouldn’t do this. Not here.”

The idea of me helping Sarah conceive, of sharing my seed with another woman under my wife's blessing, was a taboo that had turned my blood into liquid fire. Lillian pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, her gaze predatory and hungry. She didn't say a word at first; instead, she slid her hand down the front of my boxers, her fingers curling around the thick length of my cock. I groaned, my hips instinctively arching into her touch. She began to stroke me, a slow, rhythmic glide that made my toes curl.

Anything but the things I did. Kissing Anthony felt like ascending into the heavens. But to do that, I had to be dead, right? So there you go. Kissing Anthony after three years of trying to pick up the pieces of my life that he destroyed, was like dying a very, very painful death. Like being smashed by a truck or something. Then being taken to heaven by a very sexy angel with the most beautiful wings. In simple terms, it was a mistake. It was wrong, yet… yet I couldn't stop.