Exotic Short Stories Novels & Stories

By sunset, that ache had turned into a throbbing, dripping need. No boyfriend. No rules. Just seven days to be a greedy, horny slut. I grabbed the resort tablet and opened the Concierge app. Private Companions. I selected exactly what I wanted: Male. Very tall. Extremely muscular. Hung like a fucking horse. Expert tongue and stamina. No limits. One night. I hit submit, already soaked. Thirty minutes later, a firm knock sounded at the door. I opened it and felt my pussy clench at the sight of him.

BEFORE YOU READ Nobody is coming to save you. Themes: Forced Proximity, Snowed In, Size Difference, Breeding Kink. This story features a possessive, reclusive hero who hasn't seen a woman in years. Expect primal play, rough sex, and intense possessiveness. (***) Gabrielle

Her breath caught, and still she moved forward. The Lair was darker than she expected. No signs. No music. Just soft murmurs, occasional gasps, and the unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin. It was an invitation-only club that most people pretended didn’t exist. The rumors said women were auctioned off for nights of sin. That submission was worshipped. That the rich and ruthless came here to indulge their darkest urges. Lana had been following the trail for months, writing fluff pieces about wine and society events just to get close to the whispers. And finally, someone had slipped her the address with a smirk and one sentence: “You’ll either leave on your knees or not at all.”

I protested, languidly splashing some water in her general direction. And she was a perv and she knew it. Meredith was the unabashed libertine within my circle of close work friends. The night before, as we noshed on sushi at a downtown restaurant, Meredith caught the eye of a swarthy Arab businessman. Or maybe he caught her eye. Knowing Meredith, it was usually a combination of both. Her current beau was apparently a Qatari something-or-other muckety muck, and Meredith had latched onto his good looks along with his swagger and hoped-for ability to shower her with totally impractical expensive gifts. "I'm so jealous of you," I whined, as Meredith finished luridly describing the loud and acro

He didn't just take my energy, he took the path back to the real world, and he left the door hanging wide open. I sit on the floor beneath him, leaning my head against the heavy gold frame. I feel the ache in my bones, a deep, beautiful exhaustion that tells me I have lived a hundred years in a single night. I close my eyes and wait for the dark to return. I wait for the moment the oil starts to ripple and the turpentine scent fills the air again.

Holding that thought, I pushed my skirt a little higher, desperately trying to get my fingers in there. But then someone appeared at the counter. I quickly moved my hand away from my skirt, adjusting myself like I was feeling uncomfortable. My heart was racing and my white shirt now felt so damp, especially on the chest area. I lifted my head and wow. This man was nothing like the previous men who'd walked into the hotel. He was tall, muscular and so hot. His eyes were stormy and green, the kind of eyes that did things to you before he actually touched you. He stared at me and that felt like I was trapped under his gaze. I couldn't even breathe properly, his aura was that dominating.

They were both impressed that I have already published a half dozen books that have been fairly successful. “I love the Erotic Wizard book you wrote,” Fiona purred. It amazed me that she had already read one of my books. “I get aroused every time I think about those steamy sex scenes you described,” she announced openly. There was a short silence that followed and Franny was grinning broadly when I glanced over at her.

I could feel his presence, the scent of that nautically-themed cologne he always wore, the shift in the air when he stepped into the room, the subtle weight of his gaze. Chad didn’t know it, but I always sensed everything. It was how I survived. How I thrived. How I made a living now, taking from men like him. I left the window and returned to the poker table at the gentlemen’s club. Tonight’s event: no-limit Texas Hold’em. A hundred thousand-dollar buy-in. One winner takes all. Ten players had started the evening. Only six remained. And more than half a million dollars sat in chips at my place.

My own handwriting stared back at me in bold black ink: MY BUCKET LIST (Thirty before thirty… or before I chicken out completely) 1. Swim naked in the ocean at midnight 2. Kiss someone under fireworks 3. Get a tattoo I can’t explain to my mother 4. Quit my soul-crushing job without a safety net 5. Fall in love so hard it hurt 6. Have sex that makes me forget my own name 7. Be touched as I’ve never been touched before slow, deliberate, filthy, worshipful. No rush. No mercy. Just hands. Mouth. Cock. Knowing exactly what they’re doing to me.

“I spent my whole life collecting things. Rare art. Companies. Power. But I’ve never found anything as addictive as the way you break when I touch you.” He didn’t give me a chance to argue. He lifted me off the floor, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried me toward the desk—the same desk where he had claimed me just hours before. He sat me down on the edge, his hands sliding up the silk of my dress until they found the bare skin of my thighs. “Julian…” I gasped as his fingers found me. I was already wet, already aching for him. It was a sickness, a dark obsession that I couldn’t escape.