Fast Paced Novels & Stories

This was raw, unpolished need. And then he began to move. There was no slow build, no careful rhythm. It was a frantic, punishing pace from the start, as if he wanted to brand me, to exorcise his own demons, to tear us both apart. Each thrust was powerful, driving me up the bed. The headboard slammed against the wall with a steady, brutal thump-thump-thump that matched the frantic slap of our sweat-slicked skin.

The inquiry moved faster than anyone admitted it would. Not publicly—outwardly, everything remained measured, procedural, almost languid. But beneath the surface, decisions were stacking up, timelines compressing, pressure redistributing in ways that couldn’t be smoothed over with language anymore. Aiden felt it in the cadence of the emails. Shorter. Less ornamental. More direct. Requests that once arrived as invitations now came framed as necessities. “They’re accelerating,” Dante said, reading over one message as Aiden closed his laptop.

I quickened my pace, every step fueled by the fury twisting inside me. The distance between us shrank rapidly, my breathing shallow, uneven. Meanwhile, Adrian walked leisurely ahead, completely unbothered. His hands were tucked lazily into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, his gait slow and deliberate—as if the world itself dared not touch him. That infuriating calmness made my blood boil hotter, rage clawing at my insides like a feral beast begging to be unleashed.

The emotions that I had been bottling up instantly burst forth. I broke down and yelled at him, “The baby’s gone, Carl!”

I feel like I'm on a fire now. I quickened my movements, moaning uncontrollably as our lips parted. I felt the muscles around my pussy tighten and tighten as my body shivered. “Oh, my God! I'm coming! I'm coming! Ahh!” I said as I came. I kept moving and put my right hand behind me, squeezing his balls. I wanted to make him come again. His body suddenly shivered as he groaned uncontrollably as he came. ******

What should I choose? Pac Man? Ping pong ping? Musical drums? Gunfights? Turbo? NBA Jam? I really am not good with all these games. Sure, I know how to play a couple of them but I ain't good at playing. "Can you please make it fast? Ugh, you are taking too long and it's making my feet hurt!" I took a glance at her by my side. Judging by how overreacting she acts and speaks, I know that she'll laugh at me for picking something so silly. So I should show her that I'm just as good as Neal.

His attack was extremely simple. But it was fast. Extremely fast.

See how hurt he is. Red marks marred his stomach. Her fingers traced the proof that Jacob had punched him there. She felt his rib cage, where more marks showed. She didn’t feel any broken bones. His belly had firm, hard muscles even while he lay lax, but she didn’t feel anything that would suggest internal bleeding. She tried to stay professional but her fingertips lingered a little too long as she traced an intricate pattern of muscle groups. She couldn’t deny touching him affected her as a woman. He was forbidden, dangerous, and sexy.

Frantic. She doesn't mind the pace. She welcomes it, egging me on with her sweet sighs and quiet whimpers before I feel it: the quivering of her thighs and those nails clawing at my dress shirt before her orgasm explodes like fireworks. Then her hard clenching is all I can take before I'm drilling into her like a madman until I'm exploding, too, wave after wave of pleasure spurting inside her.

And his heart pounded even faster. Fuck.