Fling Novels & Stories

I swallow hard, ignoring the shiver that runs down my spine. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. I do. “Breathe.” I inhale deeply, feeling the fire stir beneath my skin. Yohan’s fingers linger, a grounding touch, and my pulse stutters when his breath brushes my ear. “Now, try again.” I exhale, extending my hand. This time, instead of forcing the fire out, I guide it. The flames move in a smooth, controlled arc, striking the dummy dead center. A burst of satisfaction blooms in my chest.

Then a sting meets my inner thigh, making me gasp, and I fist my skirt. My spine stills against the seat, every muscle in my body working itself as I adjust to the bite of whatever he just did. He moves away, coming back in again, another sting needling my thigh, this time higher up my skirt. Wax? I convulse, my clit reacting to the tingling that pricks at my skin. I slap a hand to my mouth, biting on my index finger to even out the sweet pain. A moan slips as he kneads my skin.

The less importance she gave whatever was between them, the better. “A fling? Isabella. What you and Samson have is not just a Fling.” Vanessa's tone was scolding."You care about him and you want him. I have been in your position and I know how it feels" Isabella reached for her glass and brought it to her lips. She finished the entire content in one gulp and Vanessa handed her own glass to her. She finished that too.

I was headed back to London and he back to the state of Washington where he was overseeing an engineering project. If romp implies sex, we didn’t romp. We had attraction—off-the-chart sparks—enough to ignite a forest fire with a side of some teenage making out—without the teenage clumsiness—but that was all. You could say that the lack of sex is another element to the drought I mentioned. Seriously, if things don’t look up, my vagina may dry up and blow away.