Forbidden Touch Novels & Stories

I move my leg back from his shoulder to where I am straddling him in the chair as I pull my top back off. I see his hands shaking. He wants to touch me so badly, but he knows he isn’t allowed to. I can touch him, and it is unhinging him just like I wanted. Just as the chorus hits, I begin rocking and grinding up and down on him before turning and sitting in his lap so my back is up against his chest. I grab his hands and bring them to my breasts and put his hands on them and squeeze his hands over them as I continue to grind up on him. I let his hands go and push them away right as the lyrics to the song say, ‘they can look but they just can’t touch it’ and lean forward so I touch the ground

The touch burns, not with fire, but with recognition. “I want the thoughts you bite down. The moans you smother with pillows. The way your breath hitches when you arch in bed alone.” Lucifer stands slowly, gaze never leaving her face. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Her skin still hums where he touched her. “I’ll go,” he says, and it’s a lie dressed as mercy. Because he’s not retreating. He’s seeding himself. Into her bones. Into the empty space where her faith used to live.

I couldn't help the sigh of relief for my tender backside. In just two days, I was falling for a dragon, no longer thinking of him as my enemy. I soaped my hands and ran my fingers over my breasts. It felt good. I pinched my nipples slightly and heat rushed between my legs. I forced my mind off the red eyes and scales, picturing my dream man inside the steamy room. One of my hands smoothed down my belly and found that forbidden place between my legs. I'd never touched myself there. As a claiming bride, touching oneself was prohibited. I wasn't sure of the rules now, but refused to feel guilty, because it felt so damn good.

His hand lingered on my shoulder, “I understand. And I am here now. You won’t have to go through it alone anymore, okay?” His thumb wiped off a lone tear that fell from my eye, caressing my face a moment longer than necessary. I didn’t pull back immediately like I’d always do. I almost got lost in his touch. I hadn’t felt a man’s touch since the day I left Parthe’s chamber. But no matter how much I desired a man’s touch, I couldn’t let another man who wasn’t my mate touch me. It was wrong. I gently pulled away, “Thank you, Rorden. I’ll see you when I return.”

he revealed his little secret, more detailed, then corrected it slowly, "The only one girl...that I can touch in my life." His words hung in the air between them, heavy and complicated. Izzy didn’t know what to say or what to think. Did she hear him correctly??? He cannot touch any girl!! Except her?? So was that all true!! He can't touch a woman! Except for her!! How is that even possible? And why?? She repeated it in her mind recalling everything that had happened earlier in the past.

I didn’t know what to say; his rules were a little strict. I cleared my throat and inquired, “How would we make love without touching?” I heard him pulling something before he answered me, and I assumed it was his trouser belt. Suddenly, he held my chin tightly between his tall fingers and grunted, “I touch you where you’re not allowed to until I give you my permission,” his grip tightened on my chin once he added, “Besides, we're not making love. We're fucking.” He released my chin just to boldly pass his fingers over my breasts, then down to my thighs and in between them. I let out a small moan once he stopped his fingers there.

But the boy didn’t look convinced. “There was an accident. The truck slammed into us... she was driving,” he choked, tears streaming down his soft eyes. Willa reached out to pat him on the back, but the moment her hand came in contact with him, a sharp pain rushed through her. Her mark burned as though part of her was ripped open, and before her, words flickered: [Unbonded souls are forbidden from contact. Touch brings corruption.]

It was a silent, desperate acknowledgment of our existence, a promise kept in the heart of the enemy territory. He withdrew his hand instantly, the contact broken. “See that you do, Mr. Hayes,” he finished, his expression now distant. He gave a slight, formal nod and moved on, Eleanor floating smoothly at his side, her eyes entirely fixed on the university president. I stood there, feeling the residual warmth of his touch on my skin. The simple, forbidden contact had been more intoxicating than any kiss in the privacy of the penthouse. It was a dangerous, breathtaking act of defiance, and it was a reminder that even when separated by a room full of powerful people, we were fundamentally, irr

“Because if I don’t, I’ll forget every damn reason why this is wrong.” I reach up and touch his face just barely grazing his cheek. His stubble rasps against my fingers, and I feel him freeze under me like I’d lit a fuse. “Please don’t make me go,” I whisper. He finally looks at me and fuck, there it is again. That flicker. That war behind his eyes. Lust and guilt. Desire and denial. He looks at me like I am temptation itself. Like touching me again would ruin him. But not touching me might kill him.

He takes the plate, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “We’ll see.” We sit at the table, and for a few blissful seconds, there’s only the sound of forks scraping against plates. But of course, I can’t leave well enough alone. “So,” I say between bites, “about this no touching rule…” He groans. “Not this again.” “I’m just saying—it’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? We’re adults. We can survive the occasional accidental brush of the arm.” “It’s not dramatic,” he says flatly. “It’s simple. No touching means no lines get crossed.”