Fragile Desires Novels & Stories

I didn’t want her like the others did—not for a cheap thrill or a moment of power. I wanted more. I wanted to own every second of her life the way she unknowingly owned every second of mine. I wanted her laughter. Her fear. Her bad habits. Her silence. And it scared the hell out of me. Because for a man who had everything, I shouldn’t want anything this badly. Especially not someone I’ve never touched. I closed the laptop and stood, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. The skyline glittered like it always did—cold, perfect, untouchable.

"The view is exquisite, isn't it? All those ants scurrying about, utterly oblivious to the true architects of their lives." "Indeed," I murmured, a faint smile touching my lips. Desiree often indulged in our shared fantasy of playing as gods. "Ignorance truly is bliss, isn't it? Besides, it makes our work all the more…efficient." I turned from the window, meeting her gaze. "You never did explain why I should steer clear of Kade Everhart." Desiree didn't turn or even glance my way, but I saw the subtle stiffening of her shoulders. Hmm... Interesting. Did she have a history with him? "You looked into him? Wasn't my word enough?"

“Did they really think this little act of yours would win me over?” Did they think I wanted something fragile? Something pretty and obedient? A doll that sits quietly in a corner, waits for permission to breathe—while plotting behind my back? I don’t want glass that shatters. I want broken glass—already sharp enough to cut. A woman who fights. Who claws. Who schemes right in front of me because she knows I’d kneel just to help her burn the world. Everything my wife is. “And far, far more.” Her lashes flutter. “The timing just hasn’t been right. Don’t be too angry with Mum and Dad—our engagement was only finalised this wee—”

I'm pathetic. Drawing down the curtain with one hand, I light a cigar with the other, inhaling the smoke and exhaling perfect smoke rings. I feel so miserable right now. I need someone to transfer all the pain and mystery to. I decide to text Mr Craig, the manager of the brothel that supplies sluts to me. Luca: I need a slut who has absolutely no respect for her body. Craig: Any specific description? Luca: Must be shameless and well experienced. And willing to do anything I demand no matter how depraved. I'm talking broken bottles, chains, whips, hot rods, drugs, 5 hours of wild pleasure.

“Why is my heart so fragile, huh?, What did I do to deserve this drastic heart break, I never planned of falling for that heatless being, but my heart decided to show its stupidness and I end up getting hurt” “ Why can't I just hate him, I have tried countless times to stop my heart from beating for him but to no avail, Instead I found myself Wanting him every then and now” “ What is wrong with you Freya wake up from your slumber, you are never the weak type, always so strong and a stubborn head. Why become weak and motionless all of a sudden” I screamed Furiously breathing so hard and that was when my room door opened, Carmine came in staring at me dumbfoundedly wondering why I looked like

That was not enough for most people but these two had made sure that it was enough. "My hand slips through the cracks of the vases and windows we painted together with stolen glances and carefree smiles like quicksand. The fleeting moment of wanting you back is over before it started and the deep rumbling in my chest is back. I can't tell if I've swallowed you whole or if you've left yourself behind to merge with what's left of me. Whatever way it happened, I am now you and you are now nobody but a empty vessel, a Mirage of my desires in another billion."

I wanted to know what it felt like to be handled by someone like that. I didn’t want soft or sweet. I didn’t want to be treated like I was fragile. I wanted to be taken apart by him, piece by piece. But I didn’t even know if he saw me. Still, none of it stopped the wanting. I wanted him so much it hurt. I didn’t just want him to notice me. I wanted to feel what it was like to have him lose control. I wanted him to fúck me the moment I saw him.

Slipping my tongue inside her mouth, I explored the uncharted territory, a silent invitation to a dance of desire. Her response was immediate, matching the passion with an intensity that mirrored my own desperation. She pulled me closer, her hands tugging at the ends of my hair, urging me to bridge the gap between us. The kiss became a battleground of urgency, a clash of desires that resonated in the groan that escaped me. Caught in the whirlwind of our shared passion, I groaned between the kisses, the urgency in her touch fueling my own desperation. Each movement, each embrace, spoke of a hunger that transcended words.

Well, even Mr Monroe asked me the same thing when I presented my resume. The answer is simple, I am in desperate need of money. So desperate that when Mr Monroe threw my resume aside and asked me to spread my legs on his fucking table, I did. Well, a girl must do what she has to do to survive, right? I fucking did that. I allowed a man, a total stranger to touch my most intimate parts. I am not a saint nor your shy little maid but this is the first time a man made me feel cheap. It's even crazier how each of his touches drove me to insanity. At that moment, I found myself yearning for more. He saw it, my desperation to have him and he took advantage of that

(Her POV; His POV threaded through the final movement) Desire doesn’t arrive fully formed. It tests the ground first. After the fracture, after the quiet, it comes in fragments—sensations more than sentences. A pull toward light in the afternoon. An impatience with conversations that orbit usefulness. A sudden irritation when I hear myself explaining choices that don’t need explaining. These are not cravings. They’re refusals. Refusals to keep translating myself into palatable reasons.