Intimate Obsessions Novels & Stories

Her hands clutched at the edge, grounding herself, even as her body burned with desire she wasn’t supposed to feel. Kunle stepped back slightly, giving her just enough space to breathe—but leaving the tension thick and suffocating between them. His gaze lingered, teasing, intimate, addictive. She didn’t sleep that night. She couldn’t. Every brush of fingers, every teasing glance, every whispered word haunted her. The sugar, the milk, the pastries—none of it mattered anymore. It was the forbidden closeness, the slow, teasing intimacy, that had become her obsession. And she knew, with a dangerous certainty, that when he knocked again, she wouldn’t be able to resist.

My best friend, Hannah Price, had once asked me on the phone, "What exactly is so special about Adrian Halloway? What's made you love him for fifteen years straight?" I could never put it into words. When we first met, I could list a hundred things I admired about him, but the more I loved him, the less I could explain why. Isn't that what a teenage crush was? No rhyme or reason, just hurling every ounce of love at someone until you hit a wall and can't turn back. I closed the journal again. Maybe the thirty-year-old me had been too proud, too unsure of how to act, so she left it to the version of me with only twenty years of memories to choose for her.

He was such a complex man. "What do you think obsession is?" he asked, locking his stormy eyes onto mine. I was caught off guard by his question. "Obsession?" "Yes," he replied immediately. No hesitation. No smile. "Well, I think it's uh..." I chewed my bottom lip. "An unhealthy fixation. Like the... the strong influence. A compulsion. The desire to have full possession of something or someone," I explained, carefully selecting my words. "It can also be linked to mental illness."

9Maya. I’d never been like this before. Not with anyone. Not with myself. Obsession felt like a sickness, something I couldn’t shake, something that turned my days into endless waiting, my nights into hours spent staring at the ceiling, aching and empty and full of wild, helpless want.

with a hand between your thighs Welcome to Filthy Obsessions. The elevator ride made her wetter. Sariah had worn nothing under the trench coat except a red lace thong and a push-up bra that barely contained her tits. She’d sprayed perfume between her thighs, tied her hair up the way he liked. She touched herself in the backseat of the Uber. Twice. First was a quick rub against her thigh while imagining his cock slamming into her over the desk. Second was full fingers down the front, pressing her clit hard through her panties until she bit her lip and tasted blood.

The thought of that doesn’t sound peaceful, it’s wrong, Disruptive but wrong. My chest tightens sharply and I stop breathing for a second too long. No! I force air into my lungs, each breath controlled, measured. As I Inhale again and hold before exhaling out. I press my thumb harder into my palm again until the sting cuts through the noise in my head. This is irrational. This attachment is spiraling into obsession. I don’t like that word, Obsession implies lack of control and i’m always in control. So why won’t my thoughts slow or obey!

It was completely dark inside. Just when I kept my foot inside, I was grabbed quickly and pushed against the door. I felt a weight on top of my body. A hand clicked the knob beside me to lock it from inside. The intoxicating fragrance of lotus flower and heavy breaths were falling all over me. My wolf was almost losing its mind. I was still pressed against the door. I could feel Zen struggling with his wolf to keep it in his control. Suddenly he asked in a hoarse voice, "What do you think you're doing?"

I imagine her name is Isabelle. Isabelle, it's soft, and it's light. If I observe the elegance of her step, I see the lightness in it, that of someone who has left their worries at the office. A wild thought comes to me. Could Isabelle be unfaithful to her man? A small, nothing but mini infidelity of nothing at all. It would be a nice one but quickly forgotten because her man is waiting for her at home. Would she feel guilty like the regrets that gnaw at me? But basically, if I analyze: why have remorse? What are they here for? It was me the day before. I don't think it was a dream. It was my hands that were playing with this new body. I could not have dreamed of a better moment. Or if so, c

"Because he's apparently devastatingly attractive." Ines studies my face for a second. "You look flustered." "I walked up four flights of stairs." "That is not the reason." I sigh. Living with observant people is exhausting. "Fine. He's… interesting." Maisie bursts out laughing. "Interesting? That's your word for it?" Priya leans forward conspiratorially. "Did he flirt with you?" "No." "Did you flirt with him?" "No." "Did something happen?" "Nothing happened."

I had been her shield till it took bigger turns and we started fucking around. Now? She doesn't want to stop, but I'm tired of it. Sex with her feels the same. No interesting shit, and it's boring, just like other bitches. I stared back at my reflection in the mirror, sighed, and took up my jersey. Today was the game. I texted Darren to go find any duplicated key that was missing from my locker. How the fuck does she get into my room?? π•π•π•π•π JORDAN'S POV π•π•π•π•π