Intimate Obsessions Novels & Stories

"So why waste your precious time on me? Shouldn't you be trying to seduce Dante faster? Working harder to get him to marry you so he can finally let go of me?" Victoria gasped. Isabelle's face went white, then red. Elena moved closer, her voice dropping to cold and dangerous. "I will not let you or Victoria walk over me anymore. I am not pathetic. I am not a loser." She tilted her head, her smile sharpening. "And I will not fight over a man you two are passing around like a joint at a college party. Friends indeed." The implication hung in the air, thick and toxic. The suggestion that Isabelle and Victoria had both slept with Dante, that they were trading him between them like some sordid ga

I close my for half a second — just enough to block out the sudden flood of imagery: her parted lips, her skin flushed beneath my palms. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, grounding myself, but it does nothing. The images keep downloading, fast and dirty, like a virus I can’t debug. That's the thing with being hypersexual. It's not just hunger — it’s obsession, the mental noise and constant, relentless. I can fuck someone once and be haunted for years. And this one? She’s an itch I can’t even scratch in private anymore. She's here. "Sit," I say, harsher than intended.

"Is Ms. Linton not even pretending anymore? Coupling with her cousin is one thing, but does she have to involve Andrew and Samuel as well? My goodness. Any man who has talked to her can't escape the fate of being coupled with her. Suddenly, I find her so loathsome!" "What on earth is Emmen doing? Relying on an assistant to create hype for their studio by coupling with various men? It truly disgusts me. Versatile pairing mechanism? What a ridiculous new term. Paying to market one's beauty on trending topics? This is so maddening!"

In a weird way I feel he eats their organs. “What’s going on?!.” Rebecca whispered. As old as she was she had never experienced such a thing, she was a pure Demon royalty, pampered till she became rotten and devious . Her father and brothers never let her see such a thing to them she is still a baby they must protect her till her suture comes to marry her off!, how dumb. My memory went back to the first time I had seen such a thing. I was just Ten……. ^^^

The pace of the vibrator increased, the hum intensifying. “Ohhh—fuck—” A soft thump as she arched back against the stall. “He should be bending me over his desk, not looking at her like that—” Her breath came in ragged pants now, her moans slipping past her lips faster, sharper. “Ahhh—ahh—fuck, I’m so close—” I squeezed my eyes shut, my nails digging into my palms. This wasn’t just jealousy. This was obsession. And it was spiraling into something dangerous.

Just the two of us smiling, tangled up in stolen kisses, moments that felt like forever. But the second folder? “Obsessiom”—marked with a red heart. That one was filled with the photos I never meant to show anyone. Shots of her in her quietest, rawest moments. Making coffee in my shirt. Sleeping with her lips parted in the pantry, cheeks flushed, skin glowing under bad office lighting. She had no idea how many nights I spent scrolling through those images like a man starved. She doesn’t even realize it—I’ve been obsessed. Every photo, every angle, every second she’s within reach, I’m memorizing her like I’ll never get to touch her again.

The triple sensation… cock, plug, vibration… sent me spiraling into the most intense orgasm yet, my walls clenching so hard around the strap-on that she came right with me, grinding deep until we both collapsed in a sweaty, shaking heap. By morning, we were entangled in each other’s arms, a tangle of warmth, breath, and whispered confessions that needed no words. I traced the line of her jaw, kissed the curve of her neck, and felt the pulse of her heartbeat beneath my fingers, steady and insistent, a mirror to my own racing pulse. The knowledge of her marriage, the impossibility of the situation, only heightened the intensity… each glance, each touch, each sigh of pleasure was charged with t

Obsession isn’t something you choose. It chooses you. Wraps around your soul like a vice, squeezing until there’s nothing left but the sickness of wanting. It seeps into your blood, replacing logic, making you something… else. Something monstrous. And fuck… I like it the more I watch her.

He has been sitting here for over an hour turning things over in the specific way he turns things over, which is directly and without softening the edges, because that is how he thinks about everything and he is not going to stop doing it because the thing he's thinking about is uncomfortable. He has known obsession since before he had a name for it. He had looked at it early and called it what it was and never flinched from the truth of it. He was obsessed with her. That had been clear and simple. He'd filed it correctly and kept going. He had known possession the same way. She was his. He'd been certain of that before he had any reasonable basis to act on it, before she had any reason to a