Longing Hearts Novels & Stories

She stared into his brown eyes. Unrequited love is the worst. It never quenches your thirst. When you love someone the most, but they treat you like a ghost. You don't exist to them, even if they're your gem. It hurts your heart and tears you apart. Your soul gives a desperate plea, for them to just see, that you're right in front of their eyes. Only once it's too late, they realize. It's like a stab to the chest, leaving you in a state of unrest.

Why didn’t you ask me? —I... —Dylan, I love you, but that’s not enough for us to stay together. —I don’t understand. —You "were" everything I wanted in a man, but now, I hate feeling like this. —What do you mean by "were"? —You suffocate me! I need space, time for myself. We’re not going to live together, and I don’t want my room full of flowers! —Lidia!! He interrupted her, his voice laden with frustration.

“Sometimes love is a fire that burns too brightly. It consumes everything in its path until all that’s left is ash. To protect her… I had to let her go.” The throne room, vast and dimly lit by flickering torches, felt colder than usual, the shadows on the walls dancing as if mocking the warmth that could have been. The grand tapestries, which once felt like a testament to power and legacy, now seemed like veils hiding too many secrets.

In his heart, he harbored an unyielding desire to shield her from the machinations of Satan and the perilous web of intrigue that enshrouded their world. Unbeknownst to Maria, a parallel yearning gripped Asmo, his thoughts an intangible thread that sought to bridge the chasm of distance between them. In the quiet recesses of his mind, he longed to see her once more, the ache of separation a poignant echo of her absence. As the tendrils of fate wove an invisible tapestry, both Maria and Asmo found themselves standing beneath the boughs of mistletoe, their silent wishes unfurling into the ether. Though separated by vast expanses, their unspoken desires converged in a poignant moment of longing

he whispered, but he did it damn close to my neck. I got goosebumps, and trembled against his chest as I felt his ink-covered hand grip the doorknob and turn it. No, I didn't want to be afraid even though he seemed like a damn psychopath about to dismember me in the basement of a fraternity while throwing a party. It was definitely movie material. "I still don't fear you, Andra," he said. I got goosebumps when we descended, and I realized the music and shouts were still audible; I felt isolated in the darkness.

A shiver ran down my spine as I surrendered myself even more to the touch of our embrace, my mind awash with a heady mixture of desire and longing. With each heartbeat, I felt myself falling deeper into the abyss of desire. My emotions swirled like leaves caught in a tempestuous wind. The touch of Orion was a balm to my soul, igniting a flame that I had long kept buried beneath layers of caution. Yet, as we danced on the precipice of intimacy, I found myself surrendering to the allure of our connection. My longing was laid bare in every lingering glance and hesitant touch. Lost in the passion, I clung to Orion desperately, as if he were the anchor keeping me from being swept away by the tide

My heart skipped a beat, my tears moist right then. I dropped to a crouch and held him, pressing my ear against his chest again. I could hear his heartbeat, thumping powerfully through his thin shirt. It was such a familiar sensation. It was Stan's heartbeat. As I closed my eyes, my tears flowed ever so quietly. We stayed like that for a while, and as I wiped my tears, I held Nathan firmly in my arms once more. "Please live a good life with Stan's heart." - Nathan walked with me to the gates of the orphanage, but I never once turned to look at him again.

This was the Hearth of Longing, where whispered confessions were offered to the flames to be burned away before the final nights of the celebration. Elara sat on a wide couch beside Lyra, her deep violet gown from the gallery now replaced by a sheer crimson robe that did nothing to hide the way her body still trembled. Beneath the thin silk, her pussy was a creamy, aching wreck. Kaelen’s thick loads from the Whispering Gallery and every stolen moment before had left her constantly full, puffy, and leaking. Every subtle shift on the velvet made the warm mess squelch inside her, coating her swollen folds and making her clit throb with filthy, guilty need.

But they remained, two hearts tethered by longing, aching in separate corners of the city, waiting for the impossible. For love, unspoken, endured.

It lingered in the darkness but seemed to be getting worse with each step I took. Then I heard it. It was like death themselves was waiting to impale my heart with their scythe. When I saw them in the room through the ajar door, it felt like death's scythe ripped through my heart and pulled it out of my throat. The sight of Ash with her….