My Healing Touch His Obsession Novelas e Histórias

She pushes her energy into me, in the way of healers, and as I gasp, her skill bringing me close to orgasm, I moan. No, I can’t do this. It’s wrong. She shouldn’t be touching me. “No,” I murmur as I try to sit up and pull myself away. “Stop. I…” “You’re so close,” she purrs. “Let yourself come undone. Once you’ve healed enough, I’ll fill you while you fill me.” She squeezes me at the base and I almost do exactly what she wants. “Don’t worry,” she assures me, leaning forward, “I’m a healer. I can make you rise over and over again, as much as we need, to get the job done and…”

"There's Dan around, so it's not like I'm by myself." "You know, remember the cut I got this week? On Monday, I mean? It's healed. I don't know how you do it, Aria. I swear that every time you touch me, I heal fast. And I've tried it with Dan, too. He's good, but there's something about your touch that I can't explain." The drinks arrive and I'm spared from having to answer him because I read in the book Cassandra gave me that some Nocturns have a healing thumb.

His hands move with deliberate slowness, and his fingers return to my skin. The moment they touch my bare skin jolt of something electric races through me. "Magic?" My voice is hoarse. "Healing," he corrects, his palms pressing flat against my ribs. Heat radiates from his hands, seeping into my skin, and I gasp as the soreness between my thighs eases, the rawness of overstimulation soothing into a dull, pleasant throb. "Just a little. Enough to take the edge off." His fingers trail lower, skimming over my hip bones, his touch feather-light. "You’re still so tense," he murmurs. "Let me—"

She walked towards him, and before she could do or say anything else, she heard a voice licked her ears. And it said, “Touch him.” She was taken aback by this, but it felt more like an order than a suggestion. So she obeyed. She closed the distance between them and placed her hands on his head full of wavy hair. And as soon as she did, she felt something leave her, almost like energy. And right there. Right before her very eyes, she watched the guy get healed. All his wounds closed up, and everything that was wrong with him physically immediately got fixed. It felt like dark magic, but the omega knew that it was not.

Since he was already in this state, he was afraid that if someone touched him now, he might die with the shock his body would have. Trevor had a disease that he had discovered when he was eleven years old, he couldn't be touched by men. Therefore, his heat was the most painful time for him. Because of his disease; Trevor could not possibly have sex with anyone! While he could do it with alpha or omega females, he found to his horror that his body was not attracted to them in the slightest.

Victim of His Obsession By: bleed4more Prologue I really don’t think that I will be in this situation. I wasn’t prepared for this, I knew to myself that I’m not that good to be admire this much. I never wanted to be like this, to become a fool by myself. My name is Xencia Enclovia Morcos, I am being rejected by anyone. Trying to fit in, but it doesn’t suit me. Insecure, judge by the others, low level woman and a no one. That’s how I see myself.

He knew exactly where to strike—right at the heart of my motherhood. "Turn. Around," he commanded again. I felt the ice in my veins as I slowly turned my back to him. The room felt smaller as he stepped into my space. I could smell him—cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and the faint, metallic scent of a hospital. His fingers were cold as he brushed my hair over my shoulder. I shivered, my skin prickling as his knuckles grazed the back of my neck. He didn't rush. He took his time, his fingers lingering on my skin as he fastened the heavy gold clasp.

Her need, her craving, the way she trusted him so completely… it had taken root inside him. She leaned forward, placing a hand lightly on his, eyes locking with his. “Then I guess… we’re both addicted.” Dr. Hale swallowed. The obsession had begun — for both of them, then who was going to be their therapist. He leaned in forward, letting his fingers trail lightly along her arm, up to her shoulder, and across her collarbone. She moaned softly, pressing into his hand as if it anchored her spinning obsession. “Breathe,” he murmured with a voice low and steady. “Focus on the sensations.”

He drifted back down the bar to his usual stool, melting back into the ano-nymity ofthe crowd, leaving her aching, empty, burning up inside with a longing that threatened to consume her. Alli watched him go, her whole body a live wire of memory, her nerves raw with a desperate, aching desire that pulsed through her veins. The ghost of his touch lin-geredon her skin, a phantom sensation that both tormented and thrilled her. She forced herself to breathe, to focus on the mundane tasks in front of her, to wipe down the already spotless bar, to count the bottles she'd already counted twice.