Native Writing Novels & Stories

Caela appeared in the east wing doorway at the eleventh hour. She had been in the records hall with Maren since morning. She came in now with the specific quality she had when she had finished something and wanted them to know. She said: "Section thirty-one." Nyra said: "You wrote it." She said: "Yes." She said: "In the new writing system." She said: "Yes." She held out the paper. The new writing system was precise and structured — the standard characters with the layered language marks above and below, building a density of meaning that standard writing could not carry. She had been writing in it for two months. Maren could read it now. Nyra was still learning.

She asked yawning and getting off the bed, she hardly see Natalie with her laptop and she was with it so early. "I am writing," "Writing?" "Yes, I started writing while I was away, I got so bored that I took up writing as a hobby and surprisingly, I am good at it and over the past four months my readership has increased," "Wow, what genre do you write?" Nicole asked walking close to her, she never thought Natalie would have the patience for writing, she tried it one time and gave up because she couldn't concentrate and wrote out thousands and thousands of words, it just wasn't for her, if Natalie can have the patience to write that's just wow, Nicole loves to read books and she wanted to try

“Um, I would rather you didn’t. I told you I don’t let anyone read what I write.” “Could letting me read just a little bit be so bad?” She looked at me for a minute before saying, “I’m embarrassed to let anyone read what I write. Plus, I have been writing this for months, even before I met you. So, the story has nothing to do with you.” “And why are you telling me that it has nothing to do with me?” I asked as I raised an eyebrow. “Because, well, it has a character named Nathaniel in it. I just didn’t want you to think I had put you in the story because I didn’t. So if I’m going to let you read it, I thought you should know.”

CHAPTER 2 ZOE The elevator doors slide open on the 12th floor and I step in wearing the tightest pencil skirt I own, red silk blouse, hair in a high ponytail like a handle he hasn’t earned yet. Nathan is already inside, leaning against the back wall, coffee in one hand, eyes locked on me the second I appear. He doesn’t speak. He just hits the close door button, then the big red stop button. The car jerks to a halt between floors.

“I like… being touched slowly. Being praised. But… also when someone’s rough. Like… pin me down kind of rough.” His nostrils flared. “Fuck.” “And I like watching too,” I added, too tipsy to stop myself. “Sometimes more than doing anything.” Nathan looked like he was two seconds away from sinning. “That’s hot as hell.” “Your turn.” He tilted his head. “I like when a woman comes so hard she forgets her name. I like edging—making her beg and still not giving it to her.” I squeezed my legs tighter. “Why are we doing this?”