Novel Touch Novels & Stories

Her whole body was now shaking from his touch. - Doris, you're so sensitive. Doris did not know how to continue, she just followed her normal physiological response and made strange sounds: - Um, um, a, a. I I, Riffen, Riffen. When Riffen heard that, he knew she was starting to get dragged into the game, so he worked even harder. The last of his underwear was gone, he quickly used his fingers to touch Doris's private place without hesitation, slowly making contact, then the speed got faster and faster.

I didn't dare move for fear of waking her up and possibly triggering her angry reaction. That touch made Noella moan softly in her unconsciousness. When that touch happened, I felt the world had stopped momentarily. I held my breath, feeling a strange tingle and hot all over my body. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm myself from this most beautiful temptation. The woman, who was still closed with her lips parted, was begging to be fucked. That small touch made Noella respond, triggering sensations that made her drift into unexpected pleasure. She seemed to crave more gentle touches.

His touch leaves behind a blazing trail of desire, and I hold my breath. "You're going to have a black eye, you should put some ice on that." His jaw ticks, as his eyes harden. He drops his hand and I finally breath. The way just one touch from him affects me bewilders me. My body has never responded to anything or anyone like it does with Camden.

He couldn't resist touching her, he found her skin so soft under his touch and traced lines on her waist. He could see her struggling to resist his touch but her body betrayed her, she found herself leaning back for him. His hand wandered up and down her back as she bit down on her lips so as not to remove any sound. She wanted to remain strong and remain in control. She couldn't let him know that she was affected by his touch but the more he gave his attention to her back alone, the more she yearned for him to touch her front too. She wanted his hands everywhere in her body driving her out of her senses.

He wears a leather tunic. He is sprightly, hopping out of the carriage and landing on the ground. I find myself staring at him. He heads straight for our Alpha and the two embrace, slapping each other's backs. "It's good to see you," Alpha Maxwell says. He has the energy of a pup, I think, rather than a distinguished grandfather like Alpha Nico. "You, too," Alpha Nico responds. "May I introduce my mate, Luna Tatiana." The Luna steps forwards and shakes hands with the visiting Alpha.

It gave me just a sliver of time to put my hand between our lips and stop him from kissing me. I shoved him back. “What are you doing? You don’t just kiss a girl out of nowhere like that!” I heard the back door slam open, and the deck started to shake. A fist was flying by my face before I could register what was going on. I watched in horror as Aiden smashed his fist into Noah’s face.

Speech had not been forbidden, but both understood that words would only dilute what they had come for. The first contact was accidental. She shifted her weight and the outer edge of her breast brushed the hard plane of his chest. The touch lasted less than a second before she stilled, but the sensation lingered like a brand. He answered by leaning forward the small distance the restraints allowed until his collarbone met the soft upper curve of her tit. Skin on skin, warm, slightly damp with the beginning of sweat. They stayed like that, simply breathing against each other, letting the novelty of pure touch settle.

Sweat, heat, moans, whispered names, forbidden touches—all tangled together in the chaos of desire and risk. Noah gasped, collapsing into him, chest pressed against chest, hearts hammering, bodies slick, trembling. The cafeteria continued around them, oblivious to the fire they’d just unleashed, the risk they’d danced with, the bold, filthy defiance that had finally given Noah a taste of power—and left them both aching for more.

Then slowly his free hand settled at my waist. Not gripping. Not pulling. Simply resting there, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of my top. Three seconds. Maybe four. Long enough for the contact to register in every nerve ending I possessed. Long enough for my breath to catch once, audibly, before I locked it down again. The touch was light. It burned anyway. He removed his hand as deliberately as he had placed it and stepped back, restoring the professional distance in a single motion. The absence of his palm felt louder than the contact had.