Off Limits Fantasy Novels & Stories

"The one you transferred to for senior year." My chest tightened painfully. “How do you...” “I can keep it buried,” he said calmly. My throat went dry. “What do you want?” “A fake relationship.” I stared at him. “What would you gain from that?” “I’m Damon Thorne. Someone like me should have a girlfriend.” That wasn’t the real reason. I could feel it. But my options were disappearing. “If I say no?” Silence. Answer enough. I exhaled slowly. “…Fine.”

I muttered, turning my back on him. "If either of you fails to show up, or if I hear a single word of complaint, you’re off the active roster permanently," Matteo said, his voice completely unyielding. "I don't care who you are, Rowan. And I don't care how many points you scored last season, Wesley. Show up, or turn in your jerseys." Without waiting for either of us to answer, Matteo turned around and walked out of the locker room, the door clicking shut behind him.

But right now all I could think about was how his smile didn't quite reach his eyes the way Kian's had, how his voice didn't have that rough edge that Matteo's carried, how nothing about him made my pulse race or my breath catch. He was nice and friendly and handsome, every woman's dream really, successful and charming and clearly interested based on the way he kept finding reasons to lean closer. But he wasn't mine, could never be mine, because I didn't do office romance and I definitely wasn't ready for any kind of romance period. Besides, he was Damien's second in command, practically my direct supervisor, and getting involved with him would be professional suicide. "The exposure is defin

How can we put an end to this if we don’t stay away from each other? We were not in any kind of relationship, but when I write my diary entry that night, it feels like I’ve been jilted. I strike through the whole entry, determined not to let him mar my sexy fantasies. Just because I stopped acting on these fantasies doesn’t mean I can’t write them. This time, I’m writing from experience. When Rhys touches me in my fantasies, I feel his touch as though it were real, the scent of his skin when he embraces me so unadulterated that the lines between imagination and reality start to blur.

The room registered it the way rooms registered unexpected honesty. Then Ortega stood up. Second year linebacker. He'd said approximately twelve words all season in any team context. He was not a speaker. He was a player, the kind who communicated on the field and let the field be the whole of it. He stood up. He said: "I don't care what anyone does off the field. Reyes wins us games. Whitfield wins us games. That's my whole position." He sat back down. The room was quiet for a second.

I lifted it to my eyes. “One more thing, there is a safe word.” His voice was closer now, right in front of me. “The safe word is ‘Red.’ If you say it, everything stops immediately. You put on your dress and walk out, and we'll pretend this never happened, You have my word.” The mercy in the offer startled me more. “Why would you give me an out?” “Because consent matters, Aleena. Especially in the dark.” I pressed my lips together and placed the blindfold over my eyes.

tea I’d bought from that underground shop, and only two minutes since my boyfriend, Mark, had shattered my pride over the phone. "I think we should have an open relationship, Ari," he’d said, his voice flat. Mark, the man who treated sex like a scheduled chore and peaked at the eight-second mark wanted variety? Interesting "Fine," I hissed, my skin already beginning to prickle with an unnatural, heavy heat. "Go find your variety. I'm going to find mine." I slammed the phone down, my breath coming in ragged hitches. The house was quiet, but it wasn't empty.

This does not cancel that debt. 8. Damon, you owe me more now. The debt has increased significantly. 9. Sunday dinners are still Sunday dinners. Nobody gets to opt out because they’re being romantic. That’s not a reason. 10. If this goes wrong I’m allowed to be furious at both of you simultaneously. Agreed in advance. She read it twice. Damon was leaning against the counter reading it over her shoulder. She felt the moment he got to number five because he made a sound that was very close to a laugh and then controlled it.

He finally turns to face me, and those eyes are again like a cold flame. His jaw ticks uncontrollably, as if he's trying to rein himself in. "So what're you gonna do? Hit me? Beat me up because of one night that happened before we even knew each other?" "Nothing happened that night. Forget about it. It doesn't exist anymore." This guy is fucking crazy. "You know what? Fine. If you don't do teammates, that's cool. God knows I would never want to get back in those pants." His face contorts into an angry scowl, and before he can say anything, I'm already brushing past him without a care in the world.

“Forget? Cute. I still remember how soaked you were before I even touched you. How you moaned my name like a desperate little slut while I fucked you senseless against that window.” “How tight your pussy felt clenching around my cock when you came the third time.” Heat flooded my face and between my thighs. I clenched my jaw hard. “Damon, stop. We’re step-siblings now. This is wrong. Completely off limits.” He turned his head slightly, staring at me with cool, bad-boy confidence. No shame. Just raw hunger. “I don’t do off limits, Cassy. Especially not when I have to live in the same house as the girl I still want to fuck every single day.”