Novel & Cerita Platonic Cuddling

A gasp escapes me as my back hits the wood, and hands grab mine, pinning them high above my head, forcing me to look straight into the face I’ve tried so hard to forget. Kai. His scent filled my senses, spicy and dangerous and so damn soothing. His gaze burned into my skin and the amount of fury in them almost made me shiver. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap. He leans in, voice low and venomous. “You like cuddling up in another man’s arms, Virelle?” “Excuse me?” I hissed. “Ric is my mate. I can do whatever the hell I want.” His jaw clenches as his nostrils flares. “You think he can please you?” I glare at him, ignoring the heat pooling low in my belly. “Yes, I do, because he’s my mate and I can do whatever I want, I don’t owe you anything.” “Bullshit,” he growls and before I could blink, his lips crash against mine…hard. His lips are rough and angry, his teeth grazing mine with his tongue forcing its way in, like he’s trying to claim what he threw away. My mind is screaming at me to shove him off, but my body is traitorous and trembling, and is already responding. I could feel Nyzarelle howling in delight, as I clutched to him for dear life. I'd never felt like this with Ric A moan slips from my mouth but is swallowed by his tongue as his hand grips my thigh, trailing up until I feel them on my folds. He massaged my folds roughly, before stuffing his hands into my panties and pooling a finger into me. My back aches as he finger fucks me angrily, not giving space to catch my breathe.

My wife has a severe sex addiction. But in the seven years we've been married, she never lets me touch her. To suppress her urges, she spends all day submerged in ice-cold water, and her arms are covered in needle marks. Several times, I try to initiate intimacy out of concern for her, but her reaction is terrifying. She even threatens to kill herself. "I told you, I only want a Platonic relationship in this lifetime. Can you stop being so selfish? If you insist on making me do that, I'd rather die!" she exclaims. She maintains this unusual obsession for seven years. Even after ending up in the hospital multiple times from suppressing her desires, she refuses to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a man comes in for a pre-check of his phalloplasty enlargement for the ninth time. After the anesthesia takes effect, he begins rambling incoherently. "Honey, I love you so much." Looking at the surgical scars, I shake my head, thinking this guy is really willing to go to extreme lengths for his wife. Then, I hear his final murmur. "Tasha, aren't I so much better compared to your useless husband?" My hand jerks, and I nearly drop the scalpel. It is because my wife's name is Tasha Snyder.

My husband had a severe addiction for physical intimacy. However, in the seven years of our marriage, he never touched me, not even once. To suppress his urges, he soaked himself in bone-chilling ice water every night. His arms were covered in needle marks from constant injections. It broke my heart to see him like that. I offered myself to him many times, but he insisted on simply giving me a restrained kiss on the forehead before saying, “Don’t be silly, Summer. I’m not like those animals. How could I ever bear to hurt you? For you, I’d gladly live the rest of my life in a platonic marriage.” This strange, almost obsessive restraint of his lasted seven years. Despite the numerous times he pushed himself far enough to end up hospitalized, he still refused to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a young woman named Anna Brandt came in for her ninth hymen restoration surgery. After the anesthetic was administered, her cheeks flushed red. As her mind grew hazy, she started crying weakly like a lost kitten. Looking at the love bites scattered across her body, I shook my head and assumed she was just another girl who had gone astray. That was until I heard her last tearful whisper. “John Shaw, you jerk.” My hand trembled and I nearly dropped the scalpel. Because my husband’s name also was John Shaw.

For six years, Medea Watts believed her marriage to Gordon Begum had remained purely platonic because he was naturally repulsed by intimacy. That was, until she witnessed the intimacy he shared with another woman. He ignored her completely after her near-death ordeal, choosing instead to celebrate the birthday of his first love’s daughter, the three of them looking every bit like a perfect family. Only then did Medea realize that the woman Gordon had never truly let go of was actually his late brother’s widow. All these years, he treated their marriage like a vow of abstinence, saving himself for the woman he truly loved. And in that moment, whatever love Medea had left for him finally died. Without hesitation, she filed for divorce. Gordon only sneered dismissively. “Even the York family, who raised her for years, no longer wants her. How could she possibly leave me?” To Gordon, Medea was simply a sheltered young woman the York family had spoiled and protected for years. She was beautiful, obedient, and utterly useless. He assumed her talk of divorce was nothing more than a childish tantrum. Yet Medea quietly obtained the divorce agreement and moved out of their home without a word. It wasn't until one of her design sketches went viral that her career took off, transforming her into one of the most talked-about rising designers in contemporary luxury fashion. Countless people admired and pursued her. Only then did Gordon realize how badly he underestimated her. With reddened eyes, he knelt before her and begged in a hoarse voice, “Dea, I’ve completely cut ties with Sharon. After everything we’ve shared over the years, can’t you give me one more chance?” The once untouchable man finally lowered his pride for love. But Medea merely lifted the hem of her dress and turned away, stepping directly into the embrace of the powerful head of the York family. The man wrapped an arm around her waist and said calmly, “Sorry, but if anyone has a claim on her, it's me. After all, in some sense, I raised her myself.”