Romance Short Stories Novels & Stories

Kyle slammed into her. "I love you," she gasped. He thrust again. "Happy Valentine's Day, love." Sabrina exploded. THE END

Elena The clock on the mantle ticked with a rhythmic, mocking precision. Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days of sharing a bed with a man who was as much a predator as he was a husband. When the contract was signed, I told myself it was just business-a merger of two powerful families. But hearts are treacherous things. I had fallen in love with Dominic, a man whose hands were often stained with blood and whose knuckles were perpetually bruised from the "negotiations" he never spoke of.

The only reason she was able to reach his height was because of her six-inch heels. Ronan’s hands tightened around her hips. It was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t want the daughter of his best friend, but he could hardly control his growing erection when her ass was running against him like that. “Be careful.” His voice was unusually hoarse as he spoke. Camilla took it as a challenge. “Or what?” She arched her back, pressing her ass directly against his erection. He inhaled, his fingers tracing the hem of her dress. “Or you find out what happens when you play grown-up games.”

“Even though you have short legs and small hands.” “Thank you.” I said blushing, while he picked me up and took me to the nearest mirror. Now it is more natural for me to look at myself in a mirror, and even more so when the person behind me is Dr. Mark. “You look so beautiful.” He repeats once again in my ears. Now he licks this one a little, while I hold my hands on his hips, while I turn around, leaving my reflection behind. This time I kiss him, placing my hands on his chin while he lets me touch him. So my tongue and his come together as one. I don't believe in fairy tales, but I feel like a princess and he is a prince who loves me, and he tells me how beautiful I am. I feel like we are

Pinky squinted to read it, her eyes tracing the loops and crosses. "Collection of short stories for ladies," the title read. "Stories of desire, of awakening, of the first time." Pinky blinked, her eyes widening as she read on. The handwriting was feminine, secretive, as if the writer were sharing her most guarded thoughts with only the pages. It was a confession. A revelation. As she began to read.

“We’ve been watching you two for weeks. Figured it was time we all stopped pretending.” The woman, beautiful, curvaceous, with long dark hair and confident eyes, stepped forward and kissed me first. Her lips were soft but demanding, her tongue sliding against mine as her hands cupped my breasts through my dress. “I’m Lena,” she whispered against my mouth. “And this is Alex. We’ve cum to the sound of you two almost as many times as you’ve cum to us.” Alex pulled Kale into a firm handshake that quickly turned into something more charged. The tension in the room was electric.

she chirped, clicking play. As the story unfolded, with its sweeping landscapes and tense romantic dialogue, she felt herself being drawn in. Then came the first intimate scene. It was artfully shot, but raw and passionate. A slow, warm flush began to spread through her body, a familiar ache of arousal coiling deep in her belly.

He just hoped that this was the start of something new, not the end of a potential good relationship… THE END AUTHOR'S NOTE. Hello lovelies. I trust you guys are doing great. So, I decided to finally start this project after putting it off for a year now. This is like a collection of my readers' suggestions and stories. You tell me what you want as the next story, and I write the prompt of the lucky person. So far, I have 20 prompts from my readers from platforms, 19 when you exclude the already uploaded one. Updates for this series will be twice or thrice a week, with a full upload of a story, not chapter-by-chapter updates, depending on my school schedules.

I’ve read a lot of things in my ten years of teaching. Late-night essays, drunken rants passed off as “creative expression,” confessions disguised as poetry. But none of them ever made my cock hard. Until hers. Until Mira Callahan handed in her extra credit assignment. It was a short story, printed neatly in 12-point Times New Roman, double-spaced like I asked. But the first sentence hit like a punch to the gut: “He wasn’t supposed to touch her, but he wanted to. And when she leaned back on his desk and spread her legs, he forgot what ‘supposed to’ meant.”

I lived for the idea of them. The thought of being pinned beneath an immortal body, feeling those icy fingers slide over my heated skin, the sudden sharp sting of fangs sinking deep into my neck, followed by that forbidden rush of pleasure so intense it bordered on agony… it haunted my dreams and ruined every ordinary man who ever tried to touch me. My friends had long since given up. Every time I brought up another dark romance, another obscure vampire lore theory, another fantasy where the heroine begged to be drained while she came undone, they would groan and roll their eyes.