Short Book Of Fiction Novels & Stories

“You were reading a finance book in the lobby café. And your presentation landed us the biggest deal with M.Co too,” I frowned. “That was like… three months ago.” “Yes.” “You noticed that?” His voice lowered again. “You were biting your lip while you read.” Heat shot straight to my face. “You’re unbelievable.” “So is your habit of pretending you’re invisible.” I folded my arms defensively. “Maybe I like being invisible.” He leaned closer again. Close enough that his voice brushed my ear. “No,” he murmured. “You don’t.” A shiver ran through me. Before I could respond, he stepped back. The sudden space felt strange, Like something had been taken away.

BEFORE YOU READ Nobody is coming to save you. Themes: Forced Proximity, Snowed In, Size Difference, Breeding Kink. This story features a possessive, reclusive hero who hasn't seen a woman in years. Expect primal play, rough sex, and intense possessiveness. (***) Gabrielle

Brock’s apartment was only five minutes from the station, a simple but surprisingly clean second-floor unit with a big bed and not much else. The second the door closed behind us, he backed me against it, kissing me like he was still running on pure adrenaline from the fire call. “You’re staying here tonight,” he said against my lips, already pulling the blanket off my naked body. “No arguments.” I was still trembling from everything, the fire, the truck, the locker room, the blowjob while he was supposed to be working. “Brock… I have nothing. No clothes, no phone charger, nothing left from my apartment. This is all happening so fast.”

I walked close to the shelf, reaching my hand up to grab the packet but my hand didn't reach it. "Fuck being short!" I grunted getting on my tippy toes but my hand didn't even graze the packet. I guess I will have to jump, I jumped up and this time my hand grazed the packet but it only pushed it more away from me. Just as I was about to give you and just settle for the ice cream alone, a rigid warm body pressed me into the counter. I closed my eyes as I could literally feel every hard abs of his on my back.

Not a fortress. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. The bookstore is quiet. Just us and the hum of the fridge behind the counter. He holds something. A book. He sets it on the counter. The Art of Letting Go. Used. Corners bent. “I read it,” he says. His voice is rough. Unused. “Didn’t help.” My throat closes. “Dominic—” “I wasn’t okay,” he says, like he’s continuing a conversation from six months ago. “When you asked. On the phone. I wasn’t okay. I’m still not.”

Easy access. The whole Uber ride to the coffee shop, I kept my thighs pressed together, acutely aware of how wet I was, how exposed I felt. Every bump in the road made the friction unbearable. I wanted to slide my hand between my legs and finish what I'd started last night, but I didn't. He'd told me not to come. So I wouldn't. Good little slut. Following Daddy's orders. I arrived at Brew Haven ten minutes early and ordered a latte I didn't want, just to have something to do with my hands. The coffee shop was busy—businesspeople on laptops, students studying, couples on dates. Normal people doing normal things.

Do let me know in comments which character you like the most in the book and why? Also please j.o.i.n my f.b Group Shree Above Story

I walked over to the children's books area, I was thankful no one was around as I sat down in a beanbag after grabbing a few books to read. "Ella, stop slouching around and get to work" my manager yells at me, there was no one in the shop while I was sitting around here. I looked up to see a woman standing next to the register, I huffed angrily and put the book away before walking over to the nice looking lady. "Hi ma'am, how may I help you?" I ask the woman, she was only about five feet tall, with brown long hair and brown eyes. "Hello, I'm here for the new werewolf story" she says looking at me, I tried my best to hide under my own overgrown bangs.

Chapter 2: Sex with my best friend: Tale of a Bi- curious boy. Just to refresh memories, my name is Chris. I’m a bi-curious 19 year old with short, blonde hair. I’m about six feet tall with a nicely sculpted body. Skinny by nature, frisky by choice. My friend, Alex, is slightly shorter and skinnier than I am; again with blonde hair and a few muscles here and there.

The corners were worn, the spine cracked in a way that made it fragile, like it held too much. I’d started it the week after my sixteenth birthday—the night he had looked at me across the dinner table for just a second too long, and something inside me had shifted forever. I opened it. The pages were full. Completely full. Some entries were short. I saw him today and my heart forgot how to beat. Some were long. Three pages about his hands—how they poured vodka, the scars and veins, how I imagined those fingers inside me, how I had touched myself afterward until I cried because he would never know.