Short Book Of Fiction Novels & Stories

Above my head, the phone chirped and sang, "Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring." Mom pulled out the ice tray, took the bag of minced meat, and spread it on the floor to inspect it. I was about to burst into tears. "Beatrice, are you an idiot? You actually froze your phone in the refrigerator. It's no wonder you didn't answer when I called. What exactly is inside your head?

But Noah’s title stopped me cold. Dirty Desire. A nervous laugh escaped my mouth. Surely, I was imagining things, I had to be imagining things. Surely, this wasn’t what I thought it was. But when I opened the first page, my breath hitched. I couldn't believe my eyes. Noah hadn’t written a romance. He’d written a fantasy. His fantasy, a well detailed one at that. The words became more and more serious with each line: “She’s older, irresistible. Her voluptuous boobs pressed against my mouth”, “her wet pussy clenching tightly around me”, “her big fat ass bouncing against my hips.”

Kamala asked and he nodded. “A couple of my crazy guys back in college spoke about it. So it was the fastest way to get the money that I could think of. I signed for one month and by two weeks, I was able to clear the debt and get my home back. I know my story sounds unbelievable in this century but it's my truth” Kamala pulled him in for a hug. They lay back down and she narrated her own story to him, her face wet with tears when she was done.

She poured herself another glass of cheap red, already on her third, and dropped onto the couch in her pencil skirt and blouse, buttons half undone. The city lights through the rain-streaked windows. Her laptop was still open on the coffee table, case files glowing like accusatory little rectangles. She should sleep. Instead she reached for the dusty old book she’d bought on a drunken whim two years ago at that weird occult shop downtown. *Daemonologie for the Modern Woman.* Stupid. But tonight it felt like the right kind of stupid. She flipped it open, scanned a page at random, and slurred the words under her breath. Latin? Probably, didn’t matter.

Sofia Reyes killed the engine of her rented Jeep outside the dusty warehouse on the edge of the port city, notebook crammed in her back pocket, camera slung across her chest. Six months chasing this story had taken her from quiet mountain roads to flashy nightclubs to lonely beach towns. Women vanishing. No bodies. No clear pattern at first. But the deeper she dug, the clearer it got and all of them had been restless, bored, aching for something sharper than their safe little lives.

Speaking of the book. She looks at the clock in the bathroom. It’s still early, and being a Saturday, no one is up yet. But feeling wide awake now, Candace decides on a bath. Pulling off her boy shorts and chemise, she grabs the bottle of Entice. It’s strange, but while ready the book the girl became so entranced by it that when she finally came out of her stupor she found that she held the same bottle that was in every single one of the stories.

His body, which I knew from the look of it was hard, was perfectly defined in his white sando. When the bell rang, I groaned in frustration. That was already two hours? That wasn’t enough! I want to watch him more in this state, fantasize how rough he is on bed, and how good he is a fucker. I could say that that was the shortest two hours of my life. “Hello, Lila! Finally you answered your phone. I’ve been calling you for almost an hour now.” Mira, the landlady of the dorm I was bedspacing at, loudly said in my phone.

You guys have been the absolute best audience a writer could ask for. If you've been around since the beginning, you know this "short story" had a little identity crisis. It started as a quick idea, a little spark, and then it just... kept growing. Like a very polite, very well-dressed monster that just wouldn't stop eating my brain cells. And now, here we are, at the final page. This book is done! And I’m going to be honest with you about the ending, particularly that final chapter. I know some of you might be thinking, "Curvy, what gives? Where was the last-minute spice? The grand finale hookup?"

I admitted. His breath was deeper now. And I found myself speaking up. I told him about the dream where my step uncle pinned me against the wall of my childhood home, my lips parted, wrists tied. I told him how he whispered filthy things in my ear while his fingers slid between my thighs. I told him how I begged. How I cried out. How I woke trembling and wet. With every word, my body remembered. The heat. The ache. He didn't speak. But I felt him listening. When I stopped, I was breathless.

THE END🥳❤️ THE END OF BURNING PASSION 🥳❤️ Thank you for reading and supporting this novel, if you enjoyed this erotic collection then it’s a must to read my second book “SINFUL DESIRES”, it can be found on any book platform and unlike this book, Sinful Desires are short short stories , so just sit back and enjoy a short blissful erotic stories THANK YOU AGAIN❤️!!