Short Book Of Fiction Novels & Stories

When I steadied my ragged breathing, I stood up, tugged my dress down, and fetched something to wipe the mess that had spilled on the floor. Afterward I headed to my room, showered, and slipped into a short skirt plus a tank top that revealed my cleavage. One thing about Christian was that he adored me dressing this way, and I loved it too. I would continue wearing it to seduce and grant his sons effortless entry to my cunt. I curled up on the bed and attempted to pass the time by reading a smut novel, into which I became immersed. Even though I had received enough cock, reading this stirred my inner whore.

She pointed with her finger and ran it down these books looking for a particular cover. “I have been saving this story for the right moment.” She directed her son to sit in the chair and when he sat down, she gave him the book. It looked ordinary to him, but it was obviously special to her. “This is the story of a young man who found a friend while on a journey. It is called ‘The Tale of Meru’.” He looked surprised because he was half expecting another history lesson. “Are you sure you have the right book?” “Yes, Yvayn, I am. I am not as boring as you would like to think I am.”

A new beginning. “Sometimes,” I typed, “the bravest thing you can do is leave before you’re asked to stay.” I stared at the blinking cursor and smiled faintly. That sentence would become the first entry in what I started calling The Vanishing Diary—notes to myself, reminders of why I left, proof that I had survived. Because healing isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It happens between coffee cups and long walks, between small victories and lonely nights. It happens when you stop checking your phone to see if he called.

The air in the library was thick with the scent of old books and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Sadile Marconi, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of flames, sat at a secluded table, her green eyes darting between the pages of her textbook and the clock on the wall. The numbers seemed to mock her, ticking away the minutes until her next class, a class she was dangerously close to failing.

I hadn’t prepared for it. The whole crowd gasps at the big reveal that Fernanda had just made. Couldn’t believe she had just revealed it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “There is no such thing as a good story. There is only something like a good book. A good book is where a reader finds complete solace and comfort; a way to escape harsh realities relating to his life.” A/N If you like this chapter please consider giving it a review. Thanks!!

I never wore them here. I opened the book at random. Words blurred. It didn't matter. My right hand slipped between my legs before the first sentence ended. Fingers found my clít. Already swollen. Already slick. I rubbed fast. Circles. Up and down. Pressure hard enough to make my breath hitch.

The one who rooted for love even when it seemed impossible. Thank you. Thank you for walking through every emotion, every storm, and every fragile moment in these stories. Thank you for believing in characters who were imperfect, stubborn, and human. You gave them life by reading. These books were not just love stories, they were pieces of what it means to be alive. To fall. To rise. To be hurt and still choose to open your heart again. To everyone who has ever been Nina, Jasmine, Lena, Olivia or Zara, this collection is for you.

You're welcome in advance. It was just texting. No voice. No video. The method her words settled in his chest, it felt like presence. Later in the day as he was icing his knee, he picked up the book again and noticed a scribbled note in the margin. “Some stories aren’t about escape. They’re about returning as someone new.” He didn’t know if she wrote it or if the author did. But either way, it hit. He looked at the untouched tea up until it went cold.

My sincere thanks to you for reading the short book, Epidemic. This is actually my first sci-fi and zombie type of story, but I hope I did well, and I'll surely work more on improving myself. I wrote this book in a day without even planning for it before (LOL). A colleague of mine asked for one of my works to be added to an anthology he is currently working on. He specified it must be sci-fi, I've never written any sci-fi book before, so I had to quickly put down something. It's kinda funny, I know. Thanks once again, and yeah, Let me know your thoughts by dropping a comment!

“Let’s hope nobody heard you begging for it.” Elijah was... Everything. But we broke up a year later when I had to leave. Since I've told you all this gory, beautiful stories about myself and it is time to finally close the curtains. I'm sad to go. Trust me, I am, but it's been fun sharing my deepest, sexiest secrets with you. I guess we might just call this entire book "the diary of a slut"