Short Fiction Books Novels & Stories

The old castle stood high on the rocky hill where the forest met the mountains. Its stone walls were cracked and covered with thick vines. No one had lived there for hundreds of years. People in the nearby village whispered that the place held something dangerous. Something that burned hotter than any flame. Elias had heard all the stories but he still came anyway. At twenty six years old he felt stuck in his small quiet life. He worked in the village bakery during the day and spent his nights reading old books about forgotten magic. One book spoke of a fire demon who once ruled these lands. The words pulled at him until he could not stay away.

The downtown bookstore smelled like old paper and amber wood polish. Soft classical music floated through the aisles, barely louder than a whisper. Clara always came on Thursdays-the quietest day of the week-and she always headed for the poetry section first. Today, someone else was already there. She noticed him the moment she turned the corner: tall, dark-haired with streaks of silver at his temples, black wool coat draped perfectly across broad shoulders. He stood in front of the Spanish poetry shelf, his long fingers brushing the spine of Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.She hesitated.

It won't happen again. "No, it's fine," I lied smoothly, trying to ignore the way my core tightened just remembering what I'd done while listening to him. "I needed to get some writing work done anyway." He leaned his heavy shoulder against the wall, sipping his coffee while his silver eyes thoroughly studied my face. "What do you do?" "I write books," I said. An eyebrow lifted, his interest clearly piqued. "An author? That's Impressive. What kind?" I stared into my cup, definitely not wanting him to know what kind of books I wrote. "Romance."

An oversized cardigan, a pleated skirt that rested just above my knees, and rimmed glasses; my hair was in a messy bun with a pencil stuck into it. No one ever looked twice at the quiet Elena Voss. Perfect. I headed straight to the Rare Books section, the one Dr. Marcus Hale guarded like a treasure. I chose my usual spot; a wooden table tucked between towering shelves and I spread out my notes. But my real prize was waiting for me right on the shelf, a leather-bound book I’d discovered two weeks ago. Shadows of Desire by Marcus Hale. My library professor whose deep commanding voice made my thighs clench during lectures.

In the farthest corner of the library, where the dim light barely reached and the silence was thick enough to muffle even a heartbeat, Jonas stood facing the towering bookshelves. His breath hitched as Rafael's presence loomed just behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Sherri's P.O.V. Shaun isn't a clown, but he thinks he's some sort of panther. Is that a special type of FBI agent? Is he trying to tell me he'll have to leave without notice, and I may not see him for a long time? Wait. Why would he? It's not like we're married or he owes me any type of explanation. I guess rather than letting my thoughts go down a rabbit hole, I should just ask him.

Without you, the readers, I wouldn't have been able to tell their stories. Please feel free to reach out to me through my social media pages. On my Face book page as Maramartha. And on my Instaagram as maramarthaa. While keeping an eye out for Calum’s story: To Seduce My Stepbrother, you can check out my other completed stories; 1. Mr Reluctant Billionaire. 2. Mrs Reluctant Billionaire 3. Erotic Shades Of Passion: a short erotic anthology. (This one is just 42 chapters).

This is the first bookstore I have been to, the books before were for learning, not stories. "Okay, how about telling me some books you have read and if you enjoyed them?" He looks at me waiting. "Yeah, see I haven't read stories. I read books that are to help you learn but never read purely for pleasure." "Okay, I have a few suggestions, follow me." He walks through and I follow, not missing Troy's eyes on me, while he has his phone in his hand. "Here, so, these are small books. Each one has short stories in, between one thousand and ten thousand words each story. Based on a specific genre." I watch as he picks up three and holds them out.

The library stood silent, its towering bookshelves casting long shadows under the dim overhead lights, a sanctuary of knowledge where I retreated to lose myself in words. I was introverted, my mind a labyrinth of intellect, but beneath my reserved exterior simmered a curiosity about my own hidden fantasies—erotic encounters in quiet, public spaces, a thrill I’d explored before with lovers past. My skirt brushed my thighs as I moved, a book in hand, the rustle of pages masking the quickening of my breath as I imagined being caught in passion here.

he says and I shake my head, refusing his threats. “Or…” he says and takes his hands completely off of me. He opens the book and flip through slowly, his fingers teasing the edge of the white pages the way I wish he would tease my hard nipples. I press my legs together, looking for a way to keep down my lust and the crazy thoughts as a drop of juice slides out of my pussy lips into the lady panties I have on. “Or…” he says again and runs his finger down the page of my last writing. Tomorrow morning is Christmas morning.