Short Stories Romance Novels & Stories

STORY 7. Hi, I’m Chloe. My husband cheated on me and I divorced him. The bell above the studio door chimed softly as I stepped inside. My sensible cardigan was pulled tight around my shoulders, and my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure the artist could hear it from the back room.

Kitty sneaks in. Once under the stream of searing water, I let them fall freely. The tears feel cool on my skin under the heat of the shower. I realize I'm acting like a fool. This isn't love-hell, it's not even friendship-it is just unadulterated lust. I hadn't planned to let my heart get involved, but I've never been a girl who can have casual sex.

It made my knees weak. I moved to his wardrobe, pulled out one of his shirts, and pressed it to my face. The fabric still carried his smell. My eyes fluttered closed as I breathed him in. Just this once, I told myself. Then I’ll stop. I hiked up my nightdress, leaned against the wardrobe, and slipped my fingers between my soaked folds. It didn’t take long. I came hard, biting my lip to stay quiet, his shirt still pressed against my nose. After that night, it became a dangerous routine.

“Because you’re going to be baby sitting not just a child but also a man who’s going to be latched onto your very tempting breasts. That’s more work isn’t it sweetheart?” *** Well… to cut the story short, I eventually got married to Mr Damien two years later and it’s safe to say it has been the best decision I’ve ever made because as you know… the sex is top notch and I simply cannot get enough.

Rene’s POV “He wants me to go to Coverts Lisa.. Coverts! He wants me to cheat!” I said on the phone with my cousin. Sitting outside the hospital “But Rene.. Is it really cheating if he permits you to?” “Omg Lisa! Don't tell me.. What has gotten into you two?” “Honey you and I know you’ve had it bad for the past year. And trust me, your emotions flying around is pent up frustration due to lack of sex! You really need to get your back blown out like he said.”

His fur was soft under candlelight, and the way he watched her made her feel alive in ways she'd never expected. That evening, as the fire crackled in the hearth, Belle selected a particularly intriguing volume from the shelves a romance novel she'd discovered hidden among the classics. The cover was embossed with golden letters, promising tales of passion and desire. She turned to the Beast, who was lounging in a massive chair nearby, his broad shoulders relaxed but his gaze sharp. "You built this for me," she said, her voice soft and teasing, a smile playing on her lips. "So, how about you join me for a story? This one's got some... interesting parts."

NINA I had barely sat down when the knock came. Three sharp taps. My heart jumped. My chest tightened. I didn’t need to ask who it was. I already knew. I opened the door—and Rhea didn’t say a word. She stepped in, slammed the door behind her, and kissed me so hard I lost my balance. “Rhea—” Her hands gripped my waist. One slid down and squeezed my ass, firm and greedy. Her lips were hot, wet, hungry. Her tongue slipped into my mouth and I moaned, grabbing her shoulders to stay upright.

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.”

His hand cupped my face, warm and certain, and for a heartbeat, everything else disappeared. When we finally parted, I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine a promise, a memory, a beginning. I looked down at the page. The ink had barely touched it, but it didn’t matter. For once, I didn’t need to write every detail. The story had already found its ending not in words, but in the spaces between them. And as Ethan’s fingers tightened gently around mine, I realized that sometimes, the truest stories don’t need to be told. They just need to be lived.

His gaze held a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, a sentiment he seldom revealed. As she continued to dress his wounds, the room seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the unspoken connection between them. Raina, in your writing, delves into the complexities of their romance. The physical act of dressing wounds serves as a metaphor for the healing they find in each other amid the chaos of their lives. Let the readers feel the emotional nuances, the uncharted territory of love in the shadows.