Stolen Touches Novels & Stories

he whispered, licking his bottom lip, “trying to act untouched… like I don’t drive you wild.” “You do,” she whimpered. “You fucking do.” Her hands fisted behind her, gripping the desk. Her thighs trembled. His fingers slid past the lace, into her heat. “Drystan,” she moaned, breath shaking. “You’re touching me like—like… like you are scared I would run away.” His lips curled. “Oh Sunshine… I am not touching it because I am scared you would run. I am touching it like this because I own it,” he growled softly. “Feel this?” His fingers slid through her folds, slow and wet. “This is mine.”

The momentum I had used sent me stumbling forward, and with a sharp gasp, I landed on Luca, my knees awkwardly hitting the floor between his legs, my hands on his chest as I tried to steady myself, feeling nothing but the thick beat of his heart right beneath my palms. The asshole caught me without any form of hesitation. His arms closed around my waist like they belonged there, like he remembered my body even when I didn't give him any permission. "Let me go," I hissed. “No.” “Luca,” I growled. His only response to all that was to reach up and gently tuck a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering far too long against my skin. It was the kind of touch that burned. The ki

Not being able to hold him, kiss him, or hear his laughter was affecting her more than she wanted to admit. Distracted while cooking, she accidentally sliced her finger with the knife. As she tried to stop the blood, the food burned in the process. Everything felt off without Phillip around. Wrapping her finger in a napkin, she pressed it tightly to stop the bleeding. Just as she attempted to salvage what was left of her meal, her phone chimed with a message. It was from Collins: Hey, I have a plan to get Loveth back. I’ll call you later. I have an errand to run.

I tilted my head back against his shoulder, letting his lips graze the sensitive spot just below my ear. “I let him think he did.” His hands slid up my bare waist, possessive, claiming. “You let him touch you.” “Only my hand,” I whispered, turning in his arms to face him. “And only long enough for the cameras to catch it.” Theo’s eyes were black in the dim light, jealousy still simmering beneath the surface. He lifted my left hand, thumb brushing over the diamond like he wanted to crush it. “This comes off. Now.”

His was solid muscle that I wanted inside me. “Who did the stolen goods belong to?” He whispered in my other ear as he kept toying with me. I felt my juices touch my inner thigh as all I wanted was for him to put his fingers in me. He let go of my head and trailed his fingers down my neck and along my breast. My breath was shaky and my nipples hard enough to see from the outside of my dress. His fingers grazed over them and he trailed down my front. My leg was sticking out of my slip as his hand landed on my thigh. Squeezing it, he antagonizing slow and moved to my inner thigh that was slick with my juices. His lips continued to graze my neck as he began to place soft kisses on a sensitive s

he detached my hands "Everything about you is beautiful and I love every inch of it” He rolled his tongue over my nipple making me arch my back as I moaned his name. I hugged him tightly so that I could feel him more. "damn it! I love the feeling," my mind was in haywire. He removed my panties and let me spread my legs “Baby, this would hurt you but I’ll be gentle” as he looked at my eyes filled with lust.

Instead I despise my body for the way it’s betraying me, leaning into his touch like a starved animal. His hand is so warm. It’s a clinical, warrior’s massage, but it’s also a violation. It’s the same casual, proprietary intimacy of the stirrup, of the waterskin. He’s touching me as if he has the right. As if I’m his property to maintain.

Its tone hardened, just a touch. “Everything you think is yours,” it whispered, “everything you touch, every fragment of you—already cataloged, numbered, claimed. You are nothing without my consent.” The offer was horrifying. It was also, in some ugly corner of my tired brain, unbelievably tempting. Something brushed my hand. Not ink. Not text. Warmth. Fingers, rough and calloused, groping blindly through the void until they closed around mine. Corvin.

He adds a third finger and stretches me open and my vision blurs at the edges and I lock my knees and press my free hand flat against the counter and stare right at him and keep talking. “He gets sunflowers and called ahead and goodnight at the door.” His thumb finds my clit and starts a slow relentless circle and a whimper tears out of me that I barely catch in time. “And you get this. Stolen. In a kitchen. While your girlfriend eats cake twenty feet away.” “Don’t talk about her—” “Why not.” I tighten my hand over his cock and feel him pulse hot and thick through the fabric and watch his jaw clench. “Does it bother you? Her name right now while your fingers are knuckle deep inside me?”