Sweeter Than Fiction Charleston Novels & Stories

The taste of Elena flooded Samantha's mouth as she licked upward, her tongue exploring the maid's folds, salty and slick. Jake's thrusts rocked them all, his grunts mixing with Elena's muffled moans against Samantha's clit. Sweat dripped from Jake's forehead onto Samantha's thigh, cooling quickly.

"They have the scent-proof, and you still try to lie to my face? You want to play the rogue? Fine. Consider our Mate-Contract severed!" The words hit Charlotte like a silver bullet. Panic drowned her spite. While the Brooks Pack was wealthy in pelts and land, they lacked the ancient, divine prestige of the Montgomerys. Since her mating, Charlotte had been the target of Victoria Montgomery’s constant, biting scrutiny. She had spent years walking on eggshells around the matriarch.

The caption read: “Hot ??” I smiled to myself and completing the statement under my breath: “Hot… sauce.” Curiosity got the better of me. I scrolled down to the comments. Of course, they were filled with girls. One wrote: “Tasted this sauce… would wanna taste your hotness next” Another: “You are hotter anyway” A third: “Can I be your hot sauce, baby?” I kept reading, my jealousy rising with every thirsty comment. My chest felt tight. I knew it was silly — he was with menow — but seeing so many girls openly flirting with him still stung. I rolled my eyes and tossed my phone aside.

He was a very professional person so he kept his distance while the other guy, Darius went to the fridge to get a drink, he was thirsty. The apartment was beautiful, it once served as one of the Hampton's warehouse where they kept fabrics until it was razed down by fire and everything in it burnt down. Nobody knew it was rebuilt, even Mrs. Hampton. The middle aged man built it for his relaxation whenever he did not want to stay in the Hampton's mansion and for his dirty business too, just like the one he was involved in right now.

She was puzzled and asked, "What are you laughing at?" "Didn't laugh at all." Leandro smiled and asked, "What do you want to eat later?" Charlotte looked at him for a moment and said, "It's so hot, I want something sour and sweet to whet my appetite." Just walked for a while, Charlotte felt all sweaty and sticky, really uncomfortable. There are several business districts nearby, all about the same distance away. Charlotte took out her phone, checked the reviews, chose a Southern style cuisine, and then navigated her way there.

She even showed me a vampire on whom I just laughed and told her to stop joking but the vampire just glared at me like he wanted to rip my throat out. She gave me a tour of the bayou and said this place belongs to the crescent pack and blah, blah, blah. But I must say that the people she called wolves were very friendly and even made some famous snacks of their tribe. I really enjoyed living her in New Orleans. ~Chris’s POV~

"You're lucky to be an only child." Charlotte normally agreed with that, but the older she got, the more she wished she had someone else to occupy her mother's time. In that respect, Mary's move to Atlanta had been a blessing. Her mother would be busy tending to her guest and probably give Charlotte some respite. "I really like Steph," Charlotte said. "I wish she'd visit more often." "My mother does too," Floyd said with a hint of resentment in his voice, so Charlotte changed the subject. "So, I was thinking. The theme for this year's Art Museum Gala is The Art of Fiction. I was thinking we could go as a fictional couple."

"Why don't you come here and let me feed you." I gulped down as I slowly started walking towards him, my pussy throbbed with every step I took. My juice was already dripping down my legs since I wasn't putting on anything beneath what I was wearing. "Sit down, Sophia." He commanded. I swallowed even harder as I took my seat, just on a chair by the island. Julian walked away, grabbing a spoon before bringing a scoop of the ice cream to my lips. But just before I could open my mouth, he smeared it from my lips down to my collarbone. The cold sensation of the ice cream, making my skin tingle a bit.

“How considerate.” “I have my moments.” Emma appeared with coffee before quietly excusing herself. The discussion began professionally. Grant funding. Community outreach. Research partnerships. Yet somehow, the conversation wandered. They discovered they both preferred bookstores to golf courses. Both collected old fountain pens. Both secretly enjoyed rainy afternoons with a good novel. “You read fiction?” Charlotte asked, genuinely surprised. “When I have time.” “What do you read?” He smiled. “Depends.” “On?” “My mood.” She folded her arms.

The Langstons don't throw parties. They host kingdoms. At least that's what it feels like when I step through the arched stone entryway of the Whitmore estate, one of the sprawling mansions perched just outside town where the Blackridge elite gather to gorge themselves on excess. Music thunders through the walls, bass rattling the polished floors. Every chandelier drips crystal light across velvet curtains and marble staircases. The air smells like money and champagne and the faint trace of something burning.