Temptation Just My Imagination Novels & Stories

I shouldn’t indulge these fantasies I have at night in my bed, but he’s looking at me with that cautious hope in his sky-blue eyes… maybe the wine is breaking down the walls I keep up in daily life. It was a temptation served on a silver platter, perhaps too much for her poor mind trying to stay grounded in reality and resist the countless fantasies that might—or might not—come true. As if it were a cruel trick of her own mind, she remembered the video she had seen by accident and felt something stir that made her flush and feel slightly aroused.

Tristan whispered, lowering his eyes in dejection. “What’s forbidden always appeals to your heart. All of them are simply caught in an illusion.” He whispered, gritting his teeth. “You taught us, not just Brother but all of us… yet.” Tristan scowled, rage blinding him. “Once again, Tristan. Temptation is a great curse. Anyone could lose.” He hummed. He was trying so hard to find a justification for their action but it would bring grave consequences and he knew it. It was supposed to be a fun adventure to look and come back. How could it become so malevolent?

"I've had impure thoughts. Very impure thoughts." "Ruth, you shouldn't be here—" "Last night," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper, "I touched myself while thinking about a priest. I imagined his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin and his cock inside me." I heard him shift in his seat as he took in another sharp breath. "I imagined him bending me over the altar," I continued. "Not only that, but also him taking me from behind while I prayed. Father, I imagined him filling me with his sin."

“What’s wrong with doing all those things with me? I’ll have you know, many girls will scramble for a chance to be in a relationship with me. I’m a catch, you know.” “‘Reality can be beaten with enough imagination’. Yann Martel.” Silence. “What does that mean?” I gave a heavy sigh and went back to scribbling and striking out. This was going to be a very trying time.

Stay lonely forever? The guilt twisted painfully inside me. But somehow that guilt wasn't enough to stop the jealousy consuming me alive. I suddenly imagined him sitting across another woman at dinner. Smiling... listening to her... touching her hand maybe. Complimenting her, the same way he used to compliment me. A painful ache spread through my chest instantly. "No," I whispered aloud. I didn't want to imagine it. But my stupid brain kept torturing me anyway. Was she beautiful? More beautiful than me?

I must put an end to this. I stood up and stepped backwards, turning away from her. “Nic…” “Don't ever in your life, Maeve pull this again.” I warned, voice stern. I have been repeating the same pattern but I'm really ending it now. I have to control myself. I wouldn't let Maeve have this much effect on me. This effect could ruin everything. I started walking away before I would get caught in the temptation again. “What about breakfast?” she asked, her voice soft and quieter this time. “I have lost my appetite”

Liam's imagined whispers, his breath on my neck, his body pressed against mine – it was all so vivid, so tantalizingly real. With the showerwand in hand, I directed the warm water, the sensation heightening the fantasy, blurring the lines between reality and imagination. This was just a release, I told myself, a way to exorcise his image from my thoughts so I could refocus on what mattered – my business, my goals, the bet.

His mind was still riveted there, in that small, snug shop, entangled in the trap of friendly smiles, gentle sweaters, and blue eyes that observed *too much*. He was losing his mind. It was lust. Pure, basic, dumb lust. Something he could exorcise with a couple of nights of indiscriminate fucking— —he couldn't stand the idea of anyone else's hands on him right now. He scrubbed a hand over his face and gazed out the window, the city lights blurring together in stripes of white and gold. He needed control restored. He needed room. And he sure as hell needed to remove Lena Carter from his mind.

"How can we stop now? Wouldn't that make me seem incompetent?" I thought he was going to let me off the hook, but to my surprise, he lifted me up by my hips. "I remember you like strawberries, don't you?" Strawberries? A chill ran down my spine as I recalled a risqué scene I had written involving strawberries. The female protagonist was naked, blindfolded, and bound in the kitchen, her body covered in strawberries. The male protagonist patiently fed her the strawberries one by one. My God... how perverted was I to have come up with such a scenario?

Almost too perfectly. I leaned against the edge of my desk, fingers drumming thoughtfully, a smirk just twitching at the corner of my mouth. The room smelled of leather, cold coffee, and ambition. This was what winning felt like—tainted by the bitter aftertaste of necessity, but sweet in its control.