The Book Of Longings: A Novel Novels & Stories

Chapter 4: Midnight Tease The clock on my nightstand glowed 2:17 a.m., red digits mocking my insomnia. The manor creaked like an old lover settling into bed—winds rattling the ivy against windows, distant rain pattering the slate roof. I'd tossed for hours, sheets tangled around my legs, pussy still tender from the bath-time wank, clit hypersensitive from Daddy's stare. Dreams fragmented: Jake's thigh grind morphing into Richard's box-lifting gropes, their cocks duelling inside me. Woke drenched, nightie rucked up to my waist, fingers sticky from a half-conscious clit rub. Thirst clawed my throat—proper thirst, not just for water—and the kitchen fridge called with its chilled bottles.

My knees nearly buckled. “I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my voice breathy. The conflict tore through me. Part of me desperately wanted to go back to my normal life, my small apartment, my modeling auditions, my friends. But the other part, the darker, addicted part, craved this. Craved him. The luxury. The endless filthy sex. The way he owned me completely. “You’ve been through a lot,” the first rescuer said kindly. “We should get you checked out at the hospital.”

When I steadied my ragged breathing, I stood up, tugged my dress down, and fetched something to wipe the mess that had spilled on the floor. Afterward I headed to my room, showered, and slipped into a short skirt plus a tank top that revealed my cleavage. One thing about Christian was that he adored me dressing this way, and I loved it too. I would continue wearing it to seduce and grant his sons effortless entry to my cunt. I curled up on the bed and attempted to pass the time by reading a smut novel, into which I became immersed. Even though I had received enough cock, reading this stirred my inner whore.

“It’s been… a long time. My ex never really cared about my pleasure. He’d just push my legs open, shove his cock inside me for a few minutes, grunt a couple times, and cum. Then he’d roll over and fall asleep. I’d lie there afterwards feeling used and empty, like my body was just a hole for him to use.” Dr. Marcus’s pen had stopped moving. His intense dark eyes were locked on me, burning with a heat that made my skin tingle. He shifted in his chair, uncrossing and then re-crossing his legs. I noticed the way his jaw tightened, the subtle movement of his throat as he swallowed. “I want to feel wanted,” I continued, my voice growing breathy. “I want someone to take their time with my breasts,

The keys clicked under her touch, loud in the quiet shop, a sound that used to feel like creation and now just felt like work. The barista — a kid with a tattoo of a moth eating its own wing on his neck, inked in shades of grey that looked like ash — refilled her mug without asking. He’d been doing that for months now, knowing she’d stay until dawn, knowing she’d leave enough cash to cover the coffee and then some. The coffee was dark as motor oil, burnt at the edges where the grounds had been left too long in the filter, and it left a thin film on her teeth that tasted like regret and over-roasted beans. She’d been writing this book since she was twenty-three, fresh out of college with a cr

Elias She didn't look away. That was her first sin. Her second? She let her tongue wet her bottom lip while staring straight at me—like she didn't care I was a man of God. She wasn't here to confess. She was here to provoke. To tempt. To blur the lines I'd sworn never to cross. I was supposed to offer her the words of salvation, of redemption. But instead, I sat frozen, cock hard beneath my robes as she detailed her filthy dreams in a voice sweet enough to damn angels.

Her cathedral. She slouched into her best corner chair—stuffed, tufted velvet in tired blue—pullding out a book from her tote. A quiet night's reading before bed was now her ritual, and for tonight, she opened what was familiar and comforting: *The Light Between Oceans*. The book always bore its imprint on her. Loss. Forgiveness. Breaking and binding decisions. She opened to the top of it, and the world disintegrated. Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him.

She pushed that down deep, sipping from stored bags in the fridge. Rain hammered the windows that Tuesday night. Lydia sat at her desk, sorting through a box of new books. One caught her eye: Spirits of the Wild: Bindings and Releases. The cover was cracked leather, smelling like dirt and old forests. She flipped it open, her fingers brushing over faded words in some ancient tongue. "Just a peek," she told herself. Curiosity burned in her chest. She read the spell aloud, soft and quick, like testing a locked door. The air changed. It got heavy, like before a storm. Candles on the shelves flickered wild, shadows dancing on the walls. A rumble started low, from the book itself. Lydia's hands s

My curiosity became so Intense that it won over me and I quickly grabbed it from where I kept it. I quickly turned the pages and read through its content, and I was surprised with what I read, it seemed like a love letter written specifically for someone. “Lucille Parker in love? The best female athlete in school…in love?. I was surprised and I read further, it seemed like a diary of her daily confession of her feelings for the one. That was how she put it in her book, but my heart kept asking, who? My mind drifted to the question she had asked me in the closet and the moment we shared. My curiosity had the better part of me so I read through the lines still trying to know who she loved in h