The Book Of Longings: A Novel Novels & Stories

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

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

My breathing grew shallow as the fantasy took hold, unbidden and unwelcome but impossible to stop. In my mind, he wasn't my hostile boss. His green eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my knees weak, and those elegant long fingered hands of his were between my legs, smearing my wetness on my folds. The kitchen suddenly felt too warm and I couldn't hold it any longer. I needed to do something to satisfy my urge. My free hand drifted down my apron, my fingers finding the hem. I knew that this was beyond appropriate, standing in his kitchen, thinking these thoughts. But the house was empty except for me and the ache between my thighs had become impossible to ignore

Gazing back towards the book, it felt as if something was pushing me towards it. I got up and walked towards the book. Placing it on my lap I noticed that the cover was filled with complicated detailing. The material felt rough, it felt old but well-taken care of. The colors were a mixture of ash grey, gold, and specks of white, the title was written in crimson red. Taking a bite from my food, I opened the first page of the book. ---------- [Chapter Quote: "Her soul belongs to words and books. Every time she reads, she is home ."]

she said with a troubled tone. A feeling of unease began to take hold of me as I sat across from Farrah, who had her hand extended toward me in an attempt to console me. I had resigned from my position not too long ago, and while I wasn't upset by the fact that I was now unemployed, I was concerned about the factors that were contributing to my pleasure. Had I lost my interest in the field, or was I just relieved to be free from a job that was making me feel like I was suffocating?

Her eyes are hooded and bouncing all over my face from my lips to my eyes and I sense her moving closer. “Touch me, Theo, please,” she whines. “I’ve wanted this, you, for so long. I’m begging you.” She holds my gaze as my finger traces her slit and the air leaves her lungs in a gush as she lets her head fall back. “Inside me.” She breathes out. “Push...them...inside.” I don’t know what’s pounding faster, my heart or my erection as I slide my fingers down her slit but I don’t push them inside. Instead, I slide my hand out of the water and her eyes fly open. “No.”

The rugs were polished and clean. "Make yourself at home," he smiled at her before going upstairs She gazed at his departing figure before settling on one of the golden chairs that decorated the room. Soon, her eyes drifted around, and noticed the books that lay on the adjacent dining table. Without knowing why, she stood up and walked towards it. As a child growing up, she had always loved reading books, a whole bunch of them, from fantasies, short stories, nonfiction, to others. The sight of books now reminded her of the neglect she had done to her reading life. In a familiar sense of longing, she picked the book up and recognized it as a best-selling novel, a book about betrayal, pain, an