The Grind Is Real Novels & Stories

I can't deny the fact that I truly missed him so much and was eagerly wanted to make love with him again. "Oh, damn! That’s it, Love . . . grind with me," he growled as I met his every thrust. "Ah . . . harder, love . . . please . . . I’m almost there . . ." His moves went harsh and hard this time as per my request to him. His thrust then gets faster as I hugged him tightly to press our bodies even closer. I could already feel something that is building up inside my walls and it was about to explode. I couldn’t take it anymore. I am going to have my release.

Is this real? ******************************************

The room felt alive and vibrant, a reflection of the person who inhabited it. “Oh wow! I didn't know you played the guitar as well, or paint.” She whispered to herself even though Zach wasn't in the room. It was empty when she came in. She could have sworn she heard his voice and asked her to come in before though. Suddenly, she heard a rustling sound from the adjoining bathroom, and her heart quickened. Zach emerged, a towel draped over his shoulders, and wearing a grey pair of sweatpants that was low on his waist, showing off the deep V of his lower abdomen, his damp hair falling messily across his forehead. He had abs that looked like they were carved from a rock and she realized that he

She collapsed onto the floor, eyes hollow, repeatedly mumbling, "No way… This can't be real… I didn't write those…" Mom and Dad were stunned. They tried to rush forward to turn off the TV, but their limbs wouldn't obey them. All they could do was sit there helplessly, watching Mia being publicly dissected in real time. At that moment, the graders picked up the next paper—mine. "Now, let's take a look at another candidate's script, Solana Lawson." The camera zoomed in on my exam sheet. The surface was clean, the writing precise and unhurried. Every answer was also correct.

Our cocks grind together through the denim of our jeans, the hard length of his dick pressing firm and hot against mine in a slow, deliberate grind. I thrust upward again, feeling the friction build with each grind, my erection throbbing as it rubs along his shaft, the pressure sending jolts of raw pleasure straight to my core. Nikolai matches my rhythm, pushing down into the contact, and the sensation of his hardness sliding over mine makes me gasp and arch harder, chasing that electric spark every time our hips meet. The movement grows more urgent, my legs pushing him deeper into the grind while our cocks strain and pulse against each other. I can feel the heat building fast, my own length

“What was it, the Global Dance…” “Global Travelling Dance Academy of Performing Arts,” I said. I shrugged. “They don’t make me say the full name every time. A lot of people just call it the Academy. I’m proud of where I work, though.” I grinned at him. “I’m sure you call it Miller Hardware rather than just ‘the shop’ every time you talk about it too.” Jesse laughed. “Maybe,” he admitted.

Silas grinds his molars so hard, I hear one crack. Music to my fucking ears. But it's not enough. Every last second of his pathetic life needs to be carved out in pain.

He rose to leave. Before departing, he warned Ryan to restore my grave immediately, or Shadow Ridge would declare war on Silver Moon Pack without hesitation.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Then the silk shorts. I lifted my hips and slid them down my thighs, kicking them off until I was naked from the waist down. The sheets were cool against my bare skin, but I was burning. I grabbed one of Nicholas’s pillows—black silk, still faintly carrying his scent—and folded it desperately between my legs. The first grind was tentative, ashamed. The second was a sob. After that, I stopped pretending. I straddled the pillow like I’d straddled him in the car last night, knees sinking into the mattress, hips rolling slow and filthy. The silk was smooth against my clit, soaked within seconds.

“A desperate, horny little mess. You wanted my attention? You have it. All of it.” He ground his hips against mine, a slow, filthy grind that sent a jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure straight to my balls. I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my lips, a low, broken sound of pure, unadulterated need. It was pathetic. It was honest.