The Last Desire Novels & Stories

This time he even explained what he meant. "What? Is he asking me if I want to get laid? Is he out of his mind?" I thought. I nodded to say no. But deep down I wanted to do it. A carnal desire which only few could resist. He ordered one of his men. "Untie him."

she greeted me cheerfully. I gritted my teeth, totally annoyed. "I fulfilled your wish, as you requested. Last night, I did something that I had never imagined doing in my entire life! I'd had enough of being a macho dancer, Natasya. And once was enough. I would not do it again no matter how you would request me to do so!"

why does my flame keep getting higher and it feels like I'm burning within dangerous desire? T O B E C O N T I N U E D...

I've tried so hard to recollect them, but they remain elusive, hidden in the depths of my mind. I've searched for answers, reaching out to my parents' acquaintances, hoping they could shed light on the missing pieces. But all I've been told is that my parents were my only family. I left the cemetery and decided to make a quick stop at Starbucks, knowing that Farrah had been craving their croissants for quite some time. Despite owning her own cafe, she found herself unable to tolerate the smell of the croissants there, making it impossible for her to enjoy them. Her obstetrician had advised her to take it easy and rest at home, so I thought surprising her with the Starbucks croissants she lon

The shock wore off and I kissed him back with everything I had, with just as much desperation because this was the last time I would ever feel his lips against mine, the last time I would be wanted by him, after the baby is taken care of, there would be no reason for him to keep me around. The tears I had kept at bay fell in a rush, turning our desperate kiss into a wet oddity, but we didn’t stop, I couldn’t and he got bolder, taking me like a starved man, like he knew just as much as I did that it would be the last time. I was getting sucked in, at the mercy of his onslaught, at the mercy of him. His scent, the way his hand guided my head closer to his, holding it in place like he was scare

His gaze darkens even more and his jaw clenches like he's fighting something. Anger, restraint or disgust. I can't tell. Heat radiates from his body and wrap around me like silk. My throat suddenly feel dry and scratchy. I unconsciously lick my lips and a growl rips from his throat. His gaze hardens and he spits with loathe. “You are the last woman I'd ever desire.”

I shiver against him, toes curling as he thrusts his fingers in and out faster. Then I feel it—the climax coming close. I moan louder, moving against his fingers and seeking release. But then he stops. Right when I’m a breath away from the bliss. “What?… Why did you stop?” My breathless voice edges with frustration. “Like I said,” he says, caressing my cheek with his other hand. “You’re the last woman I’ll ever desire. It’s going to take more than this to make me want you.” He sounds like he is trying to convince himself.

Because desire doesn’t ask to be followed blindly. It asks to be respected. I respect it now—not as a savior, not as rebellion. But as information. Accurate. Costly. Necessary. I end the chapter with the conclusion the confrontation leaves me with. Desire does not prove itself by certainty. It proves itself by endurance. By remaining when questioned. By clarifying rather than collapsing. If it survives your hardest honesty, it is not an escape. It is a direction.

“That’s the one thing I can’t seem to write.” “Why not?” he asked. “Because I don’t know how to describe it without sounding fake.” He studied me for a moment. “Maybe that’s because you think desire is only about the physical. But it isn’t.” I met his gaze, waiting. He continued, “Desire can be wanting to understand someone completely. It can be curiosity, admiration, or even silence between two people who can’t stop thinking about each other. It’s not always about touch.” His voice was low, steady, almost thoughtful enough to make the room feel smaller.

“Because I didn’t think you were joking when you said you liked me.” Ethan looked down at the table, trying to steady his hands. The memory of the backyard, the confession, the first real moment they’d shared—it all made his chest tighten. “Still a dare?” Noah teased lightly. “Or was that just the first step toward admitting you’ve wanted this too?” Ethan’s throat went dry. “I’ve wanted it,” he whispered. “For a long time.” Noah’s grin widened, dangerous and warm at the same time. “Finally,” he said. “Finally, you admit it.”