The Last Desire Novels & Stories

Despite everything that had happened, despite the rejection and the humiliation and the years of self-imposed exile, some part of me still responded to the call of my pack. Or more specifically, to the call of the man who'd once been meant to be my everything. "Right then," I said to my reflection. "Let's go see what sort of trouble the great Lysander Ashworth has gotten himself into." I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door, trying to ignore the way my heart had started beating just a little too fast. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Famous last words, those.

I asked, glancing back and aching an eyebrow at him. "She is the only one that turns your mood sour." He shrugged. "I hate that you are right." I huffed and turned back to the book. I grabbed the one I wanted to read and walked back to my bed. "What does she want this time?" He asked. "What else, she wants money. That's all she ever wants." I hissed. "I don't know where she expects me to get that huge amount of money from within a short period of time." "I can't even remember the last time I saw six hundred dollars that were actually mine." I finished.

Jenna’s legs trembled as she stepped into the penthouse for the last time. The city lights glittered far below like stars, but nothing felt real except the two men waiting for her. Marcus and Damien stood side by side, shirts open, eyes dark with hunger. This was their final night. No tomorrow. Just raw, filthy passion. “You’re late, little one,” Marcus said, voice low and rough. He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her close, kissing her so deep she moaned into his mouth.

“This is destroying me inside. I feel like the worst mother in the world. Every time I look at Lila, I see the daughter I’m betraying. But when I’m with you… I feel alive again. I feel wanted. Desired. Seen. And I hate myself for how much I need that.” Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. I pulled her into my arms and held her tightly, burying my face in her hair as she trembled against me. We stood like that for a long time in the hallway, just holding each other while the rain continued to fall outside. There was no rush this time. No frantic tearing of clothes. I kissed her slowly, deeply, pouring every complicated emotion I felt into it — the guilt, the desire, the growing love th

He called her name, over and over, his tiny voice raw with desperation. But the flames didn’t care.The fire danced along the walls, greedy and fast, licking up the wooden beams like they were nothing but paper. Another crash sounded from somewhere above. The ceiling groaned under the weight of its own destruction. The fire trucks arrived but it was too late. He was swooped in the arms by a large man. Tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to scream for them to save her but his throat was tight shut. He fought, but he was too weak, too disoriented. By the time the smoke had cleared, all that was left was the blackened remains of a home he once felt safe in. And her, he hoped that she had been

"You never could." Warren glared up at her, veins tight in his neck. "You’re a coward, Desiree. Hiding behind your hired killers, trying to fill the hole in your black, black heart with money, sex and drugs. Eventually you’ll realize no one actually cares about you. You’ll end up desperate and alone." She chuckled, straightening again. "Oh, sweetheart. I appreciate your concern, but I’m doing pretty well for myself these days. You could say I’m feeling more complete than I ever have. Especially with you two little cockroaches by my side."

That desire is a beautiful thing. That’s what I crave: complete, consuming dependency on my next choice. I pick up the low-temp candle, my pulse thrumming with the need to own her completely. The way she trembles blind beneath me feeds the chaos I’ve barely learned to contain. I tilt the candle and watch a drop of deep red wax fall. I don't aim for the already tortured core, but just beside it, onto her incredibly sensitive, pulsing inner thigh.

I asked no one in particular, but as though he could read my mind, “Do you know what you’re feeling right now, Miss Hayes?” he asked, voice low and close, so close his lips were brushing the shell of my ear. “Desire.” I stiffened. “No,” I said, though it came out breathy. Weak. “I don’t desire you. I hate you.” “Oh, I believe you” He chuckled, his grip on my foot not loosening one bit. “Newsflash, Miss Hayes: it’s entirely possible to want someone you loathe.” He said, standing up and pushing something...

And at its very heart, tucked between a vendor of animated shadows and a purveyor of crystallized dreams, stood "The Last Course." It was a clandestine restaurant, a place where the currency was not coin, but a fragment of the patron's own passion. Desirée, the succubus, was its radiant hostess. Tonight, she wore a dress of liquid shadow that clung to every devastating curve, its neckline plunging to a dangerous depth. Her smile was a promise and her eyes, pools of molten amber, knew exactly how to extract the price.

"Then what do you want? You said there was a price." He turned around, and the gold in his eyes was cold, like frozen coins. "You didn't just call a lover, Claire. You called a shadow. From now on, I am the hunger you can't satisfy. You will go about your life. You will go to your job, you will talk to your friends, you will eat and sleep. But every time a man touches your hand, you will feel my teeth on your neck. Every time you try to find pleasure without me, you will feel nothing but ash in your mouth." The weight of it hit me. It wasn't death; it was a haunting.