The Longing Books Novels & Stories

And yet some stubborn part of her had begun, over the last few years, to push against the shape of that safety as if it were not a shelter but a wall. She often felt guilty for naming the feeling, even to herself. Restlessness sounded ungrateful when spoken aloud. Longing sounded almost absurd in a town tourists crossed oceans to reach. But longing was exactly what it was: not for one place in particular, not yet, but for motion, for surprise, for the version of herself she suspected might exist somewhere beyond the curve of the bay. Some days the desire sat quietly inside her, no more than a pulse. On others—like this one—it swelled until she could barely hear anything else.

"I checked. Vera is an illegitimate daughter. She had a hard childhood, so she lacks a sense of security. Pursuing her recklessly would scare her. I want to take it slow." "Unbelievable. The Wren family really produced a hopeless romantic. I thought with Miss Vaughn flirting with you every day, you’d fall for her. Let me tell you, she’s famous in the circle. The men who fancy her could line up all the way to France—" Wyatt seemed to smile faintly. What he said next sent Rhea plunging straight into an ice abyss. "Is that so? Well, I'm not interested. She can't compare to even a single strand of Vera’s hair."

Luckily, she was seated close to the window. A few minutes after being settled, she brought out a book she had bought from the bookstore a while ago. She knew three hours and some minutes would be an extremely long time without something to take her mind off the journey. She was alone; the last thing she wanted to do was think of him. Barely settled, and grabbing her book, someone walked beside her. She turned, intending only to nod a greeting to whoever her companion would be. It was almost time for takeoff, and whoever the person was was just boarding.

"Longing." *

Anthony kept Linda in the basement for an excruciating three days, without a morsel of food or a sip of water. Come the dawn of the fourth day, he ordered the basement door swung open. The air was thick with the stench of neglect. Anthony held his hand over his nose and mouth. "Ready to make that trip to the courthouse for a divorce?" Linda, her appearance a mess and her body frail, struggled to her feet, her eyes wide with terror. "Anthony, just let me out, I'll do whatever you say."

The writing was childish and almost laughable, full of shallow regrets and empty promises that did nothing to move me. It was not the only one. After quickly counting them, I realized she had written ninety-nine different letters. Every single one began with the phrase, 'I'm sorry.' One of the letters read, 'Caleb, when you were pursuing me, you wrote me ninety-nine love letters. I actually read every single one carefully, and I remember everything you wrote. 'I was just too proud back then. I didn't want you to win me over so easily, so I pretended to be impatient with you. But the truth is, I liked you from the very beginning.

We were in his room now, the door locked behind us, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and our shared desperation. He was my husband’s stepbrother, the one person I should never want like this, but the taboo only made the craving sharper, more insistent. His mouth is devouring me, and I cannot pull away. I have dreamed of this, of him taking me, claiming what society says is wrong. Covey broke the kiss, his breath ragged, eyes dark with lust as he backed me toward the bed. "Georgia, I have wanted you for so long. Every time I see you, I imagine stripping you bare and making you mine."

And truth be told, I wanted him, every inch, every moment, more than I could resist. Sliding lower, I positioned myself, aligning with him perfectly, and guided his cock inside. I whimpered and he growled in unison, the motion sending shivers through me as his cock jerked inside me. Then I began to ride him slowly, tilting my head so my hair cascaded over one shoulder. I locked my eyes on him. His lids were half-closed, lips slightly parted, soft groans escaping with every movement. His expression, lost, hungry, almost delirious drove my own desire higher, making me ache to give him all of me.

And it makes me stop breathing for a second because I can feel it, the emptiness she’s describing, like the echo of a room stripped bare. “Nothing made sense, you know,” she continues, and I hear the inhale she tries to pass off as steady but it trembles at the start. “There was frustration, annoyance… and at the same time there was longing. A deep, heart-wrenching longing. Like I was incomplete, and a part of me wasn’t with me.”

I dump my bag on the floor and read through the shelf while pulling books out and mumble as I go. ‘Even a book can be dangerous in the wrong hands.’ ‘Ignite.’ ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’ ‘You’ll make bad choices. Sometimes you’ll choose the best of bad ones.’ ‘Tuesday is Fucked.’ ‘Everything’s a game. And now it’s your turn.’ I have a stack of about 10 books before I abruptly stop. "Next isle." I say and we walk up and down the library isles. I climb and jump to get books off of shelves and Aidan has to catch me a couple of times when I fell.