Wanting Book Novels & Stories

Aiden wasn’t far behind; he leaned against the wall, his glowing eyes betraying his own internal struggle. “What’s going on?” Willow’s voice cut through the haze. The sound hit me like lightning, reigniting the fire that was already roaring inside. My wolf clawed at the walls of my control, desperate, relentless. Every word she spoke only made it worse. Aiden’s voice was low and rough, his struggle evident. “We feel… like letting them take over. Letting our wolves do what they want.” Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do they want?”

There are things I'm afraid to want. But I want you anyway. End of Chapter 95

All those words were true, my body was hot and with just a few small caresses I wanted more, I wanted a lot more, and I could feel my fluids wetting Will's hand. ************* Note: Don't forget to like, comment, and share the book! This really helps it grow on the platform.

I am scared, and it makes my heart beat faster. "Let's go here." he said. I nodded and let him pick the books he wanted to borrow again. By the looks of it, he is indeed a bookworm. It is no wonder he is knowledgeable. I read, yes, but not too much. Sometimes, I will fall asleep while reading a book. "Oh." I exclaimed quietly. I immediately got the book titled "The Book of Human Emotion" I think I need to study for it. I started to open the first page and read it.

"I'm a goody two shoes and I'm a prude and I like to do my homework and I absolutely definitely don't know how to be friends with all around bad boys and ..." "Well, if you don't know how to be friends with a wanton because you're a good girl—" He lays emphasis on wanton, a word I'd used randomly many days ago in his room and I visibly swallow "—then there's only one solution. Welcome to the wanton train, good girl. Hope you enjoy the ride." This is what I get for not keeping my mouth shut.

Wanted me. "I've wanted this, wanted you," he breathed against my neck, his lips trailing fire along my skin. "God, Sera, I want you so damn much!" He confessed into my skin. His hands found the zipper of my dress, sliding it down slowly while his mouth worked at the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. The fabric pooled at my feet, and I should have felt exposed, vulnerable, but instead I felt safe. Desired. Loved. Because it was him.

And I was very good at disappearing and had mistaken it for loyalty for longer than I want to count. I know that you can become yourself and still want someone. That those two things do not cancel each other out. That wanting is not weakness if it comes from a full person rather than an empty one. I was afraid of that for a long time. It took a documentary and a harbour and an ice cream cone and a hospital room and a Tuesday photograph on a kitchen counter to understand that wanting and diminishing were never the same thing.

I told myself all these as I stood under the shower, letting the cold water wash away the scent of those foreign waitresses. I had only used them to get back at my wife for being so... defiant. None of them tasted half as good, none of them could quench the burning lust I felt for her. A small growl ripped from my throat as I thought of how addicted I was becoming to Isla, the daughter of my sworn enemy. Ever since I first had a taste of her, I've only thought of one thing; More. I wanted more, fuck! I wanted every piece of her.

“Didn’t expect to find… this.” Silence stretched between us like a live wire. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl under the blanket and never come out. But more than any of that, I wanted him to keep reading. He did. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes moved down the page, then back up. I watched his throat work when he swallowed. “You wrote this last night,” he said. Not a question. I couldn’t speak. He turned another page. The one where I’d described wanting to ride his face until my thighs shook and I soaked his chin. The one where I’d written the word “brother” in angry little scratches because even thinking it made me feel sick and wet at the same time.

The house full of people who chose each other in all the different ways choosing happened. The envelope says: The original was about making me want you while denying me. For the new version: I want to show you what wanting looks like when it isn't weaponized. When it's just — present. Every day. The consistent wanting that isn't dramatic and doesn't resolve into anything except more of itself. He gives her the envelope in the morning, before everyone arrives. She reads it at the kitchen table. Looks up. "You want every day," she says. "I want every day," he says. "That's the whole of Night Five."