When They Touch Me Novels & Stories

I took off my coat and tossed it on the chair, then I removed the gloves I put on the moment I got home. His eyebrows shot up, but he watched me quietly, then I stepped closer and said “Touch me.” Cole laughed in confusion. "What?" I stepped even closer to him, "Touch me." “Dude, I’m not gay.” “Touch me, you idiot,” I snapped. “I’m serious.” Cole’s smile slowly disappeared. He stared at me for a second, then realized I wasn’t joking. “What the hell? What’s going on with you?” “Someone touched me tonight,” I said quietly. “It was completely bare and nothing happened. There was no pain or any reaction."

"You can't believe what happened. I touched someone today. I had a contact with Felix and there was no reaction" My eyes widened in shock. How?

"I'm here. I'm right here." "Burns." Her eyes crack open. Unfocused. Pupils blown wide. "Everything burns." "I know. I'm trying to. . ." "Touch me." The words tumble out fevered and raw. "Please. Your touch... it helps." My jaw clenches. "Nyra, you don't know what you're. . ." "Please." Her fingers tighten on my wrist. "The bond. I can feel it. When you touch me, it doesn't hurt as much."

“Did they give you something? You’re burning up." “I’m okay.” “You’re not okay.” “I am. Just, could you . . . not touch me?” “What?” She examines my face. I do feel like I’m boiling. “My skin. Could you please not— ” “What the fuck?” Touch me. “Anna? Anna!” And that, as they say, is that.

"Let me lead you." I hesitated for just a heartbeat, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to touch him. But not in a casual, friendly way. No, I wanted a touch that ignited every particle within me, one that promised warmth against the winter chill. Gathering my breath, I slid my palm into his. The moment our hands met sent a shock of warmth rushing up my arm, tingling across my skin like tiny fireworks. I gasped, unprepared for the intensity of the sensation, the way it made my heart leap and my cheeks blush with embarrassment.

I felt like I was looking into a cracked mirror. I forced a smile. My cheeks ached. My chest felt like it was going to split open from the sheer weight of the joy. They didn't shake hands. They didn't stand back. They moved in close. Foreheads pressed against mine. Breath mingled. They cupped my face. They touched the back of my neck. It was quiet and physical. It felt like they were reaching past my skin and into my soul. I wasn't used to being touched like this. It was raw. It was sacred.

I move to drop the tray on the mini table when his hands close around my wrist, sending mini sparks flying across my body in response to the mate bond. "Wait," he says. "Actually — wait." The whole rooftop seems to lean in a fraction, the way crowds do when they smell a scene about to happen. "Elias—" "You know what," his voice climbs, eyes glinting with the particular cruelty that alcohol always dragged out of him, "I don't actually want that." He knocks the bowl clean out of my hands. It hit the floor with a crack loud enough to cut through the music — broth splashing across the marble, across my shoes, up the hem of the gray dress his mother had approved that very afternoon. A few people

And whoever it was, would taste my wrath and wish he or she had never been born. My thoughts drove me into a frenzy. The girl was screaming at the top of her lungs but she couldn't tell me to stop. Finally, I felt the sweet pull in my stomach and spilled inside of her. I flopped on the bed, satisfied with my release. Then I said, "Go again. Boy, you're next."