Erotic
Sensual encounters, steamy narratives, intimate desires
13 stories
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I kept my rings on for once.
The way he looked at me wasn't a question; it was a foregone conclusion, like a match held too close to dry cedar.
The Chipped Rim of a Highball Glass
She looked at me with the kind of unflinching, clinical appraisal I usually only see in doctors delivering bad news or women deciding how much of a problem I’m going to be.
—and she didn't even bother to close the blinds
She moved through the stacks like a misplaced modifier—beautiful, disruptive, and demanding a total rewrite of my Tuesday nights.
Parapet
My heels were sinking into the synthetic turf, and Julian was looking at me like I was a layover he didn't mind extending.
Will You Still Look at Me That Way When the Wine Wears Off?
Your thumb was hooked into my belt loop, dragging the denim just enough to let the draft hit my skin while the stove hummed.
A Gin Gimlet, Left to Sweat
The legal implications were clear, but the way his thumb traced the line of my jaw was an unarguable counter-brief.
Bungalow 9
His thumbs found the knot in my shoulder with the practiced, ruthless precision of a man shucking oysters for a hungry crowd.
Julian's Decanter
Julian held the crystal over the guttering candle, his thumb tracing the rim as if he were checking a witness’s pulse for lies.
I Probably Should Have Just Read My Book
The California Zephyr has this way of making you feel like the laws of physics—and morality—don't apply once you hit the Nevada border.
I Was Supposed to Be Working
You look like you're trying to calculate the ROI on looking at me, and honestly, the math isn't checking out.
—and I promise I wasn't looking for a lead
He watched the way the compression fabric of her leggings fought against the curve of her hip, a silent, high-tension drama.
Silas's Ladder
I watched the way his thumb traced the spine of that first edition, a slow, calloused drag that made my own skin prickle.