Forbidden
Secret affairs, taboo desires, the thrill of the forbidden
42 stories
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I Should Have Ignored Her First Message
The silk of her dress was thinner than I expected, barely a barrier between my calloused palm and the heat of her hip.
Rotten Splendor
Her skin tasted like the salt-air of the Gulf and the expensive, cloying sugar of a violet-scented macaron.
I Probably Should Have Just Stayed in Savasana
I can feel the phantom weight of your hand on my hip while I’m standing at the podium, a ghost-press that ruins my posture.
Why Are You Looking at the Exit?
His thumb pressed into the nerve bundle at the base of my skull, and for a second, the world went white-out.
Do You Still Taste Like the Salt in Marseille?
The yacht hummed beneath our feet like a living thing, a white fiberglass cage that felt smaller with every mile we put between us and the coast.
Stop Humming
The humidity in the Berkshires during August doesn’t just sit on you; it negotiates with your dignity until you’re both translucent.
Sharp Blur
He told me to stop posing like a woman with a mortgage and start breathing like someone who had just committed a crime.
Low Treble
The neck of the Gibson felt like a stranger's hand, cold and unyielding, while she stood by the oak vats and watched him bleed through a ballad.
Rough Silk
Her fingers on the glass were steady, but the way she looked at my mouth was a chord held just a second too long.
Tallow
She was the high priestess of deprivation, and I was a man who lived and died by the grace of butter and bourbon.
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"If You Don't Close That Door, I'm Going to Keep Thinking You're a Tourist"
The rain didn't just fall; it dismantled the city, turning the limestone facades into something slick and treacherous, much like the look in her eyes when her husband left the room.
Aisle 4, Under the 'Foreign Language' Sign
She’s balanced on the rolling ladder like a mountain goat in silk, and I’m ninety percent sure she’s not wearing underwear.