Forbidden
Secret affairs, taboo desires, the thrill of the forbidden
12 stories
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Rotten Splendor
Her skin tasted like the salt-air of the Gulf and the expensive, cloying sugar of a violet-scented macaron.
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.
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.
A Smudge of Charcoal on a White Collar
He looked at her and felt the same bone-deep rattle you get when you’re too close to a controlled detonation.
Why Did You Let the Door Click Shut?
The air conditioning in the gallery hummed like a low-budget horror score, a cold, mechanical buzz that did nothing to chill the sweat pooling at the base of my spine.
August 14th, 2:44 PM
I knew I was over the line the second I saw her in that white dress, looking like a target I wasn't allowed to hit.
Who Told You This Was a Good Idea?
Julian’s hand was a heavy, warm anchor on my thigh, mocking the ‘Quiet Car’ sign while his thumb traced the seam of my stockings.
![](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"you-really-shouldn't-have-ordered-the-pinot"-917-cover-1779004859744.jpg)
"You Really Shouldn't Have Ordered the Pinot"
She traced the edge of my laptop with a fingernail that had a tiny chip in the red polish, looking at me like I was a script she was about to pass on.
Caleb’s Corkscrew
His thumb traced the line where my leggings met my waist, a deliberate, grounding pressure that made my breath hitch in my throat.
Mute
The bass was a bruise against my ribs and West was looking at me like I was the only drink in a dry county.
I Thought We Were Over This Phase
He tastes like the coffee we drank an hour ago and the cold air he brought in from the porch, sharp and grounding.
Lapse
I watched the rain smear the Louvre into a grey thumbprint, wondering if you still kept that silver flask tucked in your tuxedo's inner pocket.