Find your next favorite read
11 stories found
I was supposed to be checking the histogram but all I could see was the way the sweat pooled in that little dip above her tailbone.
The air at nine thousand feet tastes like cold iron and pine needles, but his skin tasted like salt and expensive bourbon.
The way he looked at her across the fretboard wasn't about the chord progression; it was a rehearsal for something much louder.
Julian leaned into my personal space like a hostile takeover, his thumb hooking into my belt loop while the room watched.
The rain is a rhythmic pounding against the glass but inside the only sound is the wet, heavy sliding of skin on skin.
Elias was moving around her like a predator who had forgotten he was supposed to kill, holding that camera like a holy relic.
Silas didn’t move until the sound of the zipper cutting through the air signaled that the perimeter of his self-control had finally been breached.
!["I Didn't Think You Had This Much Fight In You"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i-didn't-think-you-had-this-much-fight-in-you"-563-cover-1777968060381.jpg)
The condensation on my water glass is the only thing moving in this room, a slow, gravity-fed tear tracing through the dust.
Her thumb traced the rim of her glass, catching a stray drop of Sangiovese like she was wiping a secret off my lip.
The compartment smelled of rain-slicked wool and the kind of expensive gin that tastes like you’re licking a primary-growth pine forest.
Amidst the steam and slate of Obsidian Springs, a quiet invitation transforms a restorative weekend into a profound exploration of communal desire.