I. It starts as a whisper not in my ear but under my ribs, a pulse like a black-winged bird beating against bone, a hunger with no tongue yet that still moans your name. Your scent lives in my skin long after you’ve left. Even the sheets smell like your hair, like sweat and smoke and sin. My hands keep moving when I’m alone, searching for the shape of you like a thief in a dark room. II. Obsession is a fever, a cathedral...

The hotel lobby hummed with soft jazz and low conversations. Warm light gleamed off marble floors as Dylan stepped out of the elevator, tugging his jacket straight. He wasn’t used to nights like this, exclusive rooftop parties, high-end drinks, the buzz of possibility. But tonight, everything felt electric. He had met Lena earlier at the bar. She had hazel eyes and a smirk like she had already unwrapped him in her mind. T...

It started with a book. Nate had always liked the quiet of the university library. It wasn’t the books that drew him in — not really — but the stillness. That afternoon, though, stillness turned electric when he walked in. Tall. Smooth brown skin. A grey T-shirt that hugged every muscle like it had a crush. He moved like he owned the floor and didn’t even know it. Nate stared over the rim of his laptop, pretending to scro...