Bedtime Stories

It starts with insomnia — the kind that makes you leave your own bed and go sit at a bar on a Tuesday night, just to quiet your mind. The narrator tells herself it’s harmless: a drink, a little distraction, then sleep. Instead, she meets Tom, forty-three, a “lawyer-poet” with messy hair, soft lips, and the confidence of a man who knows how to talk his way into someone’s night.

He offers her a bedtime story. Not the wholesome kind — a story told with a mouth that knows what it’s doing, with hands that make the idea of sleep feel like a reward. They go home. He tells her a story. And for the first time in a long time, she sleeps.

Then the real problem begins.

Because the night doesn’t end cleanly. It lingers in her body for days: the memory of his voice, the taste of words mixed with touch, the ridiculous intimacy of being read to — and undone — like that. She refuses to text him. She plays the Ice Lady. She tries to be reasonable. But desire doesn’t care about dignity. It builds, irritates, disrupts work, turns poetry into an obsession, turns the week into waiting.

When Tom returns, the dynamic becomes something sharper: not romance, not a relationship, but a private ritual of stories and sex, literature and command, a woman who wants to be taken and a man who knows how to keep her wanting. And underneath it, the question she tries not to ask: who is he when he leaves her bed? Is he anyone at all — or just a spell that visits at night?

Bedtime Stories is erotic fiction for grown women: witty, explicit, psychologically grounded, and unsentimental about what sex can and cannot promise. It’s about the strange power of being read to, the danger of wanting “in between” things, and the way a single night can ruin your week — not with love, but with appetite.

Contains explicit sexual content and mature themes. Intended for adult readers (18+).