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An emotionally charged, slow-burn romance

Amelia Hart, a brilliant but emotionally guarded artist, thrives in the sanctuary of her studio—where every brushstroke speaks louder than words. When enigmatic model Daniel Wolfe steps into her life, a canvas of unspoken desires and hidden wounds begins to take form. With his sculpted presence and quiet vulnerability, Daniel becomes both muse and mystery, slowly unraveling Amelia’s carefully curated control.

But beneath the sensual tension lies a deeper storm. As their professional boundaries blur and long-buried pasts surface, Amelia is forced to confront not only her creative demons but also the craving for connection she’s long denied herself. And when Julian, a powerful figure from her past, re-emerges with unresolved claims and a possessive edge, the delicate balance between passion and control begins to fracture.

Set against the backdrop of moody studios, intimate sketches, and emotionally fraught gallery nights, Craving Touch is a story of art, vulnerability, and the raw human longing for touch—not just of skin, but of soul.

Craving Touch!!

The air between them was softer now, but no lighter.

Amelia stood in front of her newest canvas, hands smudged with color, her heart strangely still. Daniel's shirt hung off her frame, sleeves rolled up, collar open at her throat—she hadn't meant to wear it, but when she'd reached for her robe that morning, her fingers had found cotton that still carried the shape of his body.

He wasn't in the apartment. Not physically. But his presence lingered.

She could feel it in the way her breath slowed when she remembered how he'd traced her scars last night—not with pity, but with reverence, like reading lines of poetry on her skin.

He had touched her like she was holy.

Outside, the city moaned beneath the weight of morning. Inside, she dipped her brush again, but her hand hovered. The canvas stared back blankly. Not because she didn't know what to paint. But because, for the first time, what she wanted to express wasn't pain.

And that felt heavier than any grief she had ever known.

Behind her, the door opened quietly.

His footsteps were slow. Measured. She knew them now—how he walked differently when he was careful with her heart.

He stopped just behind her. Close enough to touch, but he didn't.

"I had a dream," Daniel said softly. "You were painting in the rain. Not to protect the canvas. Just... because you didn't care if it washed away."

She closed her eyes, brush still trembling in her fingers.

"And what did that mean?" she whispered.

He exhaled. "That maybe not everything beautiful needs to last to matter."

And for a moment, neither of them moved. No grand declarations. No apology. Just breath, thick with unsaid longing. She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing his jaw, tracing the stubble she'd kissed in the dark.

"I'm not ready to promise forever," she said.

Daniel's eyes didn't flinch. "I'm not asking for forever."

He leaned in until his forehead rested against hers.

"Just... this. Just today. With you."

She kissed him. Not to claim. Not to convince.

Because in that moment, wanting him was enough.

The Weight of Want