Novels by Janne Vellamour

Seventy-two hours of tantalizing freedom.But she had no intention of letting him escape that easily.She was already damp just from the thought of it.In the kitchen, she began to prepare dinner with theatrical precision. Each movement was calculated so that when he finally emerged from his sanctuary, he would find her bent over the counter, her back's curve exposed, the dress riding dangerously high on her thighs with each slight movement.The sound of the office door opening sent her heart racing."Need any help?"His voice was lower than usual. Marina didn't immediately turn around, finishing slicing the tomato with slow fingers before replying."You can uncork the wine," she finally said, turning around with the glass extended.Ricardo halted in the middle of the kitchen, his dark eyes raking over her body in a glance too swift to be casual. Marina caught the exact moment he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down under the bronzed skin of his neck.The air between t

The summer heat seemed to have permanently settled in their home. The air conditioner, out of order for weeks, transformed the rooms into damp greenhouses, and Marina, 22, was at her wit's end trying to keep cool. Dressed in nothing but short shorts and a tank top that bared her sun-kissed shoulders, she sprawled out on the living room couch, hoping to catch a breeze from the open window.This was her second week back at her mom's place after breaking up with Lucas. Two years of being together had gone down the drain when he admitted he was seeing someone from work. Marina vowed she would never again trust a man—but lately, there was a look that made her reconsider this resolution.Until now.Above all, the way his dark eyes roved over her body when she wore shorter clothes—it was as if he couldn't control his reaction.That evening, as she stretched out on the sofa, she could feel the weight of his stare. Marina acted as if she didn't notice, but she arched her back slowly, extending

Her apartment was a fifteen-minute walk from the campus, a peaceful and compact studio where nothing disturbed her thoughts - or their absence. She secured the door behind her, tossing her bag onto the floor before leaning against the wall. Her breath was still coming in quick gasps. She shut her eyes and replayed each moment: his hands gripping her wrists, the cold table pressing against her bare skin, the raspy voice issuing commands she would obey without a second thought. When she opened her eyes again, her reflection in the mirror gazed back – hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes still dark with unquenched desire. She ran her hands down her skirt, feeling the slight tremor in her thighs. "Tomorrow." The word resonated in her mind like a promise. His office, after everyone else had departed? Her cell phone buzzed once more. This time, it was an image. Just a dark, unclear photo... until she recognized what it depicted. The basement's concrete floor. Where he ha

He finally gazed at her, his dark eyes smoldering behind his glasses."I want to hear you say it."She could feel the blush creeping up her neck, but she didn't avert her eyes."I enjoyed it."He smiled, slow and predatory, then slid something across the table to her.It was her underwear."Keep it."She hesitated, but picked up the soft fabric, still slightly damp, and tucked it into her pocket without breaking eye contact."Why do you do this?" she whispered.He leaned in, so close that she could feel his warm breath against her lips."Because you let me."And then he pulled away, closed the book, and stood up, as if the conversation was over."Tomorrow. Room 108." He adjusted his glasses, looking at her like a teacher assigning homework."And this time, wear a skirt."Before she could respond, he was already leaving, his silent steps disappearing among the bookshelves.She knew he would.He always did.***The message arrived at 3:17 in the morning."Did you dream about me today?"

The book felt heavy in her hands, an aged edition of Crime and Punishment with page edges yellowed by time. The campus library was nearly deserted, the silence punctuated only by the distant hum of a projector in a classroom. As she thumbed through the pages, the note fell into her lap, a folded piece of paper with handwriting she instantly recognized.Today, room 204. Lock the door. Don't utter a word.His heart was pounding before his brain could even comprehend the meaning. He was certain she would come. He knew she would take that book.She glanced around, as if someone might be spying, but the hallways were vacant. Even so, her hands shook as she slipped the note into her denim pocket.Room 204 was situated on the second floor of the college's oldest edifice, where the fluorescent lights flickered and the aroma of chalk and polished wood filled the air. She climbed the stairs gradually, each step echoing like a magnified heartbeat. When she nudged the door open, she discovered th

Friday rolled in with the city feeling suffocating, as if the air itself refused to circulate. The university corridors were more deserted than usual. It was the last class of the morning, with few professors left on campus.The motion was almost soundless — perfect for those wishing to remain unnoticed.The name on the carved wooden plaque still shone on the door:Prof. Dr. D. A. Moretti — Contemporary LiteratureThe knock on the door was faint."Come in," he said, without lifting his gaze.She held a small notebook and wore an expression too controlled to be innocent."I came to clear up a doubt," she stated simply."About what?""Let's discuss ambiguous language," she began, a slow smile curving her lips. "And the art of double interpretations."He motioned towards the chair opposite him. With a serene demeanor, she sat down, crossed her legs, and rested the notebook on her lap."Speak," he instructed, maintaining a neutral tone, his body seemingly relaxed.She glanced around befor