CRAVE: Temptations Collection

PROLOGUE

All I wanted was a weekend away. No exes. No stress. Just me, a vibrator, and the quiet luxury of the Hotel Aurelia.

Then I got the text.

Room 406. Strip. Kneel. Don’t speak unless told.

It wasn’t meant for me. But I went anyway.

And when I opened the door, he didn’t ask questions. He just gave orders.

Rough hands. Quiet voice. And a mouth that ruined me for every man who ever tried.

He didn’t give me his name. Didn’t ask for mine.

And when I told him I wasn’t who he was expecting—he smiled.

And said, “You are now.”

What started as a mistake becomes a weekend of obedience, bruises, and bliss.

But this stranger wants more than my body. He wants my control.

And I… want to give it to him.

Chapter 1

The Wrong Text

There’s something about a hotel bed that always makes me want to misbehave.

Maybe it’s the way the sheets are tucked too tight, how the pillows smell like bleach and strangers. Maybe it’s the freedom of knowing I’m anonymous in a luxury building full of men in suits who wouldn’t dare look twice at a woman traveling alone.

But tonight, it’s the text.

I’m two sips into overpriced wine, legs bare under my robe, vibrator already charging on the nightstand, when my phone buzzes.

Room 406. Strip. Kneel. Don’t speak unless told.

That’s it. No name. No emojis. No apologies.

I reread it three times, sure it must be a mistake.

But my thighs press together.

Whoever it was meant for… is lucky.

I reach for the wine again, trying to ignore the heat between my legs—but the thought takes root.

Strip. Kneel.

Would I? Could I?

The soft hum of city noise outside my window fades. The room feels smaller. My robe slips open as I shift on the bed, and my nipples harden in the cool air. I stare at the phone screen again, at the bold confidence of that message.

It wasn’t meant for me.

But maybe I want it to be.

I don’t overthink it.

I don’t even hesitate.

I pull the robe from my shoulders, letting it drop into a puddle on the floor. My bare feet slap softly on the marble tile as I cross to the mirror. My pulse is already thudding low in my belly, and my fingers tremble as I pick up my keycard.

I’m not drunk. I’m not high.

I’m wet. Curious.

And completely out of my fucking mind.

But when I step into the hallway and the elevator dings, I don’t look back.

Room 406 is halfway down a dimly lit corridor. Clean carpets. Quiet.

My heart’s racing as I reach the door.

This is insane.

What if it’s a setup? What if someone’s playing with me? What if I knock, and some middle-aged businessman in tighty-whities screams and slams the door in my face?

But worse than that…

What if it is real?

I don’t knock.

I press my palm flat to the door, lean in, and breathe.

Then I slide the card in the lock, and the green light flashes.

The door opens.

The room is mostly dark—just the lamp by the bed casting a low amber glow. And there he is.

A man, tall and dressed in black, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sitting in a chair by the window like he’s been waiting. Legs spread. A glass of whiskey in one hand, phone in the other.

He looks up.

And smiles.

Not surprised. Not confused.

Like he knew I’d come.

“You’re late,” he says. His voice is low, rough. The kind of voice you want against your throat while his hand is between your legs.

My mouth parts, but I can’t form a sentence. My whole body is already buzzing, nipples tight, skin hot.

He sets the drink down and stands slowly.

“Clothes off. Kneel.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command.

And I obey.

The carpet burns my knees a little, but I barely notice. I strip without hesitation, pulling the tank top over my head and stepping out of my panties. I leave them in a soft puddle at my feet and lower myself down. Exposed. Open.

He circles me slowly. Like a predator. Like I’m already prey.

I don’t know his name. I can’t see his face clearly in the low light.

But I don’t need to.

He stops behind me. I can feel his presence like heat against my skin.

A large hand slides down my spine. “No bra.”

“No.”

“Smart girl.”

His hand drifts lower, settling at the base of my spine. He presses, and I arch instinctively.

“Do you know what I do to bad girls who read texts that don’t belong to them?”

I freeze.

Oh God.

He knows.

“You knew?” I whisper, panicked.

He chuckles. “You hesitated just long enough. The woman I was meeting would’ve walked in here with her mouth open and her ass ready.”

Shame and heat burn up my neck. “I’m sorry. I—I’ll go—”

“No.” He grips my neck lightly. “You stay.”

My breath catches.

His fingers flex. “You were curious. Now you get to find out what happens to greedy little sluts who can’t follow instructions.”

Oh fuck.

He steps in front of me, unzipping his slacks with slow, deliberate precision. My mouth waters.

“You like being told what to do?”

I nod.

He tilts his head. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

His cock is already hard when he pulls it out. Thick. Smooth. Veins prominent. I lick my lips, and he laughs softly.

“Hungry?”

“Yes, sir.”

He takes a step closer, rubbing the tip along my lips. “No hands. Keep them behind your back.”

I obey instantly, fingers laced behind me.

“Open your mouth.”

I do.

He slides in slowly, letting me feel every inch. My lips stretch, and I moan as his taste floods my tongue—dark, clean, masculine. I suck greedily, letting him set the pace, bobbing my head as he thrusts deeper.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re better than she was anyway.”

My eyes water, but I don’t stop. I love the feel of him in my mouth, the weight, the control.

He pulls out suddenly, and I gasp for air, spit trailing down my chin.

“Up.”

I scramble to my feet.

“Turn around. Bend over the bed.”

My knees shake, but I do as I’m told. The sheets are cool under my breasts. My ass is exposed, bare and ready.

Then—smack.

His palm lands sharp across one cheek. I cry out, the pain shocking but delicious.

“Count.”

“O-one.”

Smack.

“Two.”

He alternates cheeks, delivering five perfect slaps. My skin burns, and my pussy drips. I’m dizzy from arousal.

“You disobeyed,” he says. “But you took your punishment well.”

Then I feel him—his cock, thick and hot, nudging between my folds.

“Beg.”

“Please, sir,” I pant. “Fuck me. Please.”

He slams into me without warning, and I scream into the bed. He’s huge, and he doesn’t hold back.

He fucks like he owns me.

Like he wants to punish me with pleasure.

Each thrust is brutal, precise, dragging cries from my throat.

“You like being used, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“I love being used.”

“Whose slut are you?”

“Yours.”

He groans, grabbing my hair, pulling me back against him as he pounds deeper. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, wet and obscene. My orgasm builds like a storm, fast and dangerous.

“Come for me.”

He reaches around, fingers rubbing my clit in tight circles. I shatter.

Screaming. Clenching. Shaking.

My vision goes white.

He grunts behind me, thrusts once more, and spills inside me, hot and pulsing.

We collapse forward onto the bed, sweaty and breathless.

I don’t even know his name.

But as he leans down and presses a kiss to my spine, he murmurs, “You did better than expected.”

I swallow.

“What happens now?” I ask softly.

He chuckles again.

“You come back tomorrow.”

Then he smacks my ass.

“Same time. Room 406.”