LOGINPlease do comment and rate my story please 🙏💜 Keep supporting me😘 with Gems and Gifts. I appreciate so much🥹
I need your support.Have you written a review yet ..if you are enjoying this story please do so🙏🥺 Drop a positive review and five Star rating for my book. Take a moment to visit the front page of my story. The page where you see my book cover and chapters. Scroll down, and you'll find the comments and reviews section. AND PLS keep supporting me with GEMS💎 and GIFTS🎁🙏 Every single one helps me in the contest and encourages me to keep writing more chapters for you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 💜
The next morning, Lena stirred from a deep, dreamless sleep as her alarm blared through the quiet room. Her eyelids, heavy with exhaustion, fluttered open. The moment her vision cleared, her breath caught in her throat. Tarzan stood beside her bed, half-naked, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs that did almost nothing to conceal the impressive, thick outline of his cock curving heavily down the side of his muscular thigh. “Ahh!” Lena gasped, bolting upright and clutching the duvet to her chest. “Good… good morning, Mr. Silver,” she stammered, her face instantly flushing with heat. She forced her gaze upward, refusing to let it drift downward again, though the image had already burned itself into her mind. Tarzan said nothing. His expression was unreadable as he turned and walked out of the bedroom toward the kitchen. Lena’s stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly, reminding her just how long it had been since she’d last eaten. A delicious, savory aroma wafte
Then Lena noticed Tarzan had gone completely still. His head rested heavily against her inner thigh, his warm breath fanning across her soaked core. He had fallen asleep right there—face buried between her legs, one powerful arm slung possessively over her hip like he still owned her even in unconsciousness. "Seriously?" she whispered in disbelief. "He fell asleep right there…?" Her body was still trembling, thighs sticky, core pulsing with the aftershocks of what he’d done to her. She hadn’t even had a bath yet. Every muscle felt deliciously numb, begging for sleep, but she couldn’t possibly drift off with his face still nestled against her most intimate place. What if he woke up like this? Carefully, she eased his heavy head off her thigh and slid out from under him. Her legs were shaky, barely cooperative as she maneuvered his massive, dead-weight body. It took real effort—grunting softly, muscles burning again—as she pushed and pulled until he was properly stretched
The way the heat of Tarzan's mouth, the insistent pressure, the way he devoured her like a man starved—it overwhelmed every rational thought in Lena's head. Her thighs trembled around his head, pleasure coiling tight and fast in her core. Soon, he hooked a finger under the edge of her panties, tugging them aside. The first direct stroke of his tongue against her bare, slick folds made her cry out, back bowing off the bed. "Fuck...I mean...wait!" His large hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he buried his face deeper, tongue plunging inside her before circling her swollen clit again and again. The wet sounds filled the dim bedroom, mingled with her gasping moans. Her fingers tightened desperately in Tarzan's thick hair as his tongue kept working on her with relentless, sloppy devotion His drunken hunger made him messy but no less devastating strokes that dragged from her entrance up to her throbbing clit, then tight circles that made her vision blur. "Ah—
"Stay," he growled, the word a low command. "But..." Lena started to protest. His other hand gripped her ass, squeezing the soft flesh with possessive hunger, fingers digging in hard enough to wrench a sharp gasp from her lips. The sound escaped before she could stifle it—a breathy, traitorous little moan. As much as she missed him, missed this, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not when he was drunk. Not when the images of him with those other women from yesterday still burned behind her eyes, seared into her memory like a brand. "Tarzan... wait—" she whispered, trying to push upright, but he wasn't listening. In one fluid, powerful motion, he flipped them, pinning her beneath him on her back. His enormous frame caged her completely, all heat and muscle and familiar weight. One strong hand captured both of hers, holding them above her head against the mattress. The other slipped boldly under the hem of her blouse, his rough palm gliding up her smooth skin until it closed
"Mr. Silver… you need to move," she groaned, her voice strained as she hooked her arms under his and pulled. It felt like trying to move a marble statue. She groaned again. "Why are you so… ridiculously heavy?" Bracing herself once more, she wrapped one arm around his waist and slung his arm over her shoulder. "One…" She strained. "Two…" Another tug. "Three!" This time, he shifted. His enormous body leaned heavily against her, nearly crushing her beneath his weight. "Oh! Easy there." She stumbled backward. His head lolled slightly before settling against her shoulder. Lena's knees nearly buckled. He was a giant—dead weight. He's lost so much weight, yet he's still this heavy, she thought to herself. Finally, she managed to get him out of the car, his body slumping heavily against hers. Step by agonizing step, she half-dragged, half-carried him toward the private elevator. She kept adjusted her grip, muscles burning. "Come on, you big teddy bear," she muttered, sweat bea
The silence stretched between us like a wire about to snap. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Then he spoke. "You are hungry. Have you been skipping meals?" "Don't," I cut him off, my face burning. "It's none of your business." He was quiet. Then he stood up, his height m
That was Gabi's voice. I shook myself out of the fog and walked toward the counter area, still trying to steady my breathing. That was when I saw him. A tall biker guy standing in front of the counter, again with his helmet on. Why doesn't he take the damn helmet off before entering the café?
The first man leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he looked me over again. I noticed his gaze lingered on my stomach. “Damn,” he said with a cruel laugh. “No wonder you’re so uptight. Look at the size of you. How much do you weigh, anyway? Two-fifty? Three hundred? Bet that’s why your husband alwa
The message I sent to my husband Mitch was left unanswered. Just like the ones I sent days ago… weeks ago. He had stopped replying to my texts. I scrolled through the one-sided conversation, my heart tightening at how pathetic it looked. Suddenly, a message popped up. Hoping it was his reply, I







