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Data de publicação:
2026-06-20 01:48:52
Último capítulo
His Forbidden Muse 60
This night, this storm is wet, sea-salted and sin-stained.We don’t speak during the drive back.The road unravels before us in cold ribbons. The silence between us is thick and almost intimate. The windows fog with the warmth of our bodies and the dampness of the sea air. I am soaked enough, inside out. My skin clings to itself, and the wet fabric kisses my flesh.The leather seat beneath me is damp now. I don’t apologise. He doesn’t offer a jacket. I don’t ask. My fingers rest in my lap.His hand is still on the steering wheel, the veins in his arm taut, visible even in the dim dashboard light. He’s not looking at me, but he doesn’t need to. His presence is too loud on its own. It hums under my skin. Echoes in the hollow of my chest.I stare out the window. The world outside is black velvet, stitched with pinpricks of gold. The night feel infinite and indifferent. It doesn’t care what I’ve done.We slow near the house.I know we’re close before I even look up. My body recognises the
His Forbidden Muse 59
I’ve never felt more alive than in the precise moment I surrendered to ruin.And maybe that’s the cruelty of it all. That aliveness, real and feral and breathing, comes not from just attraction or grace or safety but from the mouth of a wolf. A man. A sin. A moment that will eat me alive in retrospect, but tonight, tonight I wear it like a crown of thorns and I bleed with pride.We crossed another line. One etched not in ink but in salt and skin and breathless cries swallowed by the indifferent wind. Another line. As if there were any lines left. My body is wrecked. My soul is aflame. My thighs are still trembling where his mouth worshipped me. He made me feel divine, something holy and yet wholly his.And now, there is only stillness.One that follows violence or prayers.It lingers after climax, after confession, after a truth too large to say out loud. Too vast to consume.His hand is still clamped on my thigh. Heavy and warm and claiming. His thumb strokes absentmindedly, almost g
His Forbidden Muse 58
The ocean hums behind me as if it’s lulling me into a dangerous sleep of eternity. Written in foreign tongue and I barely hear it anymore.All I see is him.All I feel is him.All I hear is him.The weight of his body pressing into mine. The sound of his ragged breaths, hot and laced with something feral. The grip of his hand around my wrists feels tight and possessive, as if he knows I’ll run for the water once he let go.Me.God, me.I don’t even remember when I stopped resisting or if I ever really did.Maybe I was always going to end up here, pinned into the sand, sea wrapping around me and my body arching beneath him as if it’s trying to tell me the truth I’ve been too afraid to hear.That I want this.That I want him.That I want to be ruined by him.Massimo’s mouth drags along my neck, slowly turning me around.I’ve realised some nights don’t end. Never really. They bend time, stretch it, fold it over again and again, and there are nights like this one. Where clock keeps moving
His Forbidden Muse 57
“Where are you going?”His rough voice roar beneath my skin.I swallow and hesitate. “I need air.”He arches a brow. “There’s plenty inside.”“I couldn’t sleep.”He hums dryly. “Neither could I, apparently. This house is full of insomniacs and liras.”I blink. My throat tightens. Anya stirs and groans against him, her hand brushing his collarbone.Kyle however, ignores her touch, but I can see the twitch in his jaw that it affects him. Is there something going on I’m not aware of?“Go back to your room.” He says stepping forward, blocking the door with his huge frame.I say nothing.His jaw tics, but he doesn’t speak.“I’m just going for some fresh…”“Now.”His command is velvet-wrapped steel. No louder than a whisper, but it hits like a scream. And just like that, it gets on my nerves.My eyes narrow, and I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t need permission to leave my house.” I say, chin titling up despite the tremble in my fingers.“No. But you clearly need protection.”His gaze bur
His Forbidden Muse 56
The car is silent for a good five minutes after Sasha drives off.The city slips past in blurred images and indifferent streets, and still neither of us says a word. The air is stiff between us, brittle with the intensity of too much unsaid. I sit stiffly, hands folded in my lap, the clothes are digging into my skin. My reflection stares back faintly in the window. It’s not me, yet it’s me.Sasha finally exhales, curses, and mutters. “You okay?”I blink. My throat is dry and my voice is half-lost. “Define ‘okay’.”Sasha hums, eyes flickering between the road and me. “Didn’t think Massimo Bianchi dates anyone.. let alone…” her voice trails off.“Let alone…?” I prompt.She shrugs one shoulder. “Someone like you.”The words sting, but I don’t feel insulted. It’s just truth. I’m the girl people look past. Not look at. And certainly not keep in designer lingerie and throw to wolves.“You don’t know me,” I say, quieter than I mean to.“No,” she agrees, taking a sharp turn. “But I know him.”
His Forbidden Muse 55
I shouldn’t be this furious over clothes. But standing in front of that mirror, wearing them, I feel like I’m bleeding.The skirt’s black tweed, daringly short, edges flaring as if I am teasing someone but barely. It hugs my thighs and the top has adjustable straps, polished metal rings, and that LV logo brooch.It’s sophisticated in a way, yet bold in other way.But that’s not what bothers me. I’ve never been materialistic about clothes. I do like wearing skirts and tops like these though I choose not to because of name-calling and slut-shaming I’ve been victim to.But it’s the undergarments I’m wearing under.Black lace. Soft as betraying myself. It’s too delicate. And risky. I don’t know why or how they fit me perfectly, like too perfectly.He made sure every thread screaming mine.How did he know my size? The bra cups cradle me in a way that corrupts my bones and the lacy, stringy underwear clings. I want to rip them off. Or… sob.I makeup-fix the straps, smooth the skirt and dab
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