LOGINThis isnât a book. Itâs a betrayal. Of your vows. Of the ring on your finger. Of every rule you swore youâd never break. These arenât sweet love stories. Theyâre filthy secrets. Each page is a dangerous dare to spread wider, moan quieter, and let your husbandâs son ruin whatâs left of your good-girl life. Because once you let him in? You donât stop. You canât stop. This is where the perfect step-mummy gets devoured by the bad boy who was never supposed to touch her. Where wedding rings get hidden in drawers and kitchen counters become altars for sin. Where strict, respectable wives learn exactly how much better a younger, hungrier cock feels when itâs claiming what doesnât belong to it. Theyâre not gentle. Theyâre not patient. Theyâre not here to ask permission. They want your breath caught in your throat while your husband sleeps down the hall. Your thighs shaking as you ride the boy who calls you âMumâ in public and âmy slutâ in private. Your body betraying every promise you made at the altar. Theyâll pin you down with a smirk. Fuck your mind until guilt tastes like pleasure. Make you beg without ever raising their voice. Youâll gag on the risk. Drip from the danger. Come harder than you ever have in your married life. So keep your voice down. Keep the bedroom door locked. And baby? Be warned: youâre gonna need fresh sheets by morning. Because this book doesnât just seduce you. It makes you the other woman in your own home.
View MoreDetention After Darkđ§đŠđ
âGet your ass in here right now, Marcus.â I didnât look up from the stack of papers on my desk, but my pulse jumped the second I heard his boots in the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him. I kept my voice cold even though heat was already crawling up my neck. âYou wanted to see me, Professor?â His tone dripped with that lazy challenge. I could picture the smirk without even glancing up. I finally raised my eyes. Marcus stood there, all tall and tattooed, leather jacket hanging open over a black tee that stretched across his chest. Messy dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes that always looked like they knew exactly what I was thinking. âSit down. Now.â He dropped into the chair like he owned the room, legs spread wide. âWhatâs the problem? I turned in the paper.â I slapped the printed copy down hard. Red marks everywhere. âThis isnât analysis. This is you mocking the material. Mocking me.â âCome on, Elena.â He grinned, using my first name like it was nothing. âItâs late. Office hours are over. Why drag me back here if youâre just gonna yell?â My cheeks burned. I stood up fast, walking around the desk, heels clicking against the floor. âDonât call me Elena. In this room, Iâm Professor Voss. And you are on very thin ice, Marcus. One more stunt and youâre gone. For good.â He rose slowly, towering over me. We were close. Too close. His scent, something dark and masculine, filled my head. âYou really think kicking me out fixes anything? Or are you just pissed I see through all your perfect little rules?â I should have stepped back. Instead, my hand shot out, landing on his chest. âStep back, Marcus.â âMake me.â His voice went low, rough. âTell me to leave. Say it like you mean it.â I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My fingers curled into his shirt. Damn him. âYou hate me,â he said, eyes locked on mine, âbut you keep calling me in after hours. Why is that, Professor?â âBecause someone has to save your stupid ass.â My voice cracked. I hated how weak it sounded. His hand covered mine, pressing it harder against his heartbeat. Fast. Strong. âFeel that? My heartâs pounding for you. Has been since day one.â âMarcusâŠâ I whispered, but then his mouth was on mine. Hard. Demanding. I kissed him back before I could stop myself, hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. God, he tasted like trouble and sin. He lifted me onto the desk in one smooth move. Papers flew everywhere. My skirt rode up my thighs as his hands gripped me, possessive. âBeen dreaming about this,â he growled against my neck. âAbout making strict Professor Voss fall apart.â âShut up and show me.â The words slipped out before I could think. My legs wrapped around his waist like they belonged there. He kissed down my throat, teeth grazing my skin. Buttons popped open on my blouse. Cool air hit my breasts as he tugged my bra down. His mouth closed over one nipple and I cried out, back arching hard. âYes⊠like that.â I couldnât believe the sounds coming from me. Moaning like some desperate woman instead of the composed professor everyone respected. His hand slid between my legs, pushing my panties aside. Two thick fingers plunged inside me without warning. I gasped, clenching around him. âSo wet for me already,â he muttered. âBad mummy, getting turned on by your bad boy student.â Heat flooded my face. âDonât call me that.â âWhy?â He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made my toes curl. âBecause it makes you drip even more?â I rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure. âMarcus⊠oh fuck.â He dropped to his knees, shoved my thighs wider, and replaced his fingers with his hot mouth. His tongue flicked my clit while those fingers pumped deep. I grabbed his hair, grinding against his face, not caring how filthy this was. The phone rang. I froze. Marcus didnât stop. If anything, he sucked harder. âItâs⊠probably the department head,â I panted. âAnswer it.â His voice vibrated against me. He looked up, lips shiny, eyes dark with challenge. âOr I stop.â I glared but reached for the phone with a shaking hand. âHello? Professor Voss speaking.â Marcus dove back in, tongue working me mercilessly. âYes⊠Iâm finishing some grading.â My voice wavered. I bit my lip hard. âNo, everythingâs fine. Just a difficult student.â I could barely hold it together. His fingers curled again. I was right there, teetering on the edge. âGoodnight.â I slammed the phone down and yanked him up by the hair, kissing him fiercely. I could taste myself on his tongue. It only made me hotter. âYouâre going to get us both in so much trouble,â I whispered, hands already fumbling with his belt. âGood.â He freed himself. Thick, hard, and pressing right against my soaked entrance. âNow be a good mummy and take what youâve been wanting.â I wrapped my hand around his cock, stroking him. âBig boy. Think you can handle me?â He pushed forward, the head stretching me open. I moaned into his mouth, ready to finally feel all of him. A loud knock sounded on the office door. âElena? You still in there? I saw the light on. Need to talk about the midterm grades.â My eyes flew open in panic. Marcus was right there, thick cock nudging inside me, one thrust from burying deep. My heart hammered against my ribs. My body screamed for him to keep going even as terror flooded me. We stared at each other, frozen, his tip barely inside my pulsing heat. What the hell do we do now?Three A.M. Side EntranceđŠđ§Ash covered the distance in four silent steps.He locked an arm around the manâs throat and dragged him backward into the blind behind the flight cases before a shout could form. The camera bag hit the carpet with a soft thud. I stepped out, picked it up, and opened it under the low hallway light. Another recorder. A spare lens. A folded printout of stills from the control room, my hand in Ashâs hair, his mouth between my thighs, the timestamp from the night before.Marcus Hale. Medium height. Dark jacket. The same careful face that had walked the studio once last spring under the pretext of advising on after-hours monitoring systems. He had stayed until the last session light went dark. He had always been polite.Ash eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.âYouâre done,â I said. âThe on-site units are gone. The SIMs are gone. You will delete every off-site copy while we watch. Then you will sign a statement that you conducted illegal surveillan
Side Entrance and Offline FeedsđŠđ§Ash was gone nineteen minutes.I stayed in the producerâs chair with the session file open and the still image of his mouth between my thighs locked on my phone. The control room remained quiet. The monitors cast their soft blue light across the board. Somewhere in the building a compressor kicked on and then settled. At 1:48 a.m. the side-entrance sensor on my tablet still showed locked. I had not touched it.The hallway door opened. Ash stepped inside, closed it, and locked it from the inside without being told. His hoodie carried a smear of dust from the lower-level closet. In his hands were a small black network recorder no larger than a portable drive and two loose network cables.âPatch-bay unit was replaced,â he said. âOld housing, new board, cellular uplink instead of the hard line that was supposed to be dead after the rebuild. Recorder was tucked behind the switch stack in the security closet on the lower level. Live feed was pushing to an
Muted and On Your Kneesđ«Šđ§âOn your knees under the console.âAsh dropped without a word. Twenty-five. Dark hair still damp from the late session. The black hoodie hung open over a faded band shirt. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. He had a record for boosting gear and a reputation for hands that could fix a board or break a jaw depending on the night. I hired him anyway. People with his ears were useful when the mix needed to stay clean and the clients needed to stay out of the control room after midnight.I leaned back in the producerâs chair, the hem of my skirt already lifted. The only light came from the soft blue of the monitor screens and the red glow of the recording light that I had left on for the atmosphere. Outside the double glass, the live room was dark and empty. The last of the session players had left an hour ago. The buildingâs night system hummed through the walls.âMouth only,â I said. âYou do not touch yourself. You do not rush. You make it last until I
Morning Handoffđ«ŠđŠThe leave of absence became permanent on a Tuesday.I read the board memo in the attending lounge between cases, coffee gone cold in my hand. Daniel Voss had resigned his seat effective immediately, citing personal reasons. Counselâs investigation was marked closed with no further action recommended against the hospital. The voluntary security notice had satisfied the medical staff office. No names beyond the investigatorâs had appeared in any external communication. The attendings who still nodded to me in the hallway did so with the same distracted professionalism as before. Nothing in the air had changed except the quiet knowledge that the cameras above the sink and in Room 412 would never come back online without my signature.Cole found me in the on-call room at 12:50 a.m. three nights later. He locked the door without being told, set his badge on the metal side table, and waited.âBoardâs clean,â he said. âNo pending reads. Charge nurse is on the far wing for






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