Addicted To His Touch {AN MM COLLECTION}

This was the second time.Micah wasn’t supposed to be here again.He had told himself that a hundred times, every time he stared at his phone, every time he walked past the building, every time he swore he wasn’t weak enough to crawl back.But now he was here.On his knees.Again.Roman stood behind him, still in the black coat he always wore like a second skin. He hadn’t said much when Micah showed up, just opened the door, looked him over with those cold, sharp eyes, and walked inside like he’d been expecting him all along.Now he stood silently, watching.Micah’s palms were flat on the floor. His shoulders trembled. He was breathing too fast, already shaking, already flushed and humiliated, and Roman hadn’t even touched him yet.“Why are you here?” Roman finally asked, voice low and unreadable.Micah stared at the floor. “I don’t know.”“Liar.”Roman stepped closer. His boots clicked against the tile. One hand slid into Micah’s hair and gripped it tight—not cruel, just firm. Ground

Chapter Four: Don’t Come Without My PermissionHe didn’t need to touch Micah to control him. He just had to stop.Micah was hard the second the door shut behind him.It didn’t make sense, he hadn’t even seen Roman yet. But the scent of him still lingered in the apartment. The faint musk of leather, smoke, expensive soap. It clung to the walls, soaked into the air. Micah’s knees felt weak just breathing it.And Roman hadn’t even touched him yet.He hated how fast it happened now. The ache. The heat in his gut. The pulse between his thighs, already throbbing before a single word had been spoken.“Upstairs,” came the voice. Calm. Cold. From the hallway.Micah obeyed instantly.When he entered the room, Roman was seated on the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled up, thighs spread wide like he’d been waiting for him. His eyes flicked up, nothing hungry, nothing eager.Just sharp.Knowing.“Strip,” Roman said.Micah did.No hesitation. No shame left to hide behind. He peeled his shirt over his

Chapter Five: The One They Both OwnedCharacters:Lysander Vale – Dominant, cruel, icy CEO. Older, immaculate, calculating.Xaden Quinn – The golden boy. Charming, sadistic underneath the smile. Obsessive protector.Jack Blake – The reluctant third. Naïve, shy, caught between them. The obsession neither will give up.Setting: Luxe penthouse apartment, rain streaking the floor-to-ceiling windows, all glass and shadows.Tone: Slow tension, dual control, subtle rivalry, and psychological power play. Expect teasing, edging, and emotional manipulation. One uses words. The other uses touch.The One They Both OwnedJack had no idea where to look.Lysander was behind him. Caden was in front of him. And both of them were watching him like they’d already decided what he’d do tonight.What they’d make him do.He was shirtless. Barefoot. Jeans unbuttoned but not removed. His breath was shaking. His hands didn’t know where to rest.“Speak,” Lysander said from the leather chair behind him. His voic

Professor Clinton Harry was the kind of man students either feared or fantasized about.At thirty-eight, he was tall, precise, and always a little too put together. His ties were sharp. His lectures are sharper. But behind that crisp Oxford shirt and those cold eyes was something no student could quite name. Authority, yes. Control, absolutely. But there was something darker in the way he said your name when you got an answer wrong. Something intimate in the way he tapped his fingers against the edge of his desk as if daring someone to try him.And Jenson—well, Jenson wanted to be tried.He had never said it out loud. He didn’t have to. The way he stared during class when Clinton unbuttoned his cuffs or leaned over the podium said it all. The way he lingered after every session, asking questions he didn’t care about, just to hear that deep voice a little longer.Jenson was twenty-two, lean and nervous with soft brown eyes and a body built more for begging than fighting. He was smart t

The call came while he was still lying in bed, shirtless, sweat dried to his skin and a dull ache still pulsing deep in his body from what Clinton had done to him that afternoon."Hey baby," her voice rang through the phone, soft and unaware, "I’ve missed you all week. Can I come over tonight? I need you."Jenson stared at the ceiling. His throat tightened.He hadn’t even thought about her in days.Not really.He’d barely texted back. Every time he looked at her name, all he could think about was the way Clinton had bent him over his own desk, the way he had kissed him like he owned him, the way Jenson had begged for more like some used-up whore who didn’t even remember what normal felt like.But she still thought he was hers.He tried to respond. “Yeah, maybe we—”His voice cracked.He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie.He couldn’t even imagine touching her now. Not when his body still belonged to someone else.“I’m not feeling well,” he finally said, the lie tasting like ash. “Maybe t