It was an adult site which brought us together. We chatted for a week and finally decided on three nights. Three nights of pleasure — and after that, no contact with each other. But by the third night, I got too addicted to him. To the one, whose name I still don’t know. He was my Mr. Stranger. My match. Even though we decided on three nights, and they were over, I wanted more. But the thing that shocked me was the website that connected us vanished the day after our third night. It’s been two years now, and I’m still unable to forget those three nights. Still looking for him. And then… I found him. The man I gave my body to the one who ruined me so sweetly is now sitting across the table at a family dinner. My Mr. Stranger Now My step-uncle. Was it just a coincidence, or a well-planned event? And how did that website get deleted right after that day? Will I really be able to stay away from the only man I craved for two entire years? Was I the only one feeling this way, or was he no different from me? Did he want me as much as I wanted him? Whatever it was, I was in a deep mess with no way out . warning : this is steamy story.
View MoreThe rules were clear. The hours were set. But rules had never been my strong suit, especially when it came to him.For two years, I had craved Christian—my Mr. Stranger, a fantasy I never thought would materialize. And now, for one intoxicating week, he had been mine again, bound by the strict, maddening parameters of our arrangement. We were satellites in the same house, orbiting each other but forbidden from touching outside the designated times. It was agony. I didn’t just want the frantic, desperate coupling we engaged in during our allotted hours. I wanted to sit beside him. To talk. To hold his hand and feel the casual brush of his lips against my temple. But the rules were the rules, a necessary fortress against the prying eyes of the household staff.This morning, the fortress wall seemed lower. The sun was barely a suggestion in the sky when I found myself slipping from my balcony to his, the cool morning air raising goosebumps on my skin. The French door was unlocked. Of cou
Mom and my stepdad had been away on their honeymoon for almost a month. Thirty days of freedom, thirty days of silence in the house that usually thrummed with tension.Christian and I both knew it wouldn’t last. He wasn’t supposed to be here like this with me. I wasn’t supposed to want him. But desire doesn’t care for rules. Desire waits, builds, and claws until it has no choice but to consume.And today, in the middle of the day, we chose to let it win.The sun spilled through the glass walls of the room, bathing everything in a bright, unforgiving light. The room itself was strange—minimal, stripped bare, as though created for one purpose only. A single chair sat in the center, a table beside it, nothing else. No shadows to hide in, no curtains to shield us.I wore nothing but a thin cover. My fingers clutched the edge of the fabric, knowing it wouldn’t hide me for long.“On your knees.”His voice carried no hesitation. A command, not a request.Christian sat on the chair like a kin
I couldn’t stop smiling to myself.I opened my eyes — I was in my room, naked under the blanket.He did exactly what he said. My hand reached for the nightstand, grabbing the rule list we made.I hadn’t slept this peacefully in two years.Each rule I read brought his touch back to my skin. My thighs clenched.My hand slid under the duvet, rubbing myself as I read.The rules were a mix of normal and filthy.The first one: never tell anyone what’s happening between us — because if the family found out, both of us would be ruined. Then came the basics: safewords, no cumming without permission, sleeping naked every night, always ready for him. The list even marked the spaces where I had to be available to him.My hand froze when I read the one I hated most: “No office play. Remain professional outside.”God, why did he have to add that one? The thought of being under his desk while he led a meeting, his voice steady while I made him lose control — it would’ve been the most thrilling thin
He let me go.Stepping back, his voice was low but commanding.“Strip, Wildflower,” he said, locking his eyes with mine.Without wasting another second, I began undoing my clothes. I was still in the same dress I had worn to the party. The fabric slipped from my shoulders and pooled silently at my feet.For a long moment, he just looked at me—devouring me with his gaze—before turning toward his desk. We were still in his study, the air heavy with silence. His hand reached for something, and when he turned back, I saw it. A cutter.My breath caught. My heartbeat thudded violently in my chest as he came toward me, the metallic click of the blade opening echoing louder than it should have in the stillness.He stopped just one step away.“You forgot, Wildflower,” he murmured.My brows furrowed, confused, until his eyes flicked downward.“The first rule.” His voice was steel. “You never wear undergarments.”Before I could respond, the blade slid clean through the center of my bra. The fabr
“We can’t be together. This is wrong,” he said. “Why are you the one being scared? It’s supposed to be the girl’s part to be scared, not the guy’s. I’m not scared—then why are you?” I asked. His jaw clenched. “I’m not scared for me. I’m scared for you. If your mom finds out, she’s going to—” “She’s going to what?” I cut him off. “I have a life. She doesn’t get to decide it for me. It’s me who decides who I want to be with.” He just stared at me, silent. I stepped closer, my heart hammering. “I’m saying this one last time—accept that you need me as much as I need you,” I whispered. He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I pushed ahead. “Or let me live my life. Let me find someone else. Stop interfering in my matters.” His eyes darkened, but he still said nothing. “Fine,” I snapped. “If you won’t accept me, then I’ll go back to that guy tonight—” Before I could finish, his hand shot out, gripping my arm, slamming me back against the wall. “You won’t,” he growled. “Why not?” I
His hand rested on my throat, not pressing, not gentle, only enough to have my pulse hitch beneath his touch. His words were a slow undercurrent beating into my skin like something dark and treacherous. You are only mine, wildflower. My mouth fell open and I breathed shallowly. “You did,” I whispered feeling sweet relief and something hotter, heavier, tumble down through me. “You finally admitted it.” But only a moment passed when regret shut out his eyes. He dropped me like a burn and took a quick step back to create separation. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he muttered angrily. I pressed on befofe he could escape me. “Yes, you did. You can’t lie, not anymore. You called me yours. You called me wildflower.” His jaw tensed, his face went taut. “Elora—” “Why?” I choked up, but I went on. “Why are you fighting this? You feel it too. I know you do.” He bit off the request, closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. When he opened them, the fire was smothered in ice. “Beca
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