LOGIN“Daddy, I’ve made my hole tighter for you. I want you fully immersed inside me.” His voice came out soft, reverberating through my ears as he released his tiny legs around my waist, opening them wider. “Since you’ve saved me, it couldn’t stop twitching for you. And I don’t know how long it will keep pulsing for you to be buried inside.” He whispered into my right ear, his breath sending a jolt of hotness down my spine. “Fuck,” I growled, rolling my eyes. His fingers grazed my chin. I moaned. He pulled my head lower, and my gaze landed on the prettiest, reddish, tight hole I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. My Wolf groaned, stirring as heat consumed me. I slid lower, my face almost in between his legs. “Yes, Daddy Alpha. I want you.” He winced, his nails digging into my biceps. I dragged my tongue across my lower lip. I inhaled deeply, his scent filling my nostrils, and I tightened my tights, feeling a hard bulge between them. “Daddy, devour me already.” His hand grabbed my head, lowered it, pressing my tongue against his clenching hole. ~~~~~ Behind closed doors, rules shatter and hearts unravel. SINFUL AFFAIRS invites you into a world where desire whispers in the dark and every sin feels like salvation. Here, men ache for what they shouldn’t touch. They love too hard, crave too deeply, and sin too beautifully. Every story is a confession of hunger, heartbreak, and need. And once you step inside… you’ll never want to leave. So, you’re welcome to join the kind of sin you’ll beg to repeat. Now, if you dare, enter their world and let’s see if you can handle the heat.
View MoreMarshall’s POV It had been six months since Francesco left. Six months of quiet mornings, silent meals, and nights that dragged on like years. The cell felt bigger now, but not in a good way. Empty space had its own kind of weight. His bunk stayed untouched, and I never asked for another cellmate. Maybe the guards understood. Maybe they just forgot. I tried not to count the days, but I did. Each one felt the same dull, slow, cold. I kept busy with cleaning shifts and reading anything I could find in the library. The other inmates stopped asking about “the model guy.” Most of them didn’t care. But sometimes, late at night, I’d still hear whispers about him, “That rich guy who got out.” I pretended not to listen. Most days, I convinced myself I’d imagined what we had. That the warmth between us had only been something prison loneliness had built. But then I’d wake up from a dream, his voice calling my name, his hum in the dark and I’d know it wasn’t imagination. It was a memory.
Marshall’s POV The morning they came for Francesco, the sky outside the narrow window looked pale and washed out, as if even the sun didn’t want to be there. I was still half asleep when I heard the sound of boots in the hallway. Heavy steps. Voices. The clang of keys. Then our cell door creaked open. “Tailor,” one of the guards called out. “Pack your things.” At first, I thought I was dreaming. Those words didn’t sound real. Francesco didn’t move right away either. He just sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor like he hadn’t heard them. “Tailor,” the guard said again, louder this time. Francesco blinked. “Now?” he asked. “Yeah. Warden wants you in Processing. You’re being released.” Released. The word hung in the air like smoke. I felt it hit my chest before I could even process what it meant. Francesco turned to look at me. For a second, his face showed nothing. Then, slowly, it cracked not with a smile, but with something fragile. Fear. Relief. Maybe both. He
Marshall’s POV I knew something was different the moment the guards called Francesco out that morning. Usually, they yelled his name like it was a warning. But this time, the tone was calm. Firm, but not sharp. One of the guards even told him to bring his jacket, something they never bothered saying unless it was serious. He shot me a quick look before leaving. “Back soon,” he said under his breath. I nodded, but the quiet way he said it made my chest tighten. Hours passed. I tried reading, cleaning, even counting the tiles on the wall, but nothing worked. My head kept circling back to him to that uneasy look in his eyes before he walked out. When he finally came back, it was close to evening. His steps were slow, almost unsure, and there was a strange look on his face, not anger, not relief, but something caught between the two. I sat up on my bunk. “What happened?” He didn’t answer right away. He stood in the doorway, staring at the ground like he didn’t know how to start.
Marshall’s POV The first thing I noticed was the quiet. No shouting. No banging doors. No guards yelling for count. Just silence is heavy, warm, and strange. For the first time in what felt like forever, I woke up without tension sitting in my chest. The air smelled faintly of soap and metal, the usual prison scent, but somehow, it didn’t bother me today. Francesco was still asleep beside me, his back against the wall, his face turned toward me. The bruise on his cheek had darkened overnight, purple fading into yellow around the edges. There was a soft crease between his brows, like he was frowning even in sleep. His hair fell across his forehead, messy and damp from last night’s sweat. I remembered everything: the fight in the yard, the lockdown, his breakdown, the way he’d finally let go and cried against my chest. The sound of him shaking had stayed in my mind all night. Now, seeing him like this, peaceful for once, something in me loosened. I didn’t want to move. The cell
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