Sinful Seduction (Exotica Collection)

We stumbled into the elevator, hands everywhere, lips crashing like we couldn’t breathe unless we were touching. The doors slid shut behind us, sealing us in our own private inferno.I didn’t wait. I shoved him against the mirrored wall, my hands diving under his shirt, nails dragging over hard abs that felt sculpted for sin. He groaned—deep—like I’d knocked the air out of him.“You started this,” I whispered, breath hot against his throat.He cupped the back of my head and crushed his mouth to mine again. His tongue pushed past my lips, claiming. Demanding. His hands dropped to my thighs, lifting me off the ground with ease. I wrapped my legs around him without hesitation.“You taste like trouble,” he growled, kissing down my jaw, to that sensitive spot under my ear that made my knees want to give out—if they weren’t already locked around his waist.“And you taste like regret waiting to happen,” I panted, grinding against him shamelessly.The elevator dinged and we both froze—only fo

Jennifer’s POV I’d always been an early bird. But lately, it was the nights that made me feel most alive—something about the quiet, the city lights shimmering through the gym windows, the hum of the equipment, the stillness. It felt like I belonged to a different world at night. A more daring one. I had a habit of showing up just before the sun dipped below the skyline. Everyone else had cleared out by then—except Chase. Chase, my trainer. We were always the last two. Just the sound of our breathing, the clink of metal weights, and his voice, deep and smooth, guiding me through every motion. He had a presence that made me feel… safe. And hot all over. His hands lingered when they didn’t have to. When he corrected my form or helped stretch out my legs on the mat, they’d brush against my thighs, my hips, sometimes my ass. It was never long enough to be inappropriate—but always long enough to make me crave more. And I knew he looked at me. I caught his gaze drifting over my curves

Cassy’s POV The collar cinches tight around my neck, cool leather pressing into my skin, branding me with something far deeper than touch—ownership. His fingers brush along my jaw, lingering at the hinge, then drift down the column of my throat. I shiver. “Breathe, pet.” I inhale shakily through parted lips, the blindfold keeping me in darkness, heightening every other sensation. My hearing sharpens—his soft breaths, the faint jingle of metal tools on the wall behind him, the wet sound of a moan from another room. But it’s his presence that consumes me. A living force. Dominant. Controlled. Predatory. “On your hands and knees.” I obey instantly, knees sinking into the soft leather flooring, palms pressed flat. I feel exposed—naked and displayed—but it also awakens something wild and primal in me. He walks around me slowly, deliberately, like he’s appraising prey. I can’t see his eyes behind the mask, but I can feel them, scorching down my spine. “I will teach you to obey,” he

Isla’s POVI stood in front of a door with no sign, no label. Just a single red light glowing softly above it, like a warning… or an invitation.My dress clung to my body—a scarlet silk slip chosen per Damian’s command. No bra. No panties. Just silk on bare skin. The air outside was cool, but my body was already flushed with anticipation.He hadn’t touched me since I signed the contract. Three days had passed.Three days of silence.Three days of thinking I’d imagined the hunger in his kiss.Then today, a car. A note. A single word: Tonight.And now I was here, heart pounding like a war drum behind my ribs.The door clicked open.Damian stood on the other side, dressed in a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, no tie, no smile. Just those dark eyes, raking over me slowly, thoroughly, like he owned every inch of my skin.“Come,” he said simply.I stepped inside, and the door shut behind me with a finality that echoed in my spine.The room swallowed me.It was nothing like I imag

Liam’s POVThe room was dim except for the soft glow of the TV casting flickers across the walls, the low roar of the Champions League semi-finals filling the space like white noise. I sat on the edge of Noah’s worn-out couch, our thighs pressed together beneath a shared blanket that clung to my skin like heat—his heat.I shifted, careful not to tug the cover away from him, though every brush of our legs sent sparks skittering up my spine. It should’ve been normal—just two best friends watching football. But my body didn’t seem to get the memo. My heart was thrumming like a drumline in my chest, and a coil of heat low in my belly had nothing to do with the match.I’d gotten good at pretending over the years. Pretending I didn’t look forward to our hangouts too much. I pretended I didn’t memorize how his laugh curved or how his hair fell messily into his eyes after practice. Pretending I didn’t ache with wanting every time we touched—even in innocent ways like this.Because I knew, I’d