Todos os capítulos de FORBIDDEN LUSTS (Erotica collection): Capítulo 261 - Capítulo 270

Morning light filters through the curtains—soft, gray, winter-pale—but we’re not done pretending it’s night yet. Sophie’s flight is pushed back again: another delay text came in at 6 a.m. “Stuck till evening, ugh. Tell Dad I love him. Don’t let him eat all the cereal lol.” I read it while Ethan was still asleep beside me, his arm slung heavy over my waist, cock half-hard against my ass even in sleep.I didn’t reply. Instead I rolled over, straddled him under the sheets, and sank down slow—taking him inch by inch while he woke up groaning my name.Now it’s almost noon. We’ve barely left the bed. Sheets are wrecked—twisted, damp, streaked with us. The room smells like sex and his cologne and the faint pine from the candle he lit last night to “cover the evidence.” As if anything could.He’s got me on my stomach now, face pressed into the pillow, ass up. One big hand pins my wrists at the small of my back; the other spreads me wide. He’s eating me from behind again—slow this time, delibe

Ryder;I locked the front door at 7:55 p.m. on Friday, the neon “Open” sign flickering off like a signal. The studio smelled of fresh ink and pine cleaner, the same scent that always settled in my lungs before a session and stayed there for hours after. My cock was already half-hard just thinking about her—Mia. The way her breath had caught when I touched her last week, the soft swell of her mound under my gloved fingers, the faint sheen of arousal I’d seen between her thighs when she thought I wasn’t looking.I leaned against the wall in the private room, unzipped my jeans, and pulled myself out.Thick and already leaking. The head flushed dark, a bead of precum sliding down the underside. I wrapped my fist around the base and stroked once—slow, deliberate—picturing her on my table again. Soft curves. Full tits straining against her bra. That delicate flush creeping up her neck when I’d said her skin took the lines beautifully. I remembered the others: Claire, married ten years, wedd

I walked into Ryder’s studio at 8:01 p.m. on the dot, the bell above the door barely making a sound before he appeared from the back room like he’d been waiting for me to breathe the same air. The place was darker than last time—only the adjustable lamp over the table was on, casting a warm circle of light that made everything outside it feel secret. The smell hit me first: fresh ink, antiseptic, and something warmer underneath, like cedar and skin. My heart was already pounding so hard I felt it between my legs.No panties. Just the short black skirt he’d told me to wear, loose enough to ride up when I moved. I’d been wet since I left the house—every step in the car had rubbed my thighs together, kept my clit swollen and sensitive. I locked the front door behind me without asking. He didn’t say anything about it. He just looked at me—gray eyes dark, jaw tight—and nodded toward the table.“Up,” he said. Voice low. Rough. The kind of rough that made my nipples pull tight against my bra

I showed up twenty minutes early, the studio door already unlocked like he’d known I wouldn’t be able to wait. My hands shook as I pushed it open. The bell didn’t even chime—just a soft click that felt louder than it should. The place was quiet, dim, only the low amber light spilling from the private room at the back. Ink and cedar and him. That smell hit me like a drug.No small talk. I didn’t say hello. Didn’t ask if he was ready.I walked straight through, kicked the door shut behind me, and locked it.My fingers went to the hem of my sweater. Pulled it over my head. Bra unhooked, fell to the floor. Skirt unzipped, slid down my thighs. No panties. Just skin. Bare. The fresh ink on my mound—*Unleashed*—was healed now, black lines sharp and permanent against the soft skin just above my slit. Looking at it made my pussy clench. Made me feel owned already.I climbed onto the table without being told. Lay back. Spread my legs wide—knees bent, feet planted on the edges, thighs falling op

I arrived at the studio just past 10 p.m., the city outside the big front windows already blurred with rain and neon. My skirt was short, no panties, no bra—just a thin black top that clung to my nipples the second the cool air hit me. I’d been wet since I left the house. Every red light on the drive had me pressing my thighs together, trying to ease the ache. It didn’t help. Nothing helped anymore except the thought of Ryder’s hands, his mouth, the way he looked at the tattoo he’d put on me like it was his signature on my skin.The door was unlocked. I pushed it open. The bell didn’t ring—someone had silenced it. The main room was dark, but light spilled from the private studio at the back. Low voices. Two of them.My stomach flipped. Not fear. Anticipation.I walked in.Ryder was already there, leaning against the tattoo table in nothing but low-slung black jeans, chest bare, ink gleaming under the lamp. Another man stood near the mirror—younger, leaner, dark hair falling into his e