All Chapters of RUTHLESS TEMPTATION : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

He laid Jace gently on the bed. The candlelight from the hallway spilled across the sheets, painting gold on their skin. Elias hovered above him, eyes dark and full of reverence. “You sure?” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. Jace nodded, his breath already coming in shallow pants. “I want you, daddy.” That was all it took. Elias’s mouth crashed against Jace’s, no longer tentative but hungry and devouring. His tongue swept in, claiming every inch. Jace whimpered into the kiss, his hands fisting in Elias’s shirt, pulling him closer. Elias’s fingers explored the familiar lines of Jace’s body tracing the sharp cut of his hipbones, the dip of his waist, the smooth plane of his stomach that quivered under the touch. He wrapped his hand around Jace’s cock, already hard and leaking at the tip, the velvety skin hot and pulsing in his palm. Elias stroked slowly at first, thumb circling the slick head, spreading the precum down the shaft in lazy, teasing glides. Jace arched into

Jace stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around himself as if holding something inside that was breaking apart. The words he had just said still hung between them like smoke, words he could not take back. Across from him, Elias stared his jaw tight, eyes unreadable and breath shallow. “What did you say?” Elias asked finally, his voice low but trembling at the edges. Jace could not look at him. He turned away, staring instead at the faint light spilling through the window blinds, striping the floor in pale gold. Elias took a step closer. “I get that you are angry and scared that Mason’s situation is eating you alive but don’t– ” “Elias.” Jace’s voice cracked as he cut him off. He exhaled shakily. “I think I need a break from this.” The words landed like a blow. Elias went still. For a second, he looked as if he hadn’t heard right, as if his mind refused to process it. His lips parted, then closed again. “You… need a break?” he said quietly. His throat worked har

The morning air was sharp with the scent of rain when Aiden reached the gates of the Crane residence. The mansion rose from the manicured hills like something out of a dream. Cream-white walls with sleek glass windows that reflected the pale sun and security so tight it could choke a man. He swallowed hard. It had been years since he had last seen Jace, but standing here steps away from his world, the memories hit with merciless precision. The laughter that used to fill small apartments. The smell of burnt coffee on lazy mornings. The countless number of times they had made love. Now, that same man lived behind marble walls guarded by men with guns. Aiden adjusted the collar of his borrowed jacket, forcing a neutral expression as one of the security officers approached him. The man was broad-shouldered, sunglasses glinting. “Name?” “Morgan Cole,” he said evenly. The guard glanced down at his clipboard, then gave a curt nod. “You are on the list. Step forward, please.” Aiden obe

The room smelled like whiskey and rain.Outside the hotel window, the city glowed a restless blur of neon and drizzle but inside, Elias Crane sat in near darkness. Only the amber gleam of a bedside lamp touched his face, cutting across his jaw, his half-buttoned shirt, the faint tremor of his fingers as he poured another drink.The glass clinked against the bottle.He did not even look at it this time.The whiskey burned down his throat, but the pain did not reach far enough. Not compared to the words still echoing in his head.“I regret marrying you.”Jace’s voice was low, cold and final. It kept replaying like a cruel record in Elias’s head. No matter how many times Elias told himself it was not true, that Jace was going through a lot but the words pressed against his ribs each repetition cutting deeper than the last.He laughed bitterly and leaned back against the couch. “You regret it?” he muttered to the empty room. “Then what the hell was it, Jace? The love, was it a performance

The morning light was thin and quiet. It spilled through the kitchen window in soft streaks, brushing against the edges of the counter and catching the faint swirl of steam from Jace’s coffee. He stood there, barefoot, one hand resting on the sill, eyes fixed on the garden outside.Morgan was out there.The man moved slowly between the flowerbeds, crouched low, fingers brushing through the dew-covered grass as if he were searching for something. Occasionally, he plucked a petal or stem and inspected it with a strange focus.Jace tilted his head. What the hell was he doing?Morgan had been hired to protect Mila, not to pick flowers. Yet, there he was with shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, sunlight sliding along the veins of his forearms as he bent to gather something else. There was an ease to the way he moved, the quiet confidence of someone who belonged wherever he stood.And that was what unsettled Jace the most.He sipped his coffee, the bitterness grounding him. Every time he wa