All Chapters of Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Alexander didn’t slow down; if anything, the hunger in him only sharpened. He grabbed Emily by the waist and hauled her onto the edge of a filing cabinet, forcing her legs apart as his cock slammed into her from below. The metal groaned beneath their weight, but he didn’t care if the whole thing collapsed under them—his only focus was the way her soaked cunt squeezed him tight, dragging him deeper with every brutal thrust.Emily clawed at his shoulders, her voice breaking on desperate moans. “God—yes—fuck—”He buried his face in her neck, teeth grazing, lips hot on her skin, grinding into her like he wanted to own every inch. “You take me so fucking good,” he growled, slapping her thigh hard enough to leave a sting. “Stay open for me.”Her head tipped back, gasping, legs trembling against his shoulders as his cock filled her completely. Wet, obscene sounds echoed off the walls with every slam of his hips.The cabinet shook dangerously, and with a rough laugh, Alexander spun her around

I sagged against the coral wall, body trembling, cum already clouding the water between us. But Soren didn’t stop. His cock twitched inside me, still hard, still needy. His voice was a broken whisper in my ear.“More… Rowan… I can’t stop.”My chest heaved. My ass ached, stretched raw and leaking from the brutal pounding he’d given me. I swallowed hard and turned in his arms, pressing my palms against his chest.“You’re too rough,” I panted, lips grazing his. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”His eyes widened, pupils blown black, lips trembling like he’d been scolded. “I—”“Shut up.” I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back until his spine hit the stone wall, his tail curling instinctively to anchor him. His cock, still throbbing, brushed my thigh. I climbed onto him, thighs bracketing his waist, and grabbed the thick length in my hand.His moan was soft, pitiful, as I lined myself up. “Rowan… please…”“Let me show you how it’s done,” I muttered, sinking down.The stretch made me

Job 1–Milking MadnessI slammed my phone down on the couch, groaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear. The final whistle had just blown on the match, and I sat there, staring at the screen like it owed me money. My favorite team had won, and the announcer was already shouting about the next match in New York. New York. And me? I couldn’t even scrape enough together to pay for a bus across town, let alone a ticket overseas.“Fuck this,” I muttered, dragging my hand through my hair. “Why’s everything in life about money? Why can’t passion pay the bills?”I pulled my laptop closer, opening tabs I didn’t even want to see. Job boards, classified ads, quick gigs. One headline caught my eye:**“Farm help needed. Milking cows. Few hours. Good pay.”**I laughed out loud. Me? On a farm? Still, my wallet was thinner than my patience. My eyes locked on the numbers. More than decent for a few hours. My lips twisted into a grin. Maybe cows were easier than people.By morning, I was on a bus he

The cash from the hotel gig didn’t last. A week of groceries, a bus pass, a few textbooks, and it was gone. Back to scraping, back to staring at job boards with a hollow pit in my stomach.Most listings needed “experience” or “references,” things I didn’t have. My search dragged on until I landed on one that didn’t ask questions:Construction help wanted. One day only. Cash paid same day.By morning, I was on a bus out to the edge of the city, standing in front of a site that looked like hell had been dug up and left to dry. Steel beams glared in the sun, the ground was dust and gravel, and men in neon vests shouted over each other.I tugged my shirt lower, already sweating. My arms weren’t built for hauling bricks, but my wallet didn’t care about pride.“Hey!” a voice barked.I turned to find a man twice my size, broad chest under a sweat-soaked vest, hard hat tipped back. His beard was graying, his arms dusted white with cement powder. He sized me up with a frown.“You the temp?”“Y

Two weeks of filing, stapling, and pretending I wasn’t dying inside had left me raw. My back ached, my hands smelled like paper and sanitizer, and my patience had frayed. I was ready to clock out, throw my badge on the desk, and never look back. But apparently, the universe had other plans.The last stack of reports clattered in my hands as I shoved them into the office door. Ready to leave, I froze.The door was cracked.And there he was—Mark Holloway, my boss. Naked from the waist down, cock hard, veins pulsing, hand moving fast. The laptop on his desk blared some ridiculous, over-the-top porn, and the smell of him—musky, slick, urgent—hit me like a punch to the gut. My stomach dropped. My cock twitched painfully in my jeans. My cheeks went hot before I even had time to think.“Chrissmel, get out!” His voice was sharp, hard, trembling just a little as he yanked his pants up.I stepped fully inside, closing the door behind me with a sharp click, locking it. Heat pooled low in my stom