Semua Bab Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires: Bab 61 - Bab 70

The elevator chimed softly as it opened onto the top floor of the sleek glass tower. Mia’s heels clicked against the polished marble as she stepped into the penthouse suite, a chill running up her spine despite the warmth inside. The city lights spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows over the minimalist, luxurious space.Her coat was the only thing she wore besides black stilettos, just like they told her. “Come bare,” the text had said. No panties, no bra, nothing underneath except the thin coat barely brushing her thighs. The cold air kissed her exposed skin as she walked in, heart pounding with a delicious mix of nerves and anticipation.Three men waited for her, seated like kings in the plush leather chairs and velvet couch arranged around a low glass table. Each held a drink, eyes dark and hungry as they appraised her, slow smiles spreading over their sharp features.“Welcome, Mia,” the tallest said, voice smooth like whiskey. His sandy blond hair was slic

The room was soaked in heat and slick skin as Gavin’s hips slammed hard into Mia’s dripping pussy, each thrust a desperate claim. Tristan’s cock still fucked deep inside Gavin’s tight ass, pounding slow and heavy, every movement sending shudders through them both.Adrian, cock still swollen and leaking from her mouth, slid his hand down Mia’s back, gripping her firm ass as he shifted her weight. “Turn around,” he commanded, voice low and rough.Mia obeyed, rising to her knees with a slick pop as she turned, breath hitching when Adrian pulled her coat off completely, revealing her glistening, flushed skin. Her pussy dripped wet and swollen, ass already aching from Gavin’s brutal fucking.Tristan slid off Gavin, slick and leaking, and moved to kneel behind Mia. Gavin shifted forward on the couch, hand grabbing a thick bottle of lube. He pumped the slippery liquid generously over Tristan’s cock and then coated Mia’s tight, puckered asshole, stretching and slicking it until it glistened.

I went to confession wet.Not figuratively. Not emotionally. I mean I was wet between my thighs, soaking the inside of my thighs, my slit open and greedy, throbbing with every step I took through the heavy chapel doors. I didn’t even bother with panties. Just a black skirt and a sin-stained heart.St. Augustine’s was quiet this late. Candlelight flickered along the stone walls like it was holding secrets. I walked slow, heels soft against the floor, the silence thick with old prayers and dust. The confessional sat like a shadow at the back—polished wood, doors closed shut.I slipped in and sat down. The air was cooler in here. I could hear my own breathing. My own pulse.The other side of the screen was dark. Quiet. Then, a voice—deep, steady, with the kind of authority that scraped down my spine.“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I whispered.“How long since your last confession?” he asked.I smiled to myself. That voice. It didn’t sound bored. It didn’t sound old. It sounded yo

The silence that followed was everything.Heavy. Holy. Hung with shame.He didn’t say a word.Neither did I.But I could still hear him. Breathing. Shaken. His pulse loud in the quiet, as if the walls themselves were stunned by what had just happened between us. I sat there, raw and trembling, my thighs still parted, my fingers slick, my body marked by a climax that had no business being so fucking good.Then—Click.Not the belt this time.The door.He opened his side.I barely had time to blink before the door to mine was yanked open, slamming against the wall hard enough to make the crucifix above me rattle. My breath caught as I looked up and there he was.Not just the man. The priest.Tall, flushed, and furious.Jaw tight. Eyes dark. His clerical collar still in place but twisted, his black slacks open, zipper halfway down, and his cock—still hard—straining against the fabric like sin had never ended.And it hadn’t.Not yet.His gaze dropped.To my thighs.My dripping, twitching

I didn’t mean to open his door.I was drunk. Maybe a little high with heels in one hand, phone in the other, mascara smudged from hours of dancing and smiling at men I didn’t care about. The hallway was dark, the carpet soft under my bare feet, and my bedroom was supposed to be the second on the left.I opened the third.What stopped me wasn’t the soft creak of the door or the heat spilling from the room. It was the sound, wet and rhythmic, low and filthy. Then I saw it. Him.Sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking himself in long, steady pulls. His head was tilted back, mouth parted, breath ragged, and his phone was glowing in the other hand.I should’ve looked away.But I didn’t.Because the photo on his screen was me.Not nude. Just a selfie from last week. Tight black dress, tits pushed up, lips glossy. I’d taken it for attention. He’d saved it for this.He moaned my name. Not softly. Not accidentally.“Fuck, baby. You don’t e