All Chapters of THRUSTS AND TEMPTATIONS [Steamy and Short Eroticas): Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

“Sorry, sir. It was the first time. It won’t happen again,” Jay stammered, still breathless, wiping his mess from the table with trembling hands. Dean Vale didn’t acknowledge him. He didn’t say a single word and didn’t give a flicker of attention. Jay could have disappeared through the floor and Dean wouldn’t have noticed or cared. His focus and his silence were entirely for me. And that silence was loud. I stood with my chin high and my skin tingling, flushed and heady with the echo of what I had just done. I didn’t do this because of Jay. He was a means to an end, and I did it for the man now watching me like he had finally decoded something dangerous inside me. Dean Vale didn’t look angry, he looked more aware. Aware of what I was and of what I needed. He saw through me and stripped me bare with nothing but his stare, and I knew he finally understood. He didn’t know I had been watching him for weeks. That I registered at the gym next door just to time my exits wit

He teased me first, rubbing his thick tip between my slick folds, coating himself in my arousal. The obscene wet sounds made me clench with need. “Oh, yeah…” I moaned, rolling my ass back against him, still high on the aftermath of my orgasm. Then he slammed into me in one brutal and unforgiving thrust. I cried out, fingers clawing at the edge of the desk as he gave me no softness and no mercy. Just hard and punishing thrusts that sent everything crashing to the floor. His hands were iron on my hips, dragging me back to meet every savage stroke. “Is this what you needed?” he growled. “Yes… sir… fuck… yes.” He bent low over me, his lips brushing my shoulder. “You’re mine when you come like this.” He drove deeper and the angle hit something inside me that broke me apart all over again. I screamed and my body convulsed around him. My pussy clenched desperately but he didn’t stop. He fucked me through it. Fucked me until my cries blurred into choked sobs and the desk beneath us

She didn’t speak. She just climbed into my lap like she had every right to, her thighs locking around my hips and her pussy already hot and soaked against my cock. And that look in her eyes, it wasn’t lust. It was challenge. Like she came here to break me. She rolled her hips once, slow and steady, dragging the head of my cock against her slick folds like she wasn’t in a rush and knew I’d beg before she was done. “You going to sit there like a good boy?” she questioned, her voice all smoke and spite and sex. My hands slid up her thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where she dripped, but I didn’t touch her properly. Not yet. Not until she let me. “Thought you hated me,” I said, my voice low. She leaned in, lips close enough to taste. “I do.” Then she kissed me like she wanted to eat me alive. Her tongue teased and her teeth scraped, and my cock twitched hard beneath her as she pulled back with a grin that said she’d won something already. She unbuttoned her blouse witho

I stared at the card in my hand long after I got home. It sat on my dresser like it had weight, like it carried questions I was not ready to ask. I had undressed, but I could still smell the woman’s drink on my dress, and I could still hear her voice. I could still feel the way her shoulder slammed into mine, as if she had every right to push me aside.Even now, the next morning, I could not shake it off. I wanted to forget her, but I could not. I wanted to forget his eyes too, but they were harder to erase. The way he looked at me made me feel seen and owned and dissected all at once, and I hated how much I liked it.I told myself I would not go. I reminded myself that muses were disposable, and that artists chased beauty until they burned it out. I stood in front of the mirror and wanted to put on something safe, but I reached for the low-cut blouse and paired it with jeans and boots instead. I tucked my hair behind my ears and left it down, and I painted my lips while trying not to

The woman from last night stepped in like she owned the place. She didn’t look at Damien. She looked straight at me.I thought she was just a scorned woman looking for Damien’s attention. What if she was his wife? My stomach dropped. It was just art between us but I couldn’t help the sting of guilt.“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked again, one brow raised, mouth curled with disgust.I blinked, unsure if I was supposed to answer.Damien didn’t flinch. “She’s here because I invited her.”Beverly turned to him, slow and sharp. “Since when do you invite groupies into the studio?”“She’s not a groupie,” he said flatly.Beverly looked at me again, eyes dragging over my body like she was scanning for flaws. Her gaze paused at my face and stayed there a second too long.“You’ve got to be kidding,” she muttered.I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. I stepped aside and picked up my bag.Damien moved in front of me, blocking her view.“She’s a fellow artist. And my muse.”Beverly let ou