บททั้งหมดของ VELVET HEAT:100 FORBIDDEN FANTASIES : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

"You're so unholy, Father…"Mirrielle whispered it like scripture, her grin sinful, her lips still glistening with him.Lucien’s grip on her waist tightened. He wasn’t trembling from guilt anymore.He was trembling from the rage of restrant snapping in two.“Bad little girls,” he murmured, voice low and cold. “Should know when to stop tempting their priests.”Mirrielle only moaned. “But I want to be punished, Daddy…”Lucien’s eyes darkened at the word. His hand flew up…crack. It met the round of her ass so hard the sound bounced off the walls. She gasped and arched against him, greedy for more.“I should shove my rosary down your throat,” he hissed, pushing her back by the throat against his desk. “Make you gag on it till your tears fall like holy water.”Mirrielle licked her lips. “Then do it.”He yanked open the drawer beside them…candles, incense, blessed wine…and pulled out the thick rosary. He didn’t hesitate. He shoved it into her mouth between her lips like a gag, wrapping it t

"You look like you're about to marry the devil himself."Sybil blinked at her reflection and shifted slightly as her younger sister Saskia’s voice echoed in the lavish bridal suite. The dress…an off-shoulder A-line silk piece with pearls and a plunging sweetheart neckline…fit like sin, hugging her curves too intimately for someone on the verge of panic. Her hands were cold. Her pulse, frantic."Maybe I am," Sybil murmured, voice low, gaze glued to the mirror. "Dominic Levante might as well be."Saskia gasped dramatically from behind, then rolled her eyes. She flopped backward onto the plush sofa, one leg dangling off. "Please. You sound like a sacrificial lamb. The man is hot, rich, terrifyingly polite, and loaded. You’ll be living in an estate that has its own airstrip. What's the issue again?""The issue is that I don't want to marry him.""Then don’t. Run away. Rebel. Flip a table and punch the wedding planner."Sybil turned to her sister slowly. "You know I can’t."Saskia sat up,

The robe clung to Sybil’s damp skin like silk betrayal.She stepped out of the steamy bathroom, heart in her throat, every inch of her freshly washed body tingling with awareness. Her damp hair curled softly around her shoulders, and water still beaded along her collarbones. The room was dim, lit only by the golden sconces by the bed and the low flicker of firelight from the ornate hearth.And there he was.Killian Levante. That handsome bastard! Handsome in a very fearful and dangerous way.Seated at the edge of the king-sized bed like sin incarnate…shirtless, black slacks hanging low on his hips, hair tousled like he’d been running a hand through it, jaw shadowed with scruff. One arm draped casually over his thigh, the other resting behind him for balance. Like he owned the suite. Like he owned the night. Like he owned her.His eyes lifted slowly as she entered, raking over her robe. Then, he smiled.That infuriating, slow, I’m-going-to-make-you-beg smile.“Took you long enough,” he

"The house hasn’t changed," Dorya muttered, stepping out of the Uber as the night breeze tousled her curls. The porch light glowed a warm amber, casting long shadows over the driveway of the two-story brick home she grew up in. The familiar sight should've brought comfort.It didn’t.Because a figure stood on the porch.Leaning against the column, one long leg bent, a glass of red wine dangling from her fingers, robe draped open enough to reveal teasing flashes of black lace beneath. The shadows danced over her body like a lover’s hands.She laughed.That laugh.Dorya stopped dead."No fucking way," she whispered.The woman raised her glass. "Well, well, well... If it isn’t little Dorya Bloom."That voice. Smooth like sin. Amused like a cat toying with its prey.Dorya’s throat tightened. "Chantel?"Chantel smiled…that slow, wicked smile Dorya hadn’t seen since high school. "Miss me, sugar?""What the hell are you doing here?""Locked out," Chantel said with a shrug. "Your dad had to r

The clink of silverware was deafening.Dorya sat rigid at the breakfast table, staring down at her plate like it might save her soul. Her father hummed quietly as he flipped through the news on his tablet, completely oblivious to the war raging beneath the linen-covered tablecloth.Because Chantel’s foot… was between Dorya’s thighs.“More eggs, baby?” her stepmother cooed sweetly…from across the table, no less…acting like she wasn’t slowly dragging her toes up the inside of Dorya’s bare thigh, inch by unbearable inch.Dorya coughed. “No…no thanks.”Her legs snapped shut, but Chantel’s foot wedged its way right back in, insistent and smug.Her dad chuckled. “First week of break and you’re already up before noon. Miracles.”“Mhm,” Dorya croaked, gripping her fork tighter. Her breath hitched as Chantel’s big toe grazed her over her cotton shorts, circling with teasing cruelty."Is the AC on?" Chantel asked innocently, slicing into a pancake. "You look flushed, sweetheart."You evil, evil