Lahat ng Kabanata ng Deep Inside (Erotica short story collections): Kabanata 141 - Kabanata 150

FL: Ravenna Skye: a fallen heiress, bold and nearly brokenML: Killian Drake: a cold, stone-faced billionaire with filthy appetites..“Say it again,” Killian growled, his mouth at Ravenna’s ear, voice deep and ragged as the glass desk rattled beneath her bare ass.Ravenna moaned, her thighs spread wide, his cock buried to the hilt inside her dripping heat. Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk, eyes glazed and lips trembling.“I’m yours,” she gasped, “Fuck, I’m yours—please—”His palm struck her cheek lightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to burn her pride.“I own you,” he snarled. “Say that.”Her back arched as he slammed into her again, hitting that deep spot that made her see stars. Her ruined designer heels slid on the slick wood floor.“You own me—” she choked, gasping, “Killian, please, I can’t—”He laughed, cruel and breathless. “Oh, you will. I want every filthy part of you laid bare tonight. There’s no hiding in my world, Ravenna.”It hadn’t started this way.Two nig

Yoni POVThe sound of the door locking behind us was like the click of a trigger.No escape. No retreat.I could still smell him, thick, unfiltered, like rain on hot stone mixed with the faintest burn of smoke. My skin buzzed under my dress, as if every inch of me knew he was in the room.He didn’t touch me at first. He just stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching. The shadows cut sharp lines across his face, making him look even more dangerous. His eyes dragged over me, slow and deliberate, like he was mapping the quickest way to dismantle me.“Come here,” he said, his voice low enough that I felt it in my bones.It wasn’t a request.It was a tether, yanking me forward before I’d even realized I’d moved.I took a step, then another, my breath unsteady. My thighs brushed together with every movement, heat pooling between them. The distance shrank until the air around us was so thick it felt like I was inhaling him.His hand came up, not to grab me but to trail his knuckle

Flora Garret hadn’t meant to linger. She told herself that every time she found her reflection in the polished mahogany of Raymond Doss’s desk, her duster suspended mid-swipe as though it were holding its breath along with her.Her employer was supposed to be away this afternoon, meetings, contracts, the kind of high-powered things a man in a tailored navy suit and steel-gray tie seemed born for. She’d timed the cleaning of his study to coincide with his absence, because this room unsettled her more than any other in the sprawling Doss estate.Not because of the shelves of leather-bound law books or the intimidating collection of crystal decanters. But because of the man who inhabited it, who always seemed to leave behind his scent, sandalwood, smoke, the faint metallic bite of power itself.Flora was only a maid. She reminded herself that every morning when she tied her apron over her uniform. She needed this job; her bills were ruthless, and independence was a harder master than Mr.

Flora Garret woke the next morning with her thighs still aching, her lips swollen from his kisses, and her body humming with the bruised, trembling satisfaction of a woman thoroughly claimed.She told herself she’d be careful now. That what had happened in his study, in his kitchen, against the wall, three rounds of reckless surrender, would be the last time. She couldn’t keep losing herself like this. He was her employer, not her lover. The line between them had been crossed, blurred, set aflame, but she swore she’d drag it back into place.Except, the moment she stepped into the grand dining hall with a tray of fresh coffee, Raymond Doss was already there.He was rarely home in the mornings, usually out early, chasing contracts or power but today he sat at the long oak table, hair slicked back, crisp suit hugging his broad frame. A newspaper lay spread before him, but his eyes were on her the moment she entered.The weight of his gaze made her falter. The tray wobbled, cups rattling

The clinking of champagne glasses and the low hum of conversation filled the grand ballroom. Golden chandeliers cast their light over satin gowns, tailored suits, and too many curious eyes. Raymond Doss had always despised events like this, empty rituals for the wealthy but tonight, he was here with Flora on his arm.His maid. His lover. His obsession.Flora’s hand trembled against his sleeve as they crossed the polished marble floor, but he caught it instantly, steadying her fingers with a firm squeeze. She glanced up at him, lips painted the deep red he had insisted she wear, her eyes searching his face as if to remind herself that she belonged here.“You’re shaking,” he murmured low enough only she could hear, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Do you know what that does to me, Flora?”Her breath hitched. “Raymond...people are watching.”“Let them.” His hand slid lower down her back, lingering dangerously close to the curve of her ass before he pulled her flush agains