Lahat ng Kabanata ng Deep Inside (Erotica short story collections): Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

The air inside the chapel thickened as Malachi sank into her. Hope's cry echoed off stone, more spiritual than any sermon. Her hands clawed the edge of the bench, fingernails scraping over old wood, desperate to anchor herself against the overwhelming fullness of him.Malachi stilled, jaw tight, head bowed like in penance. Her heat gripped him so tight, it made him tremble. The beast of shame still clawed at his ribs, but lust...dark, all-consuming, drowned it."You're tight."Hope bit her lip, nodding, barely able to breathe. "I've wanted this... wanted you... for years."He looked down at her, sweat beading his brow, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Say it again."She moaned as he shifted inside her, hips slowly rolling."You were my first sin, Malachi. And still the only one I’d kneel for."The confession undid him.He began to move, not slow and sweet...he didn't have the patience for that. This wasn’t love; it was years of restraint combusting. He took her with deep, deliberate thru

Taboo | Age-gap | Obsession | Billionaire Romance |Mother ex-boyfriendTrigger Warnings: Power imbalance, obsession, emotional manipulation...The elevator whispered its way to the top floor, silent and smooth like a predator stalking prey.Joy Knox shifted from one leg to the other, leather duffel bag pressed against her hip, trying not to breathe too hard. She hated the way the mirrored walls caught her reflection, tired eyes rimmed in smudged eyeliner, cherry-stained lips parted like she was already halfway to begging.The penthouse doors opened with a hush.He was already waiting.Damien Vexler didn’t walk toward her. He stood still, like gravity bent around him. His tall frame blocked out the dim light of the apartment, a silhouette of a man carved from sleek shadow and power. Salt-and-smoke hair, the gray cut through black like stormclouds parting just long enough to wreck you. His jaw was cruel, lined with day-old stubble. His suit looked bespoke and bored with the world.Sh

The city’s pulse never slowed, but inside the penthouse suite on the fifty-third floor, time warped and bent around them.Lena’s breath hitched as the door slammed shut behind her, the sharp echo swallowed by the thick velvet curtains. The scent of leather and expensive whiskey lingered in the air like a dark promise.Across the room stood Gabriel Moreau—sharp jawline, midnight-black hair, and eyes the color of storm clouds. His gaze pinned her, smoldering with a hunger she could feel scrape along her nerves.Gabriel wasn’t a hero. Not by any stretch. The man who built an empire on ruthless deals and shattered dreams. The kind of man who didn’t ask for permission, he took what he wanted, and left nothing behind but whispered rumors and broken hearts.And tonight, he wanted her.Lena swallowed, the knot in her stomach twisting tighter. She’d come here for answers, not surrender. But the way he looked at her, like she was both prize and punishment, undid the careful control she’d clung

Cassie’s breath came fast, shallow, as she stood pressed between the Moretti twins, her body a live wire of tension and hunger. The cool steel of Dominic’s knife traced slow, deliberate paths across her exposed collarbone, each featherlight stroke igniting fire beneath her skin. The thrill of danger meshed perfectly with the sharp edge of desire, leaving her dizzy with the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure.Dominic’s eyes...dark, ruthless emeralds, were locked on hers, hungry and commanding. The way his jaw clenched with barely restrained fury made Cassie’s pulse race. She could almost taste the dark promise behind his words, the raw power he exuded as the billionaire who had everything, including a savage streak no one dared challenge.Adrian was a study in contrasts, lean, impossibly graceful, with a devilish smirk playing at the corner of his full lips. His black hair fell in waves that framed his sharp cheekbones, and those eyes, emerald and unreadable, seemed to pierce straight

The storm outside didn’t match the stillness inside the penthouse. A few hours ago, Lyra had walked past Silas without saying a word. And still, she felt him. Like a second skin. Like a shadow stitched to her every motion. Her driver. Her mute sentinel.She told herself it was curiosity. Or pity. Or the leftover adrenaline of having almost touched herself in front of him in the backseat mirror. But it wasn’t that.It was need. Hunger. A silent, dark ache.Silas hadn’t left.She stood in front of the floor-length mirror, the silk robe slipping from her shoulders, breath held like a prayer. In the reflection behind her, a silhouette. Towering. Still. Watching.She didn’t move.She wanted to see what he would do.Silas approached without a sound. His eyes, always unreadable, flickered down her body. He didn’t touch. Just stared. Consumed. Possessed.Her heart thudded."Do you ever think about it?" she whispered. "About me?"No answer. Not a word. Just the mirror catching the slight hitch