บททั้งหมดของ Deep Inside (Erotica short story collections): บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

He didn’t knock when she opened the door, he just walked in, eyes locked on hers like a storm barely held at bay. Janiya didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Kelvin was soaked in moonlight, shadows painting his jaw, hair a little damp from the rain. He wore a black shirt stretched tight across his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows, belt low on his hips. His expression was unreadable, except for one thing. Hunger. Raw, carved into every line of him. “I said I wasn’t coming back,” she said quietly. “And I said I’d wait. I lied.” She took a step back, heart thundering. “I’m still angry.” “So am I,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “Angry you ran. Angry I let you.” Their silence was sharp. Tense. Breathing became the only language between them. Then, he moved. Crossing the room in three long strides, Kelvin gripped her face in both hands and kissed her, hot, deep, furious. His mouth devoured hers, tongue pushing past her lips, hands sliding into her hair as though he’d lost his

The storm hadn’t stopped.Fae awoke to the sound of rain drumming against the tin roof, her bare skin tangled in the throw blanket Henry had laid over her sometime during the night. Her body ached in a way that was sinful and satisfying, like it had been broken open and put back together in a new shape, one only he could recognize.She blinked slowly. The cabin was warm, fire still crackling low in the hearth.But Henry was gone.She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. The table still bore the imprint of her body, and her panties were nowhere in sight.“Jesus,” she whispered to herself, the rush of memory crashing back in vivid, aching waves.The way he’d moved over her, inside her, like he was claiming a home. The strength in his hands. The filthy way he spoke, like her name belonged on his tongue.She ran her fingers through her hair and stepped down to the floor.She found him outside.Henry stood just beyond the porch, soaked again, shirtless, jeans low on his hips, starin

The rain had started the moment Mira stepped off the bus. Cold needles fell from the sky, soaking through her hoodie, darkening the fabric until it clung to her spine like a second skin. The town of Ebonridge was barely more than a cluster of buildings strangled by pine and fog. She hadn’t wanted to come back but when your aunt goes missing and leaves behind a house full of old debts and older secrets, you show up.She dragged her suitcase behind her, wheels stuttering over the cracked pavement, until the shadowed bulk of the Loma cabin emerged from the woods. It was more rot than home now. Half-leaning, the porch slouched like it was too tired to stay upright. Mira didn’t knock. She didn’t need to.She had just shoved the door open when a strange sound broke through the forest behind her. A crunch. A growl. Her hand froze on the rusted doorknob, and then...him.He moved like smoke and violence, stepping into the clearing with nothing but black jeans, a half-buttoned shirt, and the k

Zydian didn’t sleep.He paced.The floorboards creaked under his bare feet as Mira lay tangled in the ruins of the old fur blanket he’d thrown over her, his scent all over her skin, her body sore in the most exquisite ways. But something about the way he moved made her sit up slowly, pulling the fabric tight around her chest.“Zydian,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”He didn’t turn at first. Just stared out the cracked window, where fog crawled like wolves through the trees. The forest didn’t feel empty anymore.“They’ll come for you now,” he said, voice low and tight. “For us.”“Who?”“The Reavers,” he answered. “Rogues who swear no allegiance to a pack. They’ve been hunting my bloodline for generations. My name carries a price and now that I’ve marked you…”She swallowed. “They’ll try to take me?”“They’ll try to kill you,” he growled, finally turning. His face was stone, but his eyes were fire—hot, glowing with a rage he didn’t bother to hide. “They’ll smell my claim in your skin. I

It started with rain.Not the gentle, blessing kind that washed over the chapel’s stone walls like grace but a brutal, sideways deluge that turned streets into veins of silver chaos. The convent’s outer fence had collapsed beneath a fallen tree, and Sister Jade St. Clair, soaked to her knees, had been the one sent out to assess the damage. Her thin habit clung to her curves like a second skin. She was trembling more from the wind than fear, she told herself.The black Bentley had rolled up like a sin in motion. Dark windows, humming engine. The passenger window lowered.He wasn’t supposed to speak to her.“Get in,” said the man behind the wheel. His voice was low, frayed with gravel, sex, and authority.She hesitated.He smiled, slow and dangerous. “You’ll catch your death.”She got in.Clark Jamison had come to the old town to buy a property he didn’t care about the convent that backed onto it. Until now.He was older than her by over a decade. Wet charcoal hair swept back. A sharp j