Todos os capítulos de Forbidden Affairs : Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

The sun never rose that morning. The storm still snarled against the convent walls, but the thunder had quieted—giving way to silence that felt heavier than anything Seraphina had ever known. She sat on the chapel floor, knees drawn to her chest, habit torn and clinging to her sticky skin. Her throat ached from moaning. Her lips were swollen, bitten, claimed. Dante stood beside the altar, bare-chested, smoking a cigarette from the emergency supplies. The smoke curled around his jaw, the scar on his face glowing faintly in the candlelight. She watched him like a ghost. She was no longer Sister Seraphina. Not really. Not after what he had done to her. Not after what she had let him do. “Why aren’t you running?” she whispered. He turned, his eyes dark and amused. “Because I’m not done with you.” She flinched. Her thighs still trembled from the brutal claiming in the confessional booth. Her virgin blood had soaked into the wooden floor beneath her. And now, as she sat beneath the

The next morning, the ocean wind carried salt and shame. I stood by the window, arms wrapped around myself, staring out at the water. The sheets beneath me were still rumpled from a sleepless night of guilt and arousal. My thighs ached—not from touch, but from the denial of it. My thoughts hadn’t left Lucas since the moment he’d stood at my door, silent, knowing.Jake was already up, humming in the kitchen, cheerful as ever. He brought me coffee in a chipped blue mug and kissed my temple like nothing had changed. Like I wasn’t soaked in the memory of his brother’s breath on my skin.“You okay?” he asked, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “You look flushed.”“I’m fine,” I lied. “Didn’t sleep well.”Lucas entered the room then, fresh from a morning run, sweat clinging to his bare chest, joggers slung low on his hips. I nearly dropped the mug.His eyes locked on mine—calm, unreadable, and burning. There was a storm behind that gaze, and I was caught in the middle of it.Jake didn’t not

I should have stayed away. Should have thrown the clothes I wore that night in the trash, scrubbed Damon Hart’s scent from my skin, and prayed it all away. But I didn’t.Instead, I stood outside his front door the next night in a tight black dress I had no right to wear—bare legs, no bra, and the faintest ache still throbbing between my thighs where his fingers had left their mark.The house was quieter this time. No music. No guests. Just the soft glow of light in the upstairs window.I rang the bell once. The door opened seconds later.Damon stood there in slacks and a black T-shirt, barefoot, hair damp from a shower. He said nothing. Just looked at me—dark eyes raking over every inch like he already knew what I had on underneath.“Come in,” he said. That was it.I stepped over the threshold like I was walking into hell.The door shut behind me. He didn’t touch me. Not right away. Just circled, slow and silent, like a predator assessing his prey. My heart thudded in my chest.“You c

Ryan adjusted his tie for the third time, glancing at the tall glass elevator doors in the hotel lobby. His nerves were shot. He wasn’t used to escort duty—certainly not the wife of the man who practically owned his career. Mr. Caldwell had casually handed him the responsibility after a meeting. “Vivian wants to drop by the gallery before dinner. Be a gentleman. Keep her company.”And how exactly was he supposed to keep his composure around Vivian Caldwell?He’d seen her before, in passing—a stunning woman, older than him by at least fifteen years, with a body that made silk dresses beg for mercy and a smile that melted grown men into idiots. She was the kind of beautiful that made silence dangerous. And now she was going to be alone with him.The elevator pinged. The doors opened. And there she was.She stepped out like a fantasy, wearing black satin that hugged her curves like a lover. The slit up her thigh rose dangerously high. Her heels clicked against the marble floor. Her lipst

The hallway was dim and quiet, cloaked in the kind of heavy silence that only comes after a long day in a house too old and too full. The distant tick of the grandfather clock echoed down the corridor, each second a slow, deliberate drumbeat in Elodie’s chest as she tiptoed past the faded portraits of her ancestors. Her heels clicked faintly on the hardwood, and she winced, slipping them off and carrying them in her hand. The black satin dress she wore clung to her curves, the hem riding high from the breeze of movement. Her hair was slightly tousled from the night air, her lip gloss long gone, and there was still a faint buzz in her head from the cocktails she and Mara had snuck out to enjoy after the family dinner.She was nearly to her room when she saw him.He stepped out from the sitting room across the hall, slow and shadowed, his presence large and commanding even in the low light. The hallway lantern above them cast his features in gold and shadow—deep lines, sharp jaw, hair s