Taming Mr. Wolfe のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

I stand in front of the mirror, tugging at the stiff black maid dress like it might magically grow longer. It doesn’t.It hugs all the wrong places, or maybe all the right ones, depending on who’s looking. My hips. My chest. My throat. I look like I’m auditioning for something filthy, and I hate how aware of my body I suddenly am.I’m not doing this for him.Not for Damien Wolfe.But the memory of his voice curls around my neck like smoke. That look in his eyes yesterday. Possessive. Curious. Like he was already imagining what I’d sound like begging.God help me.I grab my cleaning bag and leave before I can second-guess it. At the top of the penthouse floor, I punch in the code and step into the lion’s den.The air is cool and heavy with espresso and something darker—cologne and sin, maybe. My shoes barely make a sound as I move across the marble.He’s there.Shirtless. Again.Sitting on a stool by the kitchen island, coffee mug in hand, tattoos curling over his collarbones like secr

My fingers shake as I reread the message.“Enjoy the attention, little maid. You won’t like what happens next.”A chill creeps down my spine.I glance up. Damien’s eyes are still on me, sharp and unreadable. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. Just watches—like a wolf deciding how best to sink his teeth in.I shove my phone under my notebook and force my breathing to slow. I am not about to have a public panic attack. Not when Grayson is still beside me, stealing glances. Not when the entire room is filled with rich kids who would love to see the poor scholarship girl squirm.I swallow hard.What the hell does that message mean?Was it a joke? A threat? A warning?My skin prickles. No matter how I try to spin it, one thing is clear—This game just stopped being safe.The moment class ends, I bolt.Grayson calls my name, but I pretend not to hear him. I need air. Space. Sanity.And Maya.I practically sprint back to the dorm and yank open the door.Maya looks up from a half-eaten bowl of

His hand wraps around my throat—not tight, just enough to hold me still. His other hand pins my hips as he drives into me like he’s trying to brand me from the inside.“You think I don’t see it?” he pants against my mouth. “The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. The way you tremble when I’m close.”I can’t speak. Can’t think. All I can do is feel.The bed shakes. The room fades. All that exists is him—his voice, his heat, his body inside mine.“I’ll ruin you for anyone else,” he growls.I’m already ruined.I scream his name as I fall apart around him, and he follows, groaning into my ear as he empties himself inside me, body shaking.And just when I start to come again, when my entire world explodes behind my eyes—I jolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. My chest rises and falls in frantic bursts, the phantom feel of his hands still gripping my hips. The sheets are tangled between my legs. My body aches in places he never actually touched.It was a dream.A damn dre

I get to my dorm that night. My mind is too occupied and stressed to go for class. The next Morning, I get my things ready and dash to the Wolfe’s estate. I can’t be late. Something’s off. The mansion smells the same—lemon polish and luxury—but there’s a shift in the air today. A tension I can’t name. Mrs. Donovan’s heels tap sharper than usual across the marble. She doesn’t spare me a glance during the morning checklist. Just mutters under her breath and corrects things I haven’t even touched. Annoying, but not unusual. Except… there’s something else. A whiff of perfume I don’t recognize trails through the corridor. Sweet. Expensive. Overpowering. Someone new. I pass by the east hallway and pause. There’s a sleek leather duffel sitting against the wall. Black. Clean. Monogrammed with gold initials I don’t recognize. Not a staff bag. Definitely not a guest’s either. A laugh echoes faintly through the wing. High. Teasing. And then I hear his voice. Damien’s.

I don’t remember how I got back to the dorm.The rain followed me, seeping into my skin like a bruise. It’s still there—on my lips. In my chest. Everywhere his mouth touched.I strip off my wet clothes in silence, hang them on the back of the chair, and slide beneath the covers without turning on the light.He kissed me.Damien Wolfe kissed me.And I let him.My fingers drift to my mouth, trembling. It’s swollen. Sensitive. Branded.Maya isn’t back yet, thank God.The quiet lets me break.My chest tightens. My eyes sting. And for the first time in a long time—I cry.Not because I’m weak. But because I hate that he got to me. That I’m not as cold, or detached, or careful as I thought.I should’ve pushed him away. I should’ve said something sharp. Formal. Distant.But I melted.And now I can’t breathe without remembering the way he tasted—rain, regret, and something I should never crave.“Zara, please,” I whisper to myself, dragging a trembling hand over my face. “Get it together.”The