All Chapters of Forbidden Desires(Short Erotica Stories): Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Emily makes soft moaning almost whimpering sounds as I start to pull back out of her once again leaving just the head inside her. I think about taking one of my hands from underneath her to play with the nipple that my mouth isn’t attached to but I decide against it out of fear of dropping her down on my cock and hurting her. I don’t stop teasing her nipples with my mouth as I again push inside her noticing that it is easier this time like she is starting to get used to my size making me think that soon I'll be able to fuck her properly which I so desperately want to do now.“Go faster.” Emily groans softly taking me by surprise and making me pause with my cock buried deep inside her.“Are you sure?” I ask as I remove my mouth from her breast, I was certain that I was going to be the one asking to speed up so I can’t help the disbelief in my tone.Emily nods her head slowly but clearly letting me know that she is sure about it, I’m that surprised and in awe of her that I lunge forward

Moh’s POV The next morning sun came in just like an intruder into my new room. It came, slipping in through the gaps in my heavy curtains, mocking the dark, feverish confusion of the night before. I woke up with my muscles aching and my skin feeling overly sensitive. Oh, yesterday night was exciting and new but I know it should never happen again. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Not as my mother’s fiancé, but as the ghost of the man who had haunted my dreams, and the source of the sounds that came out of my mouth while I fucked my hand yesterday, the face of a man who managed to shatter my composure. I took my warm bath and dressed slowly, choosing a high-necked, oversized cream sweater and thick leggings. I wanted to disappear into my clothes, to build a fortress of wool and cotton around the girl who had whispered my stepfather’s name shamelessly in the dark. I spent more than ten minutes in front of the vanity, applying just enough concealer to hide the dark circ

Julian’s POV The heavy oak door of my study clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gavel in the silence of the manor. I didn’t even bother to loosen my tie or shed off my suit jacket or anything else. My pulse was already a dull, heavy thrum in my temples, a physical manifestation of the anticipation that had been gnawing at my gut all afternoon while I sat through board meetings and budget reviews. I walked straight to the bookshelf on the far wall, my fingers brushing the spines of leather-bound classics until I reached the third shelf. Behind a dummy set of encyclopedias sat the receiver. I pulled it out, my hands steady despite the roar in my ears, and flipped the screen open. The footage was clear, high-definition, night-vision capable, though the afternoon sun pouring through the study windows made every detail razor-sharp. I hit rewind, my eyes fixed on the small screen. There she was. Moh. My fucking stepdaughter. I watched her enter the room with that d

Moh’s POV Believe me when I say the walk to the study felt like I was walking toward a beautiful, but terrifying gallows at the same time. Every step on the cold marble echoed the frantic beating of my heart. I was a hypocrite and a mess of contradictions, my mind screamed that this was wrong, that he was my mother's husband, yet my body was traitorously slick, humming with the memory of the dildo inside me and the sound of his voice at the dinner table. I pushed the heavy oak door open. The room was bathed in the amber glow of a few low lamps, casting long, dramatic shadows over the rows of books. It smelled of old paper, expensive scotch, and him. The dildo was still exactly where I left it. I didn't turn around when I heard the door click shut behind me. I didn't need to. The sudden shift in the air pressure told me he was there, that he was now a shadow looming over my shoulder. "Turn around, Moh." The command was very low and almost quiet, but it carried the weight o

Moh’s POV The shadows beneath the mahogany desk felt like a confessional, cramped and smelling of expensive leather and the faint, sharp scent of wood polish. I curled into the small space, my heart hammering so hard I feared he could hear it through the floorboards. From this vantage point, all I could see were his legs, long, powerful pillars clad in dark trousers, and the polished gleam of his shoes. The heavy thud of his leather chair settling above me signaled the start of my ordeal. Then came the click of the speakerphone on the desk's surface, followed by the sterile, professional chime of the dialing tone. "This is Julian," he said. His voice was different now, crystalline, cold, and utterly authoritative. It was the voice that moved markets and crushed competitors. It was impossible to reconcile this man with the one who had just told me I tasted like honey. "Good morning, Mr. Thorne," a chorus of voices responded from the speaker. "We have the Hong Kong representativ