All Chapters of Wet Confessions: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The music thumped softly through the walls of the downtown loft, a low, sensual bass that made every step feel like a heartbeat. The afterparty was invite only, exclusively for the underground cosplay elite where latex, silk, and fantasy collided behind closed doors.Camille stood by the drink table, dressed in a crimson villainess bodysuit that barely hid her curves. Her thigh-high boots clung to her like a second skin, and the black leather gloves gave her the sharp allure of a femme fatale. Her deep red lipstick matched her mood: hungry.She wasn’t just here to flirt. She was here to hunt.Then she saw him Panther.Black vibranium like suit. Muscles she hadn’t known Malakai possessed flexing beneath the synthetic armour. A mask that hid everything except his electric presence. He didn’t say a word as he passed her, but his gloved hand grazed her hip so subtly she wondered if she imagined it.Malakai? That sweet, soft-spoken friend she’d watched anime with, exchanged memes with, acc

At the Bellamy estate, the sheets aren’t the only thing getting dirty.”When I took the housekeeping job at the Bellamy estate, I thought I’d be folding towels and dusting antiques.I didn’t expect to be crawling on my hands and knees between two brothers.I didn’t expect the rules.It started with a note.RULE 1: You will clean East Wing rooms only in lace panties. Nothing else.At first, I thought it was a joke. Some arrogant, privileged playboy fantasy.But the handwriting was precise. And it was signed with a wax seal: L. Bellamy.I nearly quit that day.But then I saw the envelope tucked beneath it.$3,000.Cash.For one day’s work.The East Wing belonged to Luca Bellamy, the older brother. Cold, unreadable, ex-military. He walked like a man who didn't waste time. Sharp cheekbones, always in suits, and a voice like winter.The younger brother, Elias, lived in the West Wing. Shirtless more often than not. Careless grin. Curls falling over his forehead. Always watching me like I wa

The iron gate creaked as Lillian stepped into the secluded estate, tucked behind rows of manicured hedges and dripping vines. It was a modern mansion, yes, but built in the image of something older gothic arches, heavy chandeliers, and a scent of old wood and secrecy.She clutched her satchel tighter. The contract she signed ran through her mind again: You will assume the role of a governess. You will remain in character at all times. You will correct the heir’s behavior per house rules. And you will obey the Master of the house.It was only supposed to be a game. A high-paying fantasy gig for rich eccentrics who wanted to play at being misbehaved schoolboys and strict tutors.But Lillian had not expected him.Nathaniel Carroway.Tall, devastatingly composed, and far too intense for someone who wanted to roleplay as a petulant ‘heir.’ He had the air of a man who liked his power twisted and layered more than a client. More like a Master in waiting.He greeted her not with a handshake,

She thought summer would be sweet.She didn’t know it would taste like sin.When Mia agrees to help her family’s new neighbor with his watermelon farm, she expects sunburns, sticky fingers, and long, quiet afternoons. She doesn’t expect him a man twice her age, with hands that make her shiver and eyes that taste every inch of her like ripe fruit.One lazy afternoon turns into something forbidden under the heat the scent of watermelon heavy in the air, juice running down her chin, and his mouth where it doesn’t belong.It’s wrong. It’s reckless. It’s the sweetest danger she’s ever tasted.The First BiteIt was too hot to be outside, but Mr. Carter had called that morning, his voice low and lazy through the phone.“Could use an extra pair of hands, Mia. The melons are ripening faster than I thought.”I could’ve said no. I should’ve. But something in the way he spoke like he was already smiling at me had me pulling on my denim shorts and knotting a tank top at my waist before I even thou

Eighteen, broke, and desperate for a way out of her small-town boredom, Lila creates an anonymous OnlyFans account. It’s just supposed to be harmless fun faceless photos, a few flirty videos until she notices one subscriber tipping far more than the rest. His messages are bolder, more intimate, almost as if he knows her. But when Lila discovers who’s behind the screen, her world tilts into dangerous, forbidden territory and she can’t bring herself to log off.First PostIt started with a dare.Friday night, sitting cross-legged on my bed with a half-empty bag of chips and my phone lighting up the dark, I scrolled past another tweet about girls making thousands on OnlyFans. My friends joked about it all the time“Lila, you’ve got the kind of mouth that could make rent in a week.”They weren’t wrong.But saying it and actually doing it were two different things.I told myself I’d keep it anonymous. No face, no real name. Just teasing shots skin in dim light, angles that gave everything a