جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 30

BOOK 3: Chapter 6: Heat in the Laundry RoomThe whir of the washer is soft but constant, a rhythmic churn that echoes faintly down the hall like the pulse of a slow-building storm. She isn’t looking for Adrian. She tells herself that with every step she takes toward the laundry room. She’s only here for a load of towels. That’s it.Gregory had left early again, his usual kiss on her forehead, brief and casual. “Be back around five,” he’d said. “Got a meeting at the firm and lunch with Martin.” He hadn’t noticed the tightness in her voice when she replied. Hadn’t seen the shadows under her eyes from the night before.She hadn’t mentioned the note. Or the knock. Or the turning doorknob.Now, barefoot and in a soft beige tank top and thin cotton shorts, she pads toward the laundry room, feeling each cool tile as if it might catch fire under her feet.The door is slightly open.Steam curls out in wisps, mingling with the warm scent of detergent and something darker—something unplaceably m

BOOK 3: Chapter 8: Breaking the First RuleThe water laps gently against the porcelain edges of the tub, soft waves rising and falling in slow rhythm as her body sinks deeper beneath the surface. Steam curls upward, wrapping around her skin like a whisper, clinging to her shoulders, her neck. Lavender oil glistens across the surface, and the scent is calming—but it does little to settle the storm inside her.She’s alone in the master bathroom, door closed, lock turned.The red silk robe now hangs from the back of the door.She had put it on earlier—just to feel it. Just for a moment. The silk had slid over her bare skin like temptation itself, molding to her curves, teasing her nipples into hard little peaks beneath the fabric. It had made her shiver.She’d peeled it off and tossed it away like a guilty secret.Now, submerged in warm water, surrounded by foam and flickering candlelight, she tries to forget how it felt. Tries to push the memory of Adrian’s note from her mind, the smirk

BOOK 3: Chapter 10: The First NightThe air in the bathroom is thick with steam, curling along the edges of the mirror, blurring the lights overhead into hazy halos. The hiss of the shower fades into the background, overtaken by the rustle of breath, the soft slap of skin against tile, the broken cadence of a woman giving in. Her back arches against the sink’s cold edge, muscles trembling, thighs slick and parted, and she’s not holding back anymore.She tried. God, she tried. But his mouth—his hands—his voice whispered against her ear with such dark promise, it wore down every ounce of resistance until she shattered. And now she’s breathless beneath his fingers, moaning—no, crying out—as he plunges two fingers inside her again, curling them just right, dragging along that slick, aching spot deep within that makes her body jolt like it’s been shocked.Her hands scrabble at his shoulders, her nails leaving hot red trails down his skin. She’s past pretending. Every flick of his wrist, ev

BOOK 3: Chapter 12: Day Two – Kitchen TableShe decides before sunrise. She will not speak to him today. Not a word. No eye contact. No glances. No shivering responses to the memory of his hands or the filthy things he did to her in the dark hours of last night. She’s made up her mind. She is done with him—fucking done with him. She’s seething, jaw clenched as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her hair so hard that strands snap off the brush with each furious tug. Her reflection is flushed, her eyes defiant.She hates that even now, even as she burns with anger, there’s still this aching pull low in her belly, a maddening echo of him inside her. The soreness between her thighs makes her thighs press tighter when she walks, reminding her again and again of how deeply he fucked her. And still she wants him. That need—raw, reckless, consuming—won’t leave her alone. It crawls up her spine and settles behind her ribs like heat smothered under a blanket.She shouldn't be

BOOK 3: Chapter 14: Danger Deepens “Don’t stop.” That’s all it takes. Two trembling words, barely whispered, caught in the humid air between their mouths—and Adrian snaps. There’s no pretense left. No guilt. No hesitation. No thought except for her. He grabs her with a force that blurs the line between passion and madness, one arm curling beneath her thighs, the other at her back as he hauls her away from the fogged-over bathroom. Her body’s still damp, glistening, flushed. She clings to his neck, heart racing so wildly it almost drowns out the wet slap of their bodies colliding, lips crashing again and again. He doesn’t fumble. Doesn’t pause. The walk is fast, desperate. Like his own skin is burning, and only burying himself in her will put it out. He storms through the wide archway into the bedroom and doesn’t bother with the massive bed looming like a shrine in the center. No, he veers to the far end—toward the heavy recliner where her husband’s father usually sits, glasses on,