Lahat ng Kabanata ng Lustful Desires (Erotic Shorts): Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a kiss of desperation. It was slow, deliberate, his lips molding against hers as though he wanted her to carry the memory home with her. Her breath caught, and when he pulled back just enough to look at her, she realized she was smiling without even meaning to.Her thoughts ran wild as she stepped into the evening air. Is he into me already? Was that kiss more than just a kiss?She didn’t tell anyone about what was unfolding between them. Not her friend, not even her professor. This,whatever this was, felt too fragile, too private to risk breaking with careless words. She wanted to keep it close to her chest, to let it bloom in silence.The next morning, Lena woke with her body still humming from the night before. Every part of her felt tender, as though Damien’s hands had left marks invisible to the eye but permanent on her skin. She lingered in bed, touching her lips as if the kiss he had given her was still there.When she finally arrived back at the stu

Something in him broke then, or maybe it finally set free. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her through the dimly lit studio toward the bedroom tucked in the back. She clung to him, her lips trailing along his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin, her body already alive with anticipation.The room was dark except for the flashes of lightning slipping through the curtains, painting them in silver and shadow. Damien set her down on the bed gently, as though she were the most precious thing he had ever held. But the fire in his eyes told another story, one of hunger, one of need.Their mouths met again, slower this time, but deeper, exploring, savoring. His hands traced along her sides, mapping her as if she were his canvas, every touch deliberate, every brush of his fingers a stroke of ownership.Clothes became a blur, shed between kisses and whispered breaths. Each layer peeled away until nothing stood between them, nothing but skin and heat and the storm outside that seemed to echo t

The studio smelled of turpentine, sweat, and something rawer, something that lingered in the air long after Damien and Lena’s last heated encounter. They had been reckless, lost in each other, blind to the world beyond the four walls of that messy room. Lena still felt the faint sting of his hands on her hips, the bruising kisses down her throat, the fire he had awakened deep inside her.She was curled on the paint-stained sheets Damien had thrown on the floor the night before, her hair wild, her lips swollen. Damien stood near the window, shirtless, the faint morning light catching the sharp lines of his chest and jaw. He was silent, brooding, cigarette between his fingers though he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes.Lena stretched lazily, arching her back like a cat.“You’re staring again,” she teased softly.Damien smirked, but there was something heavy in his eyes. “You’re impossible to look away from.”She rolled her eyes, tugging the sheet around her body. “You always say that.”“B

Lena walked out of her parents’ home with a heavy heart, their voices still echoing in her head. They had sat across the dining table, eyes narrowed, whispers turning sharp questions: “Is it true you’re the woman in Damien’s paintings? Is this what you’ve become? A muse for some wild artist?”She had denied nothing, she only pressed her lips together, her eyes burning. They couldn’t understand what it meant to be seen the way Damien saw her. To be painted not just as a figure but as a soul. But she also couldn’t stand being cornered, being treated like she had done something shameful. So she left. No explanations, no apologies. Just silence and the slam of the door.Out in the streets, her resolve hardened. If Damien could paint her, so could others. She wanted freedom, independence. She wanted to feel like she wasn’t locked in one man’s gaze no matter how intoxicating it was. That was what led her to another studio across town, the studio of a young, rising artist she had heard about

He could sense it in the way her hand didn’t reach for his, in the way her eyes didn’t meet his, in the way her silence spoke louder than any scream.And for the first time, Damien realized: all the applause in the world meant nothing if he lost her.The strangers’ stares haunted Lena long after they returned home. Even in the quiet of Damien’s loft, she felt exposed, as if invisible eyes still followed her every move.And Damien, basking in the fading glow of admiration, couldn’t shake the new shadow creeping into his chest, Lena’s distance.He knew it. He felt it.And he feared it.Because Damien Cross, who thought he owned the world with a paintbrush, was beginning to understand that he might be losing the only canvas that ever truly mattered.The car ride was silent. Lena had asked him, in the softest voice she could muster after the gallery’s chaos, to take her back to her apartment. Damien didn’t argue. He only tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his jaw hard, his profile