All Chapters of Shared Desires: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Not all storms make noise when they arrive.Some seep into your skin like the scent of another woman’s perfume on your lover’s shirt.I start to notice it in the way Demon grows quiet.He, who usually devours me with filthy words, becomes evasive. He still touches my waist, bites my neck, but his gaze is distant. So far away, it makes me want to walk naked down the street just to see if he’d bother to come find me.I don’t say anything. Not yet.But something’s changed.I feel it.And I confirm it one afternoon, when I see him talking to a woman just outside the club where John and I are meeting. Demon doesn’t see me. I don’t want him to. There’s something magnetic—and dangerous—about the scene. She has a body that echoes mine, but a gaze much harder. Long black hair, loose, wavy. Tight clothes. Heels too high for the time of day. She grabs his arm. He pulls away. Not violently, but not gently either. She smiles. That smile exes give when they think they know something you don’t.My s

I don’t like this feeling. That quiet pressure crawling under my skin, like a premonition wearing expensive perfume and sharp nails.John hasn’t come home since this morning. Demon is restless, but pretending not to be. And me... my nerves are caught tight in my throat. Because I know Sasha doesn’t just disappear.And I’m right.I find out by accident, through his assistant. That a woman—“tall, dazzling, with a smile like a '90s movie star”—showed up at John’s office without an appointment. Claimed to be a journalist for a French magazine. Mentioned some sort of collaboration with his company. And somehow, John let her in.My stomach tightens.But I don’t call. I don’t run.Because John knows how to fight his own battles.Though I’m not sure how clean he’ll come out of this one.JohnHe walks into his office with steady steps, already knowing who’s waiting for him.And there she is.Sitting in his leather chair like it’s the throne she always wanted. Dressed in white. Blonde hair perf

The sound of the sea doesn’t stop—not when we close the doors, not when we fall silent. It’s always there, a steady breath, a warm, wet caress that seeps through every crack in this beach house. Remote, modern, dressed in white and salt, with windows that open to a world with no cameras, no scandals. At least for now.“I love this place,” I whisper, lifting my glass of wine while Demon buries his feet in the sand, and John—like always—watches from the shadows with a glass of whiskey and something in his eyes I can’t quite name. Jealousy? Worry? Maybe both.There are no rules here. No phones. No plans. Just us. Three bodies that crave each other as much as they fear each other.Evening falls like sweet lava over our skin. Demon’s blindfolded me, and his fingers are dragging ice cubes across my stomach while I lie back on a wooden lounger near the fire we just lit. I feel heat on my back, cold on my ribs, and his breath—laced with rum—as he leans in to kiss below my collarbone.“Say a s

The lights at the gala are as bright as blades. Almost painful.The room is filled with perfect faces, dresses that shine brighter than the fake stars on the ceiling, and hollow smiles hiding sharp teeth.And there we are. John, in a suit black as a secret. Demon, with that razor-sharp arrogance in every step.Me, in the middle, wearing a red dress that feels more like a threat.“Don’t let go of me,” John whispers in my ear.His hand rests on the curve of my back—steady, but barely shaking.Demon circles us like a possessive shadow, never stopping his scan of everyone who comes near.The event is in his honor. Some charity thing, an art project, an excuse to prove that John Lambert isn’t just a billionaire CEO devouring his lovers—but also a generous, refined man, worthy of applause.But that illusion will last as long as a sigh.Because she’s here.“You see her?” Demon asks, voice like ice.“Yes,” I reply, without looking.I don’t have to. I can *smell* her. That sweet, poisonous ble

I wake with skin stuck to dried sweat, my body still trembling inside though the air is unmoving. I’m between them, as if I were the sin that binds them. The sheet tangled around my legs, the golden sunlight slipping between the curtains, outlining the shape of their bodies: one breathes slow, almost absent, the other watches me with an intensity that disarms me. The air weighs more than my conscience.John kisses my shoulder with dangerous sweetness, as if nothing in the world had exploded, as if we weren’t broken inside. His breath grazes my collarbone, and that serene, almost tender gesture splits a crack in my chest. But Demon is not calm. Demon is an open wound. His hand slides up my thigh without asking, and his lips sink into my neck with a bite that isn’t a caress, it’s punishment, it’s a claim. And I say nothing. I don’t stop him.I can’t.We stay like this for minutes. Three bodies burning in a bed that no longer distinguishes love from war. My muscles still vibrate with las