บททั้งหมดของ Sinful Seduction (Exotica Collection): บทที่ 191 - บทที่ 200

Steam curled through the cracked bathroom door, thick and warm, fogging the mirror and clouding the glass panels of the shower. The soft hiss of water echoed against the tiled walls, filling the small space with a rhythmic hum.She stepped inside without knocking.He didn’t hear her at first. His head was tilted back beneath the spray, dark hair slicked to his skull, eyes closed. Water rushed over his chest, down the ridges of his abs, carving through the trail of hair that led to everything she’d already tasted.She didn’t say a word.She dropped her towel to the floor and stepped into the shower, bare feet pressing into the wet tile. Her fingers trailed up his spine, nails light and teasing.He froze.“You have no boundaries,” he said, voice low.“I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”He turned to face her, eyes dark beneath the droplets clinging to his lashes. He looked even more dangerous soaked like this. Wild. Uncontrolled. Like the heat between them had boiled over and now

The lock on the confessional clicked into place.The final line between salvation and damnation snapped.He said nothing as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the narrow booth. His fingers gripped her like steel, not rough, but unyielding. Like he was holding onto her because if he didn’t, he might lose control. Or worse—let go completely.The cathedral was empty. Still. The candles flickered along the altar, soft golden light casting shadows across the pews and high stone walls. The silence was thick with consequence. It swallowed their footsteps as he dragged her toward the front.Her breath came shallow. Her heart raced. She should’ve been afraid. She wasn’t.She was thrilled.He stopped at the foot of the altar. The towering crucifix loomed above them. Watching. Judging. Silent.He turned and faced her.His eyes were no longer calm. They were filled with fury. With guilt. With need.He took a slow breath. “This cannot happen again.”She reached for the collar around his ne

Sunday morning light spilled through the stained-glass windows, painting the pews in holy color. The organ hummed low as the congregation filtered in, heads bowed, lips murmuring silent prayers. There was incense in the air, fresh flowers on the altar, and a weight of sacred silence that blanketed every stone in the cathedral.She sat in the front row.No makeup. No jewelry. Just a modest white dress that clung a little too perfectly to her thighs when she crossed her legs. She’d left her bra at home. No panties either. It wasn’t a mistake.It was an invitation.He saw her the moment he stepped out.Black robe. White collar. Bible in hand.But his hands were trembling.She met his eyes and smiled like she wasn’t already soaked between her thighs.Like she wasn’t thinking about the filthy things he’d whispered into her mouth just nights ago.He opened the service with a prayer. Voice steady. Cold.He read from the Book of Matthew. Every verse fell from his lips like gravel. Heavy. Bitt

The next morning was brutal.She had barely slept. Her body still ached with unspoken need. Her dreams had been soaked in skin and heat and breathy moans that sounded too much like his voice. She woke tangled in her sheets, thighs slick, heart pounding.She told herself she’d imagined last night. That it wasn’t as intense as it felt. That maybe he hadn’t leaned in as close as she remembered. That maybe he hadn’t meant it.But when she walked into the kitchen in the late morning sun, he was already there.Shirtless.Again.Sweat glistened along the line of his back. He was drinking orange juice straight from the carton, leaned back against the counter like it belonged to him. His basketball shorts rode low on his hips. She could see the edge of the waistband beneath.He turned.Their eyes met.The same heat from last night slammed into her chest like a wave.He looked her up and down, slowly. She had thrown on a tank top and soft cotton shorts that clung too much. No bra. She hadn’t ex

It was quiet in the countryside, too quiet sometimes. The kind of silence that left space for thoughts to turn dark. Her house sat tucked at the edge of a narrow gravel road, surrounded by hills and whispering trees. No neighbors close enough to hear. No traffic. No noise. Just birdsong and wind. And lately, the occasional low hum of aching discomfort beneath her skin.She sat on the edge of the couch that night, body curled forward, hands pressing into the heavy swell of her breasts. The pain was dull, then sharp, then dull again. Her shirt was already damp. Milk had soaked through the thin fabric in two perfect circles. She hadn’t expected it to last this long. The hormones, the fullness, the aching weight that came with her body still producing after birth.Even though she had given the child away.She never thought she’d have to deal with this part alone.But she was.And it was becoming unbearable.She winced, tugging the neckline of her top down to free one breast, the skin hot