All Chapters of Sinful Seduction (Exotica Collection): Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

It had been two days since he last fed.Two days since she let him suckle, since she let him fuck her while her milk spilled across their bodies and soaked the sheets. She told herself she needed a break. That she needed space. That she needed her body to dry out.But she had lied.Because now her breasts were swollen. Aching. She had stuffed tissues inside her bra, changed tops twice, and still the milk leaked. Her nipples were red and sensitive. Her body screamed for release. For relief. For him.And he knew.He always knew.She walked into the kitchen late that night wearing a thick robe pulled tight around her. Her nipples still pushed against the fabric, hot milk already seeping through. She tried to pour herself some water. To focus on anything else.Then he walked in.He hadn’t seen her in twenty-four hours. His jaw was tight. His eyes darker than usual. He didn’t say hello.Just stared at her chest.“You’re leaking again.”She backed up.“I don’t need your help.”He stepped fo

The faculty wing was always colder than the rest of the school.Dim lights. Locked doors. Silence.She walked barefoot down the hall, heels dangling from her fingers. Her skirt was too short. Her lips still tasted like him. Her thighs were still sticky with his hunger.She should’ve gone home.She didn’t.She stopped in front of his office, twisted the handle, and found it open.He was inside.Sitting at his desk. Eyes locked on her like he’d known she was coming. Like he hadn’t stopped thinking about her from the second she left his classroom two hours earlier.Neither of them spoke.She stepped in, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it.“I thought I told you to go home,” he said, voice tight.“You did.”“And yet—”“I don’t follow rules very well.”His jaw twitched.She dropped the shoes to the floor.Walked to his desk.Placed both palms on the edge and leaned forward.“I’ve been thinking about your mouth all night.”“Is that so.”She nodded slowly.“And your hands.”“I to

The room pulsed with danger and desire. Velvet curtains cloaked the walls, trapping in the musk of cigar smoke, cologne, and something more primal. Rows of men lounged in plush leather chairs, their faces hidden behind ornate masks—foxes, wolves, ravens—each more grotesque or regal than the last. Crystal glasses clinked as they sipped aged scotch, waiting. Watching. Ready.The stage sat in the center like an altar. Bathed in a single spotlight, it was empty… for now.Behind that stage, in a cold back room surrounded by bodyguards and silence, she stood barefoot and trembling in white lace. Thin fabric clung to her curves, translucent under the glare of a single lightbulb. Her wrists bore faint red marks from the earlier restraints, and her lips, glossed and parted, whispered prayers to a god she no longer believed in.This wasn’t how she thought it would end.She never meant to end up here.But fate had a cruel sense of humor. One bad decision. One wrong man. One debt too steep to pay

She didn’t know what time it was. Morning, night—it didn’t matter. The mansion had no clocks. No windows. No sunlight. Just soft ambient lighting that shifted depending on her behavior. Red when she disobeyed. White when she pleased him.Today, the lights were red.She knelt on the marble floor, nude except for the black leather collar now around her throat. A golden D-ring rested at the hollow of her neck. A reminder that she wasn’t just owned—she was claimed. A possession with a pulse.The man—her Master—hadn’t spoken since he left her after the punishment. He had watched, of course. Always watching. Always close enough to feel but never close enough to touch.Her body ached from the night before, thighs sore from being forced wide, her backside still bruised. But the ache between her legs—that throb of need—was worse.She hated how badly she wanted him.Footsteps echoed behind her.She didn’t dare look.“Pet,” he said.She shivered. That voice. Calm. Cold. Controlled.“Yes, Sir.”“

The world was quiet after ruin.She lay in a bath of rose-scented water, warm and dark like blood. Her body floated—weightless, sore, satisfied. The flicker of candlelight danced over the high marble walls. Each part of her ached. Her lips were swollen. Her thighs, bruised. Her skin, branded with invisible fingerprints.Yet none of it compared to the storm inside her.He hadn’t spoken since carrying her from the bench.She remembered the way his arms had locked around her, protective in their possessiveness. How the other masked men had watched him, not her, like they answered to him—like he wasn’t one of them but the one above them.And now, the mansion was silent.Too silent.The candles flickered as the heavy door creaked open.She turned her head slowly.He stepped inside. Still masked. Always masked.He wore black slacks, a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled just like before—exposing forearms that had gripped her throat, held her down, taught her pa