บททั้งหมดของ Sinful Seduction (Exotica Collection): บทที่ 321 - บทที่ 330

Dawn bled through the high windows of the chapel, rose and gold slicing across the marble altar like judgment made visible. The monastery bells began to toll for Prime, slow and relentless, but no one moved toward the stalls. The brothers stood in a loose circle around the sanctuary instead, habits already discarded, cocks rising in the cool air like a silent hymn.Elias was already on the altar.They had come for him before the sky lightened. Luca first, unlocking the cell with a key that scraped like bone. Then the others, shadows behind him. No words. They simply lifted him from the cot, naked and sleep-warm, and carried him down the corridors while the bells began their warning.Now he lay on his back across cold stone, wrists and ankles bound to the four brass candlesticks with crimson altar cloths. The marble was slick beneath him with oil and the remnants of last night’s loads still seeping from his body. His hole had not closed in days; it gaped, red and glistening, fluttering

The elevator opened directly into Victor’s penthouse, a cavern of glass and steel forty-seven floors above the city. Midnight pressed against the windows on three sides, turning the skyline into a glittering bruise of neon and shadow. Elena stepped out first, heels clicking across the poured-concrete floor, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the vastness of the space.Victor waited in the center of the living room, shirt unbuttoned to the sternum, a heavy crystal tumbler of something dark in one hand. Behind him, the chaise longue (an antique thing upholstered in blood-red velvet) had been dragged beneath a single spotlight. Silk ropes lay coiled on its seat like sleeping snakes.Liana was already there.She stood at the window, completely naked, city lights striping her skin in electric blues and violets. Her back was to them, spine a perfect arc, ass round and tight, legs slightly apart so the glow caught the faint sheen between her thighs. She didn’t turn when the elevator chi

The rain came down in sheets, turning the city into a smeared watercolor of light and shadow. Elena’s apartment occupied the entire thirty-second floor, all glass and marble and cold perfection. She had dismissed the housekeeper hours ago, poured herself a third glass of Barolo, and stood at the window watching lightning fork over the river when the intercom buzzed. She knew who it was before the doorman spoke. Liana stood in the foyer ten minutes later, soaked to the bone, white cotton dress plastered transparent against every curve. Mascara streaked her cheeks like war paint. Her nipples were hard points under the wet fabric; the dress ended high enough to prove she wore nothing beneath it. Water pooled at her bare feet. “You weren’t answering your phone,” Liana said. Her voice shook with cold or fury, maybe both. “I was busy.” Elena didn’t move from the window. “Busy fucking him without me?” The words cracked like a whip. Elena turned slowly. “Watch your tone.” Liana l

Sasha pushed open the heavy stage door of the old opera house, the iron groaning like it resented intruders after midnight. The audition notice had been cryptic: “Kane Collective. Invitation only. No limits.” She had come anyway, twenty-five, broke, and hungry for something more than another corps de ballet rejection.Inside, the theater was stripped bare. No seats, no curtain, just a single pool of white light on the raked stage and Victor Kane waiting beneath it. Tall, black hair slicked back, white shirt open at the throat, he looked more like a predator who had wandered into the wrong century than a choreographer. His eyes tracked her the way a pianist studies a new score, already hearing music no one else could.“Shoes off,” he said, voice low, precise. “Everything else stays until I say otherwise.”Sasha kicked off her worn pointe shoes and walked into the light. The wooden floor was cold against her bare feet. She felt the familiar tug of nerves low in her stomach, but somethin

The first time Sasha saw the Kane Collective perform, she understood why tickets cost more than most people earned in a month. The old vaudeville theater had been gutted and reborn as a cathedral of shadows and red velvet. No seats on the floor, only a ring of low couches and ottomans where the audience reclined like Roman emperors. The stage was a circle of black glass lit from beneath, turning every drop of sweat into liquid ruby.Victor had kept her blindfolded in the wings until the house lights died. When the silk fell away, the troupe was already moving. Twelve bodies, naked except for intricate harnesses of thin gold chain that caught the strobes like lightning frozen mid-flash. The choreography was viciously beautiful: lifts that ended with teeth on throats, spins that left welts across ribs, leaps that landed in deliberate, grinding straddles. The audience moaned in unison when a male dancer pinned a woman to the glass and fucked her slowly while the others danced around them