Semua Bab Sinful Seduction (Exotica Collection): Bab 41 - Bab 50

The red dress clung to my skin like it had been waiting in the closet all year just for this moment. I had spent hours getting ready. Every curl in place, every inch of skin moisturized, perfumed, powdered into soft temptation. I didn’t eat all day. I wanted to be empty for him. Hollow and light and perfect. I sat at the dinner table, staring at the two unlit candles and untouched plates, waiting for the man I married seven years ago to come home and remember what today was.The roast chicken had gone cold. The wine had sweated down the neck of the bottle, leaving a little puddle on the white linen tablecloth I had picked up last week just for tonight. My legs were crossed tightly beneath the table, toes aching in those red heels he once said made me look like I was begging to be fucked against a wall. I wanted him to come home and say it again. I wanted him to mean it.The clock ticked louder with each passing minute. By the time it struck ten, I had lost hope.The front door slammed

I didn’t speak to him for three days.He didn’t notice.Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. That hurt more than anything. Every silence between us used to feel like a pause, a breath, a thread waiting to pull us back together. Now it was a wall. A void I kept screaming into, but the echoes never came back.I started watching him more closely. His glances at his phone. The way he smiled at certain messages, smirking to himself like a teenager. I knew he was seeing her again. The new one. The neighbor’s wife. Helena. The one with the long blonde hair and the laugh like she’d never been disappointed in her life. She had started jogging past our house in the mornings. Smiling too brightly when she waved at him. Bending over slowly when she picked up her water bottle. I wasn’t stupid. I had been a wife long enough to know what blooming tension felt like.So I did something worse.I invited them both to our pool party.I planned it with two days’ notice, pretending it was a casual gatheri

I left the garage door open on purpose.It was a calculated risk. One that smelled like engine grease and old smoke. The air inside was humid and stale, filled with the scent of oil-soaked rags and the memory of his hands fixing broken things. I had scrubbed the workbench until my knuckles bled. Cleared the clutter. Hung the chains from the ceiling beam the way I imagined he might like. I didn’t know what I was doing. Only what I wanted: to be undone.Naked but for the leather collar around my neck, I knelt beneath the hook, legs folded, eyes wide and dry. I had chained my wrists above my head, standing on trembling tiptoes. There was no cushion beneath me. No comfort. Just cold cement and the anticipation of him finding me like this. A dirty little offering in the heart of his sacred space. His garage. His retreat. The only place in the house he still gave attention to.My breath fogged the air. My nipples tightened from the chill. Between my thighs, I was already wet.I didn’t know

I didn’t intend to seduce anyone when I boarded that plane. I just wanted out. Out of the city, out of my own head, out of the mess I left behind in my bedroom where my wedding ring still sat on the dresser, cold and untouched.Fourteen hours in the sky seemed like a good place to disappear.So I dressed for distraction. No bra under the silk. No panties beneath the black slit dress. Heels high enough to make walking a calculated choice. The first-class lounge had noticed. So had the flight attendant with the coffee-colored eyes. But none of that mattered when I stepped into Row 2 and saw him already seated beside my window.He was tall, long legs spread carelessly, fingers draped over the armrest like they owned it. A crisp black suit with the collar loosened just enough to suggest rebellion, not sloppiness. His jaw was unshaven. His eyes too dark to read. When I sat down beside him, he barely looked at me. Just one slow drag of his eyes across my thighs and then back to his phone.G

By hour ten, I hated how badly I wanted him again.My thighs still stuck together from the memory of his mouth. My skin still tingled where his fingers had bruised me in the lavatory. And yet, somehow, the ache wasn’t enough. I needed more. Needed it louder, dirtier, riskier. He hadn’t looked at me once since he walked out. But I felt him. Every time he adjusted in his seat. Every time he exhaled slowly like he was trying not to think about what he did to me.We were two strangers drowning in the same unspoken filth.The cabin lights were dimmed for sleep. Most passengers were tucked under blankets, watching films or pretending to rest. He stood first, without glancing at me, and walked toward the front of the plane.I waited a full minute before following.He didn’t go to the bathroom.He went into the galley. The space where the crew made coffee and whispered about delays. I stepped in after him, pretending to ask a question. A flight attendant looked up from her corner and gave me