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Lahat ng Kabanata ng Sinful Seduction (Exotica Collection): Kabanata 51 - Kabanata 60

333 Kabanata

Sold my virginity for a million dollars 1

The air was thick with perfume, money, and expectation. I stood behind a velvet curtain in nothing but a thin, silk robe, my hands trembling at my sides. My name wasn’t Camille anymore. I was “Lot Thirty-One.” I stared at the number card in my hand like it had the power to save me, but I already knew what was about to happen. I was going to be sold like property, like flesh, like meat on a silver platter for men who didn’t care who I was—just what I hadn’t done yet.My brother was dying. Stage four leukemia. The hospital bills had devoured everything we had left. My mother had already sold her car. My father—long gone. No relatives left. No miracles. Just this. Just a girl desperate enough to put her virginity on the black market because some private underground circle of billionaires loved the idea of owning something pure just to ruin it.The handler beside me touched his earpiece. “You’re up.”I couldn’t breathe. My legs refused to move at first, but he pushed me forward. The curta

Sold my virginity for a million dollars 2

I didn’t sleep. My body was too sore. My mind too awake. Every time I shifted beneath the silk sheets, I felt the ache between my thighs. The reminder. I touched the bruises on my hips and thighs, fresh and warm. Proof of his grip. His teeth. His claim.Morning light filtered through the tall window, but I didn’t move. I lay there naked, arms at my sides, still blindfolded even though he’d untied it before leaving. I’d put it back on myself. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was easier not seeing the world around me when I no longer felt part of it.A soft knock.I jumped, heart pounding. The door opened without waiting for permission.Footsteps approached. Slow. Measured. I smelled him before I heard his voice—clean like cedarwood and cold like metal.“Still in bed?” His voice was amused. I hated how much I liked hearing it.“I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.”“You’re supposed to wait for me.”I sat up, keeping the sheet around my body even though I knew he’d strip it away the momen

Sold my virginity for a million dollars 3

The third morning came with silence. No sunlight. No knock. No instructions. Just me, lying there naked in satin sheets, sore in places I’d never known could ache. I didn’t know if I was supposed to move, get dressed, eat. I didn’t know anything except that every muscle in my body remembered him. His hands. His voice. The way he didn’t ask—only took.I had no phone. No clock. No window that opened. This mansion, for all its beauty, was a cage, and I was its most valuable possession. I wasn’t here to feel safe. I was here to be owned.When the door opened, I sat up quickly, drawing the sheet to cover my chest. It wasn’t him. A woman walked in—tall, poised, wearing all black. She didn’t look at me when she spoke.“Come with me.”I didn’t ask questions. I followed her down a hallway I hadn’t seen before, bare feet cold against the marble. She stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and opened it without a word. Inside was a library—or at least it looked like one. Velvet chairs, a firepla

Sold my virginity for a million dollars 4

The fourth night began with silence, and that silence felt different this time. Not absence—but anticipation. The kind that made my skin prick even before the doorknob turned. I sat on the edge of the bed, naked, collared, legs pressed together, unsure what was waiting for me beyond the door. I had learned not to expect kindness. Not to expect mercy. But what I hadn’t learned yet was how much I was beginning to crave the next lesson, no matter how dark it was.The door opened. Adrian stepped in.But he wasn’t alone.A second man followed behind him.He was taller. Leaner. Dressed in all black, face hidden by a smooth leather mask that left only his lips visible. He said nothing. Didn’t even look at me at first. He walked like he’d done this before. Like he already knew what I was for.My breath caught.I looked at Adrian, eyes wide. “Who is he?”Adrian didn’t answer. He stepped forward and ran his fingers beneath my chin, tilting my face upward.“Tonight,” he said, voice smooth and ab

Sold my virginity for a million dollars 5

The bruises on my thighs had faded by morning, but the memory hadn’t. I could still feel them—their hands, their cocks, the sting of being filled and stretched and owned by two at once. I could feel the echo of that second man’s tongue, the way Adrian had looked at me like I was just a vessel to be poured into, claimed, conquered, broken. And worst of all—I could still feel the shameful flutter between my legs every time I remembered how loud I had screamed, how desperately I had begged for more.I didn’t want to admit what was happening to me.I was losing myself.It wasn’t love. It wasn’t romance. It was deeper. Darker. It was obsession wrapped in pain. Surrender wrapped in silk and control. I told myself I hated him. I told myself I wanted to escape. But when he opened the door that morning, something inside me lit up. Not hope. Not fear. Something far more dangerous.Need.He walked in without a word. Fully dressed in dark gray slacks and a black shirt, sleeves rolled up. Bare wri

Sold my virginity for a million dollars 6

Thirty nights.That was what I had signed for. What I had been sold for. What I had survived.Tonight was the last.I stood in the center of the bedroom, no collar, no cuffs, no silk robe draped over trembling shoulders. Just me. Naked. Bruised. Silent. My reflection stared back at me from the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room, and I didn’t recognize her anymore. The girl who walked into the auction with shaking legs and tears in her eyes was long gone. She had been stripped down, peeled layer by layer until only need remained.I didn’t know what I was supposed to want anymore.I didn’t want love. I didn’t want rescue. I just wanted… to belong. And somehow, somewhere along the line, Adrian had become the only place I understood how to do that.The door creaked open behind me. I didn’t flinch.He stepped in, dressed in nothing but black slacks, barefoot, shirtless, the outline of his power carved in hard muscle and cold control. His eyes scanned me from head to toe. He didn’t spe

A debit paid by passion 1

Marielle had never walked into a room with the intention of selling herself. But when the cold glass doors of Virelli Holdings slid open and the scent of money hit her in the face like a slap, she knew she wasn’t walking out the same woman. She could barely keep her hands from shaking as the receptionist looked up, startled by her sudden appearance in the marbled lobby.“I need to see Mr. Virelli,” she said.The woman in the red blazer blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”“No. But he’ll want to see me.”The receptionist hesitated, glanced at Marielle’s trembling fingers clutching a manila envelope, then quietly made a call. After a moment, she nodded once.“Top floor. Take the private elevator. He’s expecting you.”Of course he is.Marielle didn’t thank her. Her heels clicked across the polished floor like gunshots. Her stomach coiled with shame and nerves. She could feel the security cameras tracking her, the weight of silent judgment from behind tinted glass walls. She knew how th

A debt paid by passion 2

The elevator ride was silent, but her pulse screamed through her ears. Marielle stood barefoot in the middle of the steel box, wrapped in nothing but a man’s black dress shirt—his shirt. It hung loose on her, brushing the tops of her thighs, still smelling of his cologne and the sweat he worked out of her the night before. Her legs trembled not from exhaustion but from what waited for her upstairs. Bastian had said nothing all morning. He’d simply walked past her sleeping form, dropped the shirt onto the mattress, and murmured two words in a voice that made her thighs clench again.“Get in.”Now she was rising. Higher and higher. No floors labeled. No buttons. Just cold metal walls reflecting the woman she no longer recognized. She had thought the night before would be the worst of it. That after being used like that—like a possession, like a mouth and a hole and nothing more—she would feel disgusted. Shattered. But what horrified her more was that she didn’t. She’d dreamed about it.

A debit paid by passion 3

The morning after her second night in Bastian’s world tasted like smoke and silk. Marielle woke to find the red sheets tangled around her ankles, her thighs still slick with the evidence of everything he’d taken from her. Her wrists ached from the rope. Her voice was hoarse from moaning, begging, crying out his name until it didn’t feel like hers anymore. She should have felt used. Humiliated. Shattered. But she didn’t. Not even close. What she felt instead was shameful in its own right—need.She wanted more.She pulled herself upright, knees wobbling as she stood. The suite was quiet. The city pulsed far below the glass wall, indifferent to her collapse. On the nightstand was a small silver plate. A cup of dark coffee. A folded note.One more night.One more choice.After tonight, you leave on your knees or stay on them.Be ready.Her fingers trembled. The words weren’t signed, but they didn’t need to be.She drank the coffee. Bitter. Strong. Just like him.Then she showered. Scrubbe

Breastfeeding my husband 1

Tasha noticed it while folding laundry. The faint dampness on her bra, the darker spots on the fabric. At first, she thought it was sweat. It was summer, and the old AC unit in the hallway barely pushed enough cold air to cool a single room. But when she changed into a fresh bra and pulled it off again hours later, she saw the stain again. A cloudy, pale dot right where her nipple had been. Her stomach tightened. She pressed her fingers gently against her left breast. Soreness. Fullness. Heat. She rolled her nipple between two fingers, uncertain and confused—and gasped when a warm drop welled up and clung to her skin before sliding down.Milk.She stood in the bathroom, stunned. Her heartbeat kicked up, confused and a little afraid. No baby. No pregnancy. No IVF treatment in nearly nine months. She hadn’t even had her period regularly anymore, her body a wreck from the hormones, the depression, the silent grief she’d carried like a second womb. This made no sense. Her breasts had alwa

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