Todos os capítulos de Sinful Seduction (Exotica Collection): Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 60

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

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

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

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.

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