Semua Bab Dirty and Sinful Collection (erotica) : Bab 151 - Bab 160

5I took a sip of my early morning coffee and spat it back into the sink immediately and blinking at the mug like it was the one with the problem. The coffee had tasted bitter and acidic, like I had licked a rusted pipe.It was the same coffee making ritual that I had followed for the past three years, and yet the taste made me want to throw up so bad.My reflection in the microwave stared back, looking unimpressed. There was something different about it. My face, that is. Not bad-different. Just… off, like my face had changed overnight.I rinsed my mouth and reached for the salt shaker. I poured a pinch on my palm and licked it.It tasted like… sweet.“Oh,” I muttered, blinking. “That’s new.”By day three, I could hear my neighbor sneaking a smoke on the fire escape four floors down. I could hear his lungs wheeze around every drag. I could smell the paper burn. My skin itched under my clothes, too aware of fabric and heat and wind slipping through cracks in the walls.And I was wet,

7I didn’t see the doll move. Instead I heard it. First it was the thump of porcelain on the hardwood while I was brushing my teeth. I spat toothpaste into the sink, wiped my mouth, and walked back into the living room, toothbrush still in hand like it might defend me.She was sitting on the armrest of the couch.I hadn’t left her there. I’d left her in the hallway cabinet, locked behind two doors and a dusty box of winter scarves I hadn’t touched since last February. I stared at her. She stared back.Her dress was cleaner than it had been. Much more whiter. Her black rose was gone.“You don’t need to do the theatrics,” I said, voice sounding a little too loud in the quietness of the house.She blinked.Swear to god. Her eyelids fluttered, just once, slow and mechanical, but it was enough.I dropped the toothbrush.From the shadows behind the curtains, his voice sounded. “She’s part of me, and now part of you too,” he said. I turned slowly but he didn’t manifest. It was just the voice

1I wasn’t even looking for anyone. I just wanted a book, you know, something light to kill a weekend. Something romantic, maybe, but predictable still. My love life had enough chaos, I didn’t need it in fiction, too.He was in the aisle before me, crouched near the bottom shelf and flipping through a copy of The Bell Jar. Not your typical choice for a meet-cute, but somehow it worked.I paused beside him, reaching for something. (I don’t even remember what now). He looked up. He had dark eyes, messy dark blond hair, and a five o’clock shadow that looked like it belonged in an indie film. His smile was easy, like he already knew me.“You ever read this?” he asked, holding the book up.I glanced at the cover. “Years ago. Depressing, but brilliant.”He stood up fully. God. He was tall and lean but not lanky. His whole physique felt just… right.“Yeah, I think I’m in the mood for depressing and brilliant,” he said. “I’m Jake, by the way.”“Lena,” I said, and we shook hands. His grip was

3I’d imagined Jake’s place more than once.I pictured something a little chaotic, like the kind of place that smelled like cedar and whiskey, with laundry half-folded on the couch and a guitar leaning in the corner, even if he didn’t play. He had that kind of energy. Messy-hot. Careless, but somehow put together.But when he opened the door and stepped aside to let me in, I blinked at the neatness. It had white walls, clean lines, a black leather couch, no clutter, no piles of books or forgotten mugs on the coffee table. A single framed print of some abstract shapes hung over the fireplace like a placeholder.“This is... tidy,” I said, stepping inside and unzipping my jacket.He smiled faintly and took it from me. “I like things simple.”It wasn’t cold, but I shivered anyway. Jake walked past me, barefoot in jeans and a dark gray t-shirt, sleeves hugging his arms. He looked softer tonight. Not just in clothes or tone, but in presence. The confident, cocky man who had pinned me to my c

5I started keeping a list in the Notes app on my phone. Sounds odd, I know. I didn’t start with the note because I was suspicious or anything. I just wanted to take note of the little oddities that stood out and lingered in the back of my mind long after Jake left my apartment.Like how he used to drink his coffee black, but last week asked for oat milk. Or how he once said he hated spicy food, and then devoured a plate of buffalo wings like it was nothing. He used to touch me like I was fragile, then suddenly, he was tossing me around like a ragdoll in the woods.And it wasn’t just about the sex. Sometimes it was also the energy he carried u to the room. Sometimes he was full of jokes, teasing me endlessly. Other times he was quiet and reflective, like he’d rather listen to me breathe than speak.I told myself I was overthinking, but I couldn’t help it. The inconsistencies were piling up.So I took note of the small things. Quotes, phrases. One night he said he didn’t remember what w