Todos os capítulos de Dirty and Sinful Collection (erotica) : Capítulo 271 - Capítulo 280

9Eva.I felt it the moment I walked into the office—the chill in the air, the way people looked away from me just a little too quickly, the silence that was suddenly everywhere. Lila didn’t meet my eyes when she handed me the morning’s files. Mel was talking in hushed whispers by the water cooler, glancing in my direction every few minutes. I felt raw, exposed, like my skin had been stripped away and I was nothing but nerves.When I saw Julian’s office door closed—blinds drawn, phone light blinking—I knew it had happened. I didn’t need to hear the words. His wife knew. Not just in the abstract, not just as a suspicion, but truly, finally, knew. I wondered if she’d screamed. If she’d cried. If she’d thrown things at him or just stood there, icy calm, like she always seemed.I spent most of the day waiting. My phone was silent. Julian didn’t call me in. I tried to focus, but every line of text blurred together, every email turned to gibberish. Around noon, I heard shouting from his offi

1Maya.There were noises, like heavy boxes thumping against the wall, then a muffled curse slipped under my door. I was in my apartment, bare feet curled on the couch, pretending to watch some mindless Netflix show I’d already seen a hundred times. But the moment I heard the elevator doors groan and the shuffle of feet in the hallway, my attention shifted. I turned the volume down, barely breathing. It was after midnight. Nobody moved in at midnight. Nobody except the man I’d watched from my peephole for the last three nights, always after dark, always alone.I was obsessed before I even knew his name.I crept to my front door, quiet as a thief, and pressed my eye to the peephole. The hallway lights flickered, stuttering shadows along the painted walls. And there he was—broad shoulders, a box balanced on one hip, skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. No shirt. Just low-slung jeans, a pair of battered sneakers, and enough muscle to make my breath catch. He pushed a hand through dark hai

3Maya.I should have been working. Or cleaning. Or doing something to distract myself from the growing ache between my legs and the memory of Caleb’s hands, his mouth, his voice. But all I could do was sit by the window, knees pulled to my chest, peeking through the thin curtain at the apartment across from mine.Caleb’s blinds were open—on purpose, I liked to think. I could see his shadow moving around his living room, tall and confident and unhurried. I caught myself holding my breath every time he paused, every time he turned and the light hit his bare chest or the curve of his hips.I wanted him to see me watching. God, I wanted him to look up and catch me, to know how badly I ached for him even when he wasn’t touching me. I wanted to know if he ever thought of me when I wasn’t there, if he ever imagined me moaning for him, spread out on my bed, wet and desperate and alone.He must have felt it—that electricity crackling between us, even through glass and silence and the stretch

5Maya.I was never the girl who bought lingerie for anyone but myself. I always told myself it was about confidence, that I liked the feeling of silk and lace against my skin, that I could seduce the world if I really wanted to. But tonight, everything felt different. Tonight, the world had narrowed to one window, one set of eyes, one man who already owned me in ways I hadn’t even realized I craved.The apartment was quiet. The clock blinked past midnight. I stood in front of my full-length mirror, breathless, heart pounding. I’d chosen the black set of a tiny scrap of lace and mesh, bra barely containing my breasts, panties cut high, a garter belt I’d never worn for anyone else. My skin glowed in the soft lamplight, flushed from anticipation. I wondered if he was watching already, if he knew I’d dressed up for him. I wondered if he could feel the way I ached, the way every inch of me buzzed with need.I moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough for him to see. The ci

7Maya.I don’t know if I did it for the thrill or just because I could. Maybe both. Caleb had become my addiction, my midnight craving, the only thing that mattered. I thought about him constantly, every hour of the day. Even when I tried to focus on work, his name lingered in my head like a broken record, every nerve in my body tuned to the possibility of seeing him, hearing him, touching him again.His door was always locked, except tonight. I told myself he left it open by accident, but some part of me knew better. Some part of me wondered if he was waiting, hoping, daring me to cross a line I hadn’t crossed before. And I was ready to leap. It was late, the hallway humming with the quiet of sleeping neighbors, and when I turned the handle, my pulse spiked at the satisfying click of the door swinging open beneath my palm.Inside, the lights were low and golden. The apartment smelled like him: spice, sweat, clean soap… and… well, sex. The sound of water running reached my ears from t