The Hockey’s Plaything(Erotic Short Stories) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 80

Lila swore to herself, lying awake that night, that she would never let it happen again.She replayed every second of the frantic, stolen moment with Ethan, the raw way he’d taken her against the wall, the way his mouth had claimed hers like it was the only thing keeping him alive. It had been madness. Reckless. If Claire had walked in even thirty seconds earlier, it would have destroyed everything.It has to stop, she told herself.But by morning, one look at Ethan unraveled her resolve.He was standing in the kitchen, hair damp from the shower, laughing at something Claire said. His smile, so warm and easy in that moment, made Lila’s stomach twist. She couldn’t reconcile this version of him, the devoted husband, the perfect brother-in-law with the man who had been inside her hours ago, whispering filthy words against her skin.And then his gaze slid to hers, just for an instant, dark and knowing. A silent reminder of what they shared.Lila’s breath caught. She looked away quickly,

The sky was pale and heavy when Isabel pulled into the long driveway, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. The house was beautiful, bigger than anything she’d ever lived in, its wide windows glowing warm against the chill of the afternoon. She parked, cutting the engine, and sat for a moment, willing herself to breathe. This was the right thing to do. She repeated the words like a prayer, even as her stomach churned. When she finally stepped out, the cold air bit at her cheeks. Before she could knock, the front door flew open and a woman rushed out. Hannah. Her smile was bright, almost blinding, her arms already outstretched. “You must be Isabel,” she said, voice thick with emotion. She pulled Isabel into a hug that was tight and warm, smelling faintly of vanilla and lavender. “Thank you. Thank you so much for doing this for us.” Isabel hugged her back, awkwardly at first, then with more certainty. “Of course,” she murmured, even though her throat felt tight. When they

One evening, Hannah cooked a beautiful meal, filling the table with candles and laughter. Isabel sat across from her, trying to eat, trying to act normal. Liam sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his thigh against hers.Halfway through dinner, his hand slid under the table. Isabel’s breath caught as his palm settled high on her thigh, hidden beneath the fabric of her dress.Her fork stilled.Hannah laughed at something and never noticed.Isabel bit her lip, fighting a whimper as Liam’s fingers stroked her slowly, possessively. The thrill and the terror tangled inside her until her vision blurred. She nearly cried at the table, sitting there with Hannah smiling across from her, oblivious to the filthy secret simmering beneath the surface.Later that night, Hannah casually asked if Isabel was feeling all right. “You’ve been so quiet lately,” she said, her tone gentle, concerned.Isabel stammered, a shaky smile. “Just tired. Hormones, you know.”Hannah accepted t

Chloe’s lips parted, a silent answer forming, but no sound came out. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, her pulse racing so fast it made her dizzy.The thought of him between her legs made her nipples hard and her pussy clench. Mr. Cole’s eyes followed the motion, dark and unblinking. For a long, charged moment, he didn’t move. Then his jaw clenched, and a guttural sound escaped him.“God, Chloe…” His voice was ragged, trembling with restraint. “Do you even realize what you do to me?”She swallowed, throat tight. “I….”“No.” He cut her off sharply, stepping closer, so close that the heat radiating from his body brushed against her skin. “Don’t speak. Just… let me look at you.”Her breath caught as his gaze dropped, no longer subtle, no longer restrained. It was raw, hungry, devouring her inch by inch. But when his eyes reached her chest, they stopped. His breath hitched, sharp and uneven, as if seeing her this way for the first time.Chloe’s heart slammed against her

I sat up slowly, clutching the blanket to my chest. It took me a moment to remember where I was, to remember why I was here. Mom was gone. The thought sliced through me like a knife all over again. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the grief didn’t fade. It lingered, heavy and suffocating, like the walls of this house. The clock on the nightstand ticked softly. Almost nine. I slipped out of bed and padded to the window. From here, I could see the sprawling gardens below, trimmed to perfection. The fountain glimmered in the early light, its steady trickle the only sound breaking the morning stillness. It was beautiful… but it felt like a painting, something untouchable and cold. There was no warmth here. No laughter. No life. A soft knock at the door startled me. “Yes?” I called, hastily smoothing my hair. The door opened, and Mrs. Whitmore, the housekeeper, peeked in. She was a small, stern woman with sharp eyes that missed nothing. “Good morning, Miss Isla,” she said in