All Chapters of WET DREAMS:A STEAMY COMPILATION: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

Harden’s POVShe kissed me.No warning. No hesitation.Not soft. Not careful. Needy—like every nerve in my body had been standing on edge, waiting for this exact second without my permission. The room vanished. The hospital walls? Gone. The pain? Forgotten. Reality? Politely dismissed.I grabbed her face on instinct, like if I didn’t anchor her there she’d evaporate. Her skin was warm under my hands, her breath tangled with mine, and even with my busted leg, I felt her press closer like she wanted more. Like she needed more.The kiss broke for half a heartbeat—just enough air to exist——and I went right back in.“Are you hurt?” she whispered, lips brushing mine, voice soft but worried.“I’ll live,” I said, rough and honest. “But you?” I added, smiling against her mouth. “You’re dangerous.”She laughed quietly, the sound snapping through me like a spark. “You’re talking like you’ve known me forever.”“Maybe I have,” I said, thumb tracing her cheek. “In another life. Or another overtime

'Yeah,' I admitted low, my voice shaky.'Do you want me to stop?'Hell no! We'd come this far; I wanted all of him, pain and all. 'Nope,' I said softly, shaking my head.He lifted my chin gently, his thumb brushing away the tear track on my cheek. The touch was so tender it made my chest ache in a good way. 'Tell me when you want to keep going,' he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, all softness now.I nodded and rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. It calmed me, like a lullaby. His hand stroked my hair, fingers threading through the strands slow and soothing.He waited patient, not pushing. Minutes dragged on, the sharp sting in my pussy easing into a warm throb. The pain mixed with something new—pleasure starting to bloom, tentative but real.I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. They were dark with need, but patient. I shifted my hips slow, testing. A soft gasp parted my lips as sensation sparked through me. My blood heated up, body waking to h

Luna’s POVThe warehouse stank of old motor oil and rust, the kind of smell that clung to my skin and never quite washed out.I bent down just behind a rotting stack of pallets. My heart was beating slow and steady— just the way that it was supposed to even you were one wrong breath from dying.The wire that was taped right between my breasts picked up every low curse in Italian. Every scrape of crate against the concrete floor.Eleven months of this life—smiling while hands grazed my thigh, laughing at jokes that turned my stomach, pretending I didn’t dream of putting bullets through every Russo skull in that room.That night, it ended.The wire glitched.One heartbeat of static—sharp, ugly—and six heads whipped toward me like dogs scenting fresh meat.“She’s a fucking fed!”The words ripped the air open. Everything exploded.I was already moving. Glock up, I put two rounds into the closest guard’s shoulder—red bloomed across his white shirt. I spun, drove my boot into the next man’s

Luna’s POVAfter what that bastard has promised me I still slept in the basement.The whole night i stayed chained to that chair. My bra was was off and cold air kept on hitting my nipples, making it even harder.My whole body hurt.Hurt so bad that it reminded me of how much pain that they had caused me six year ago.I lowered my head to sniff my body and I almost threw up. I smelled like blood and sweat and fear. When it was finally morning again, the door opened.Dante walked in with two of his men. He stopped them at the door and took a piece of cloth that one of them was holding. He walked up to me and he covered me up.He leaned in and whispered. “You should thank me for respecting your dignity.”He didn’t even wait for me to respond, he straightened and motioned for the two guards to come over.They didn’t say anything. They just walked over and cut the chains from the chair. Grabbed my arms and pulled me up. My wrists were still cuffed behind my back. They dragged me down the

Dante’s POVI never planned to care.She was supposed to be just a tool. A federal agent I would dismantle piece by piece—use her body, mine her secrets, then discard what remained when she stopped being useful. That was the plan. Clean. Merciless. Familiar.But plans have a way of rotting when you let someone sleep in your bed night after night.The first time I noticed the change was small, almost innocent. I had caught myself watching her while she was sleeping.She was still chained to the wrought iron headboard. Her wrists were raw from the padded cuffs that I had changed into because the metal one that was holding her before were already leaving some bruises on her that I did not like seeing. Her breathing was really slow. Measured.Each inhale lifted her breasts just enough to draw my eye. A tiny crease lived permanently between her brows, even in sleep, like her dreams were interrogations too.I hated how much detail I retained. The exact shade of her lashes. The faint freckle