All Chapters of Raw Pleasures: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Bella’s POVIt was my twenty-fifth birthday, and instead of cake and candles, I wanted sin.Not flowers, not dinner, not some boyfriend holding my hand while we pretended monogamy made life worth living. No. Tonight was mine. A night to finally cross one reckless thing off my bucket list.On page twenty-three of that secret, leather notebook under my bed, in messy handwriting I would die before letting anyone else see, the words were underlined twice:One night. No names. No strings. A stranger. Complete submission.I had always wondered what it would feel like to let go, to stop controlling everything, stop worrying about what was “appropriate,” stop biting back the filthy little thoughts that lived in the shadows of my mind. I wanted a man to take me, use me, and own me, at least once. Just one night where I didn’t have to think.And maybe it was the two bourbons I had already swallowed, maybe it was the silk cling of my dress against my thighs, or maybe it was the fact that I was f

Charlotte’s POVThe office corridors were quiet, emptied of their usual chaos, when I saw Marcus waiting by the elevators. The low light glinted off his broad frame, his suit jacket slung carelessly over one arm, his tie loosened as if the rules of the day no longer applied. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I approached, my chest tightening under the weight of his gaze. By the time the elevator doors slid open, I knew stepping inside with him was a mistake—one I was already desperate to make.It hadn’t started tonight.Hours earlier, in the boardroom, he had leaned over me to point something out on a report. His hand brushed mine—accidental, but heavy, deliberate in the way it lingered. The scent of his cologne had filled my head, the heat of his body dangerously close. I remembered the way his voice dropped, the ghost of a smirk when he caught me shifting in my seat. Ever since, my pulse had been racing, my skin too tight, my thoughts a mess of what-ifs I couldn’t control

Charlotte’s POVWithout warning, he thrust back inside me, brutal and deep, the force jolting me forward against the car. His other hand slid down my spine, gripping my ass tight as he pounded into me, the wet sounds obscene in the empty lot.“Do you hear that?” he growled, snapping his hips harder. “That sloppy noise? That’s you—soaking my cock, begging for more.”The bonnet groaned under me as Marcus slammed inside, every thrust jarring through my body, but he wasn’t satisfied with just fucking me. His hand snaked up again, wrapping around my throat, tilting my head back so I was forced to look up at him.“You see where we are, slut?” he growled, his hips never slowing, every word punctuated with a brutal thrust. “Anyone could walk in right now—the guard, a stranger, anyone—and they’d find you spread out, dripping, begging for cock like the filthy whore you are.”His words hit me harder than his thrusts, shame and heat tangling together until I was moaning louder, clenching tighter

SOPHIE’S POVI couldn’t focus the next day. My notebook was open, pen in hand, but the only thing I wrote was his drawer. Those toys. The straps. The vibrator. All locked away, waiting for someone brave—or stupid—enough to ask for them.Me.Professor Hale’s voice was deep, steady, cutting through the lecture like a blade, but all I heard was the way he’d told me: Tomorrow, you’ll come back.By the time the class ended, my legs felt weak. Students shuffled out, laughter echoing in the hall. I stayed in my seat, waiting. My heart thumped like it wanted to crack my ribs.And then—I walked to his office, shut the door behind meWhen I turned, he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, those dark eyes pinning me in place.“You came back,” he said.I swallowed hard. “You told me to.”“No.” His head tilted slightly, the faintest curl tugging his lips. “I told you to come back knowing what you were asking for. So, Sophie…” His gaze dropped over me, lingering at my chest, my thighs. “Do y

HENRY’S POVI had been warned. The east wing of the library was not for students, not for the curious, not for anyone without the stern librarian’s express permission. Yet the warnings worked on me like a charm, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.That evening, when the halls were near empty and the lamps burned low, I found myself before the iron-gated door marked Restricted. The metal gleamed like something freshly sharpened. My heart hammered as if I were about to commit a crime—not theft, not violence, but something stranger. Something intimate.The gate was not locked. That was the first shock. The second was the smell when I pushed it open: a mingling of leather, dust, candlewax, and something darker, sweeter, like incense from a half-forgotten temple. The air was heavier here, pressing against my skin, making each step feel weighted with meaning.Shelves stretched upward into shadow. Not just books—cases, cabinets, drawers with brass handles. Some were chained shut, o