Semua Bab Raw Pleasures: Bab 121 - Bab 130

The shimmering energy field was the only thing separating them. Kaelen could feel its hum in his teeth, a vibration that promised incineration should he take one step further. Yet, the true danger was not the field; it was the woman standing serenely on the other side. Lyra’s amethyst eyes held his, and in their depths, he saw the swirling nebula from his dream.“The silence was a cage for us both, Warden. Shall we break it?”Her voice in his mind was not a sound, but a sensation, a cool, intelligent touch tracing the contours of his thoughts. He had no defense against it.“How?” The word was a dry rasp from his throat, a pathetic thing compared to the symphony in his head.“You already are,” she replied. A ghost of a smile touched her lips, the first human expression he had seen on her. It transformed her from an icon into a woman of devastating beauty. “You crossed the threshold. You acknowledged the bloom. Your control is a suit you are already unzipping.”She took another step clo

THIRD PERSON POVThe rain fell on London in a relentless, grey sheet. It was the kind of weather that made the city feel like a sprawling, waterlogged grave. Elias Thorne hunched his shoulders against the chill, his worn leather satchel held tight to his chest. He was late. The exclusive auction at "Obscura," a gallery known for its collection of the macabre and the arcane, was due to start in minutes, and the item he was sent to acquire was the final lot.He pushed through the heavy, black-lacquered door, the sound of the downpour replaced by the hushed, reverent murmur of the wealthy and the curious. The air was thick with the scent of old money, beeswax polish, and something else… something metallic and sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike.He found a seat at the back, his damp coat clinging unpleasantly to his skin. He was out of place here, a scholar amidst predators. His employer, a reclusive collector of esoteric artifacts, had entrusted him with a single, simple task: wi

THIRD PERSON POVThe next thirty-six hours were a blur of intense, focused training. Julianna was a ruthless instructor, and her subject was not just the heist, but Elias himself.She drilled him on the layout of Cavendish’s estate, using blueprints she produced as if by magic. She tested him on the specifics of the safe’s model, a classic Langdon-Hamilton from the 1920s, until he could recite its mechanical vulnerabilities in his sleep. But the physical and psychological conditioning was far more profound.He remained in the stark, modern house, never leaving, never putting his own clothes back on. He wore only the soft, black trousers she provided, a constant reminder of his new, simplified existence. She taught him to kneel by her chair while she ate, feeding him morsels from her plate as a reward for correct answers. She would stroke his hair absently, and the simple contact would send a shiver of pure devotion through him. The boundaries between manipulation, care, and ownership

THIRD PERSON POVThe storm inside Liam had only just begun.Waking in the grey, storm-lashed light of dawn, he was immediately, acutely aware of two things. The first was the profound silence; the tempest had exhausted itself, leaving a world washed clean and unnervingly quiet. The second was the warm weight of Isabelle’s arm draped possessively across his chest, her back nestled against his side, her breathing deep and even.He didn’t move. He barely breathed. The memory of the night was a fever dream—her mouth on his, the whispered command in his ear, the devastating permission in her touch. He had shattered for her, completely and utterly, and in the cold light of day, the pieces of himself felt scattered, exposed. Shame warred with a deep, thrumming satisfaction. He had given in. He had said yes. And it had felt like coming home.Her fingers stirred against his skin, tracing a slow, absent circle over his heart. He shuddered.“You’re thinking too loud,” her voice was sleep-roughen

THIRD PERSON POVThe bass from the sound system was a physical thing, a throbbing pulse that vibrated through the floorboards and up into Leo’s spine. He was leaning against a wall, a cool bottle of beer in his hand, watching the sea of undulating bodies in his friend’s overcrowded apartment. He hated these things, the forced merriment, the shouted conversations over music no one truly liked. He was about to make his excuses and leave when he saw her.She was across the room, not dancing but talking animatedly with a small group. She wasn't shouting; she was leaning in, her expressions doing most of the work. A laugh escaped her, a sound that cut through the monotonous thrum of the music like a clear bell. It was genuine, unforced. She tucked a strand of dark, curly hair behind her ear, and the simple gesture held a grace that captivated him. She was wearing a simple emerald green dress that contrasted beautifully with her warm skin tone, and when she moved, the fabric hinted at the c