บททั้งหมดของ Raw Pleasures: บทที่ 141 - บทที่ 150

THIRD PERSON POVThe bell for seventh period felt like a pardon. Chloe gathered her books, the words of her teachers a distant buzz drowned out by the memory of her mother’s devastated face. The walk home was slow, heavy with the weight of the silent treatment that had stretched through the morning. She pushed the front door open, bracing for the chill.The house was empty. A note on the kitchen counter, written in her mother’s sharp, efficient script, read: Had to cover an extra shift. There’s lasagna in the fridge. We will talk tonight.Chloe let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. A temporary reprieve. She dropped her backpack and wandered to the living room window, looking for any sign of life that wasn’t steeped in her own guilt.And then she saw him.Liam was in his driveway, washing his motorcycle. The afternoon sun glinted off the chrome and the damp patches on his grey t-shirt. He moved with a focused, easy grace, circling the machine, running a soapy sponge o

SOFIA’s povI walk towards him, my heels clicking on the polished floor. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. But my breath catches in my throat when he reaches out and takes my hand, his fingers warm against my skin."Never," he murmurs, pulling me closer. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, the raw power that surrounds him like an aura. I know I should be afraid, but all I feel is a primal desire that I've never experienced before.He cups my face with his other hand, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. I part my lips instinctively, a soft moan escaping me. His eyes darken with lust, and I can feel my own arousal building, a warmth spreading between my thighs."Sofia," he breathes, and I know he can see the desire reflected in my eyes. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "I want to taste you," he whispers, his voice low and rough with need. "I want to bury my face between your thighs and lick every inch of your

THIRD PERSON POVWhen we reached my apartment building, the chauffeur got out to open my door again.“Mr. Valez asked me to remind you that you don’t owe him anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “He just wants you to be comfortable.”That last word made me smile for some reason. Comfortable. I didn’t know if that was what I felt.I thanked him and carried the bags upstairs, one by one. My roommate wasn’t home, thank God. I spread everything out on my bed—perfume bottles, dresses, shoes I’d never have picked for myself.The phone buzzed again.Did you enjoy yourself?I typed, Yes. It was too much.Then deleted it. Wrote, Thank you.Deleted that too.Finally I just sent, Yes.Three dots appeared, then disappeared. He was typing, then stopped. My chest felt heavy.After a minute another message came through.Good. You’ll need something to wear tonight.I stared at the screen. Tonight?Before I could ask, another message popped up.A car will come for you at eight.Evening came f

Third person pov. The tension in the manor shifted. The arguments didn't cease, but they became debates. The silence was no longer cold, but contemplative. Elara found herself seeking Cassian’s opinion, and he, in turn, began to listen to her intuition. They fell into a rhythm, their contrasting styles creating a surprisingly effective synergy. The Foundation’s projects began to flourish, blending her compassionate vision with his strategic acumen.Late one night, they found themselves in the library again, not arguing, but talking. The fire cast dancing shadows across his face, softening its sharp lines.“You never said how you knew my grandfather,” Elara ventured, sipping a glass of wine.Cassian swirled the amber liquid in his own glass. “He found me. I was a seventeen-year-old kid with a knack for coding, living in a group home. He funded my education, became my mentor. He was… the closest thing I had to a father.”The confession was quiet, stark. It explained his loyalty, his fi

THIRD PERSON POVThe vodka burned a path through the cold numbness inside Imogen. The world had taken on a fuzzy, pulsating edge, the music thudding in time with her aching heart. She scanned the crowded club, her gaze blurring until it snagged on a man leaning against the far end of the bar. He was tall, with a sharp, defined jawline and dark eyes that were watching the crowd with a detached amusement. He looked nothing like the fabricated 'Wilder'. He looked real, solid, and dangerously appealing.A fresh wave of bitter defiance washed over her. Fine. If reality was going to be ugly, she would grab it by the throat.Stumbling slightly on her heels, she closed the distance between them, planting her hands on the bar on either side of him, caging him in. The scent of his cologne, something dark and smoky, cut through the smell of stale beer.He raised an eyebrow, looking down at her with a mix of surprise and curiosity.Imogen leaned in, her words slurring slightly, but her intent cle