All Chapters of Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The mansion was quiet, drenched in the soft aftermath of the weekend storm. Outside, the rain had faded to a gentle drizzle, the waves lapping lazily against the shore. But inside, the storm between Ivy and Jace hadn’t softened—it had only settled into a simmering, undeniable heat that neither of them could ignore.Ivy wondered if things would ever go back to being what they were before she and Jace... When her mother got back, what were they going to do? She didn't want to think that. When they got to that bridge, they would know how to cross it. She lingered in the doorway of the master bedroom, wrapped in a towel, damp hair clinging to her skin. She had tried to be normal, to pretend the tension wasn’t there, but she could feel it—thick, potent, rolling between them like a tide that refused to recede.Jace was leaning against the dresser, shirt open, tattoos dark in the soft morning light, and eyes smoldering with a mixture of desire and something raw—something that made Ivy’s kne

The sun had fully broken through the clouds, casting golden light across the beachside mansion. Outside, the ocean shimmered, calm now, a gentle breeze carrying the salty tang of the sea. Inside, however, the air was thick with heat, laughter, and the lingering tension of two bodies that hadn’t let up since the storm had passed.Ivy leaned against the kitchen counter, hair damp from a quick shower, towel still loosely wrapped around her. She smiled as she watched Jace pacing the room, bare-chested, tattoos glinting in the sunlight. His dark eyes never left her, full of playful hunger, that same dangerous intensity she had learned to crave.“You’re watching me,” he said, voice low, teasing, as he leaned casually against the doorway, one hip cocked.“I…” Ivy bit her lip, pretending to look away. “I was… um… making sure you weren’t planning anything?”He smirked, that cocky, infuriating grin that made her pulse spike. “Oh, I definitely have plans,” he murmured, stepping toward her. His f

The house was too quiet.Caroline Hart had once considered silence a luxury. The Hart estate sat on five acres of land, surrounded by high stone walls and the shelter of ancient oaks. Its corridors were long, its ceilings high, its corners shadowed with history. Silence meant peace. Silence meant control.Now, silence felt like suffocation.It was the silence of a held breath, waiting to be broken. The kind that made her pulse beat louder in her ears, the kind that reminded her of the coffin thudding into the earth the day before. The estate no longer belonged to her grief—it belonged to something prowling just beyond the edge of her composure.Nathaniel Hayes.He had been back in the house for less than twelve hours, and already the walls felt smaller. The air warmer. The polished wood floors seemed to creak louder beneath her slippers, as though even the house itself had grown nervous. He had returned unapologetically, uninvited, and worst of all—completely unafraid of her.Caroline

Caroline didn’t sleep.The house was too still, too full of ghosts. Every tick of the old clock pressed into her chest like a nail. She lay in the wide, empty bed, staring up at the dark beams overhead, her thin nightgown plastered to her skin by sweat. Rain whispered against the farmhouse windows, soft and steady, but nothing inside her felt calm. Her body burned, her thoughts chased themselves into knots.Nathaniel’s kiss haunted her.The way his lips claimed hers, bold and unashamed. The heat of his breath when he leaned too close. That terrible, dangerous hunger she’d felt radiating from him—so alive compared to the hollow ache she’d been carrying for months. He had dared her to admit what she felt. She had nearly crumbled.She’d never been touched like that before.Not even by her late husband.The realization carved shame into her bones. She had mourned her husband faithfully. She had worn her widowhood like armor. And yet in the empty places grief left behind, something darker

The morning after should have been awkward.Instead, it was worse.It was empty.Caroline woke in a bed that still held the heat of Nathaniel’s body, the sheets tangled and damp with the evidence of what they’d done. But he was gone. No note. No voice. No whisper of regret or reassurance. Just the distant hum of morning birdsong and the too-loud tick of the antique clock above the fireplace.Her body reminded her of him with every small movement—the ache between her thighs, the bruising weight in her hips, the ghost of his breath still clinging to her neck. But where her body hummed, her chest felt hollow.She sat up slowly, hugging the sheet to her chest even though no one was there to see. For a moment she let herself imagine he’d return—carrying a tray, coffee in one hand, that crooked half-smile he only ever showed when he let his guard down. But the silence stretched too long, and the fantasy cracked.When she finally dressed, her hands moved mechanically: stockings, blouse, skir