All Chapters of Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Chapter 261 - Chapter 270

Mara woke before dawn, heart already racing. She lay in the cabin’s silence, staring at the ceiling beams, every muscle taut with a decision she hadn’t yet put into words.The second watcher had given her everything the first one hadn’t: space. Soft blankets. Real food. Freedom to walk outside. But space wasn’t freedom. It was another kind of leash — a leash that made her start to believe she’d chosen it herself.Last night, when he’d crouched in front of her and promised not to touch her, she’d felt the leash tighten. Not through force, but through anticipation. Through gratitude.She was done waiting.This morning, she would start to take something back.She dressed quietly — jeans, a sweater, hair pulled back. No perfume, no makeup. She needed to look small, contained, unthreatening. Her armor would be invisibility.The cabin was still. He was out on the porch, she could see his silhouette through the glass wall, a dark shape against the misty forest. Mug of coffee in one hand, his

The morning sun filtered through the cabin’s curtains, painting the room gold.Mara lay rigid in the bed, his arm heavy around her waist, his breath warm against her neck. Her body still throbbed with the echoes of last night, a betrayal she couldn’t scrub away no matter how tightly she clenched her fists in the sheets.He had touched her like she mattered. He had made her tremble, made her cry out, made her come.And that was worse than the first watcher’s cruelty. So much worse.Because she hadn’t wanted it. Not truly. And yet her body had responded like it did.That was his trap. Not chains, not bruises, not screams. But gentleness. Convincing her that she might actually want to stay.Mara closed her eyes. Her decision crystallized with the clarity of ice. She would rather die in the woods than let herself be tamed.Today, she would run.She moved with care, inch by inch, sliding his arm off her waist. His breathing stayed deep, steady. She slipped from the bed, bare feet hitting t

Mara woke to the smell of coffee.For a moment she thought she was home. The window light was soft, the sheets warm. Her muscles ached like she’d run a marathon, her skin still stung where the belt had struck, but there was no leather strap on her wrist anymore.She sat up slowly. On the chair across from the bed sat a neatly folded pile of clothes — a plain grey dress, soft cotton underwear. Next to it, a tray of food: oatmeal, toast, water.And a note, written in blocky handwriting: Eat. Shower. Dress. Sit on the floor by the window. Wait.Her stomach turned. Not just at the order, but at the fact that she wanted to obey it. Her body was starved and aching; the food looked like salvation. She hated herself for the flicker of relief.She forced herself to stand, her legs trembling. She glanced at the door. Locked. She wasn’t surprised.She showered. Not because he told her to, she told herself, but because she felt dirty. Because she wanted to wash him off her skin. The water ran pi

Mara didn’t sleep that night.Even when the first Watcher finally relented and left her in the locked bedroom again, the tension in her chest wouldn’t let her. The memory of the second one’s fingers grazing her throat, the low challenge in his voice as he mocked the first — it all pulsed through her like a poison.Two men. Both predators. Both dangerous. But not aligned.That was her opening.She couldn’t fight them head-on, not yet. She couldn’t overpower their bodies. But she could work on their minds. And minds, she realized grimly, were often weaker than flesh.By morning, she had her plan.When the first Watcher came to unlock her door, carrying a tray with toast and boiled eggs, Mara was already sitting on the bed, hands folded neatly in her lap, hair brushed smooth.His gaze swept her, assessing. “You’re ready.”“Yes,” she said softly. She lifted her eyes to him — not with defiance, but with just enough hesitation to make her seem small, pliable. “I… I thought about what you sa

The storm hadn’t broken yet, but the air in the cabin was heavy with it.Mara could taste the violence, thick as iron on her tongue.The first Watcher had been pacing the length of the hall all evening, his knife never leaving his hand. Every creak of the floorboards outside, every gust of wind against the shutters had his head snapping toward the window like a beast scenting blood.Mara sat curled on the edge of the bed, knees to her chest, silent. Watching him was like watching a wire pulled too tight — inevitable, waiting only for the snap.It came just past midnight.A sound outside: deliberate, heavy boots on wet soil. Not stealthy. Not a mistake. A declaration.The first Watcher froze, knife clenched, his whole body going taut. His eyes flicked to Mara, then to the door.“Stay here.”The words were gravel, dragged out of his throat. Then he moved, quick and silent, vanishing into the storm.Mara’s breath hitched. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She crawled to the window, par