All Chapters of Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Chapter 321 - Chapter 330

The cuffs didn’t come off that night.Or the next.He kept her bound, wrists chained high above her head, ankles tethered to the frame of the bed. She was spread, displayed, her body aching from tension, her skin raw where the leather dug into her. He fed her only when he wanted to, touched her only when he pleased.And always, always, he left her wanting.Orgasm after orgasm denied, her body trembled on the edge of madness. Every brush of his fingers, every thrust of his tongue, every cruel pause of his cock pressed against her but not inside her—it all fed into a singular torment.“You think you’ve won me,” he murmured one night, standing over her, shirt unbuttoned, belt hanging loose in his hand. “But all you’ve done is awaken the part of me I tried to bury.”Her lips were cracked from thirst, her throat raw from moans and screams. But her smile was still there, faint and dangerous. “Good,” she rasped. “I like what I’ve woken.”His jaw clenched, fury flashing in his eyes. The belt

The house had grown quiet in the years since Ethan married Marissa.Not the cold kind of quiet that comes from indifference, but the weary quiet of two people who had stopped expecting surprises from one another. The laughter that used to echo through the hallways had been replaced with the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sigh of routine.Ethan didn’t mind it—at least, he told himself he didn’t. He loved Marissa in that steady, dutiful way a man loves a woman who has built her life around him. She was gentle, predictable, and kind. But there were days he caught himself missing something unnamed, a pulse of life that used to thrum beneath the ordinary.That pulse returned the day Clara moved in.She was Marissa’s younger sister by six years, a whirlwind in a house built for calm. She arrived with boxes full of clothes, a scent of something citrus and daring, and a confidence that seemed to make the walls lean closer. “Just until I find my own place,” she had said, flashi

Morning light spilled across the kitchen, thin and cold.Ethan sat at the table with his hands wrapped around a mug that had long gone cold, watching the world through the window as if it might somehow explain him. The guilt in his chest was a living thing now — heavy, breathing, and unwilling to let him rest.Clara hadn’t come down yet. The house was too still, the way it is after a storm when nothing has returned to normal. He’d spent most of the night awake, listening to the rain taper off, to his own thoughts circling back to the same useless questions.What had he done?The sound of soft footsteps broke through the quiet. Clara appeared in the doorway, her hair still damp from a shower, a faint trace of nervousness in her smile. She hesitated before speaking.“Marissa texted,” she said. “She’s on her way back.”Ethan nodded. “Good.”It was all he could say without his voice cracking.Clara lingered, looking at him like she was trying to read his thoughts. “You’re angry with me.”

The house was quieter now.It had been months since that night—the one that ended everything—and yet Ethan still found himself waking before dawn, expecting to hear the faint clatter of Clara’s footsteps in the kitchen, or the soft hum of his wife’s voice drifting from their bedroom. Silence had replaced both. It wasn’t the silence of peace, but of ruin—thick, heavy, and honest.He lived alone now. The walls still smelled faintly of rosemary and lemon, remnants of the cleaning products she’d favored, and sometimes, if he let his mind wander too long, he could almost imagine that she was still here, moving behind him, brushing her hand against his shoulder the way she used to when she passed.But she wasn’t. None of them were.After the truth came out, it had been chaos. His wife had not screamed—she had simply stared at them, her face breaking in slow motion. The quiet horror in her eyes had been worse than any storm of anger could have been. Clara, trembling, had tried to speak, to e

Clara barely slept.The note burned through her dreams, the words Good girl echoing inside her skull like a whisper pressed against her ear. When she did drift into sleep, she woke gasping, her sheets tangled around her bare legs, her body hot and aching.She told herself she wouldn’t do it. She told herself it was madness to listen, that it was probably some elaborate prank, maybe even something dangerous. But when she stood before her closet that morning, staring at her clothes, her pulse thrummed with a shameful, intoxicating heat.The command was clear: nothing under the dress.She chose a simple navy shift, professional enough for work, modest at first glance. But as she slid it over her bare skin, her nipples peaked against the fabric, betraying her. Her thighs clenched as she felt the cool brush of the hem against bare flesh, no silk, no cotton between her and the world.Her reflection startled her. She looked… brighter somehow. Alive.By the time she left her apartment, her sk