Semua Bab Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Bab 61 - Bab 70

The castle had a way of swallowing sound. Even Elena’s footsteps, light as they were, seemed to vanish into the red velvet silence of its halls. She didn’t know if it was enchantment or simply the weight of history pressing in on her ears, but the effect was the same—she was alone with her own breathing, her own pulse. And the knowledge that somewhere in these walls, he was listening to both. She hadn’t seen Lucien since the night before, when he’d left her trembling and wet beneath silk sheets, her blood humming from his slow, deliberate bite. But his absence wasn’t freedom; it was bait. The air in the room still held the faint trace of his scent—amber, smoke, and something sharper, metallic, like the taste of him when he fed. Elena pressed her back against the cold stone near her chamber door, as if distance and stone could dull the memory of his mouth. But it wasn’t memory she was fighting—it was need. Her body felt traitorous. It had learned the rhythm of his touch, the

It started with a paper.Julian Bkackwood wasn’t easily impressed. Ten years of lecturing, four published books, and an uncanny knack for reading subtext meant most student essays felt like recycled fragments from Wikipedia. But when he opened Amelia Reyes’ latest submission, his pen froze above the page.It was titled “Desire and Self-Destruction in Forbidden Love.”And it was dangerous.Not just because it was brilliant—sharp, lyrical, defiant—but because of the way it read. Like a confession. Or a challenge. Or a whisper aimed straight at him.Julian sat back in his leather chair, the window behind him casting grey rain-light across his office. His jaw tightened as he turned the final page. Her closing line echoed. “We fear the fire because we know it will consume us. But some part of us still wants to burn.”He closed the folder.Then, against every boundary he’d built for himself, he typed an email. Amelia.Please stop by during office hours. We need to discuss your latest pape

The blinds were drawn tight, the storm outside hammering against the tall windows of Professor Julian Blackwood’s office. Rain sluiced down the glass in frantic rivulets, the kind of downpour that made the world outside blur into a gray smear of shadow and motion. Lightning flashed, its afterglow trembling faintly across the edges of the heavy curtains. Inside, though, there was warmth—a thick, cloying kind of warmth that didn’t come from the radiator humming in the corner. It came from the silence. From the waiting. From restraint pulled taut as a bowstring.Julian sat behind his desk, his jaw tight, his knuckles grazing the polished mahogany as if grounding himself. His office had always been a sanctuary—books stacked in precarious towers, shelves lined with sketchpads, canvases leaned against the wall, his desk immaculate except for the papers he’d carefully arranged in neat stacks. But tonight it didn’t feel like sanctuary. It felt like the charged stillness of a cage. And he was

Julian had convinced himself he could hold the world together with silence. That if he simply straightened his tie, smoothed his papers, and kept his head down, no one would see the cracks. The morning after the supply closet felt like moving through glass—every step deliberate, every breath sharp enough to cut. Amelia’s perfume still clung to his shirt even after he’d stuffed it in the back of his closet, washed twice.But the email waiting in his inbox told him otherwise.Subject: URGENT – Meeting Required.From: Dean Callahan’s Office.He read it three times before the weight of it sank in. The words were polite enough, stripped of detail, but beneath them was steel. Report to the Dean’s office, 2 p.m. sharp. Non-negotiable.Julian’s pulse thundered against his temples. His students shuffled past in the hallway, chattering about exams and weekend parties, oblivious to the noose tightening around his neck. He stared at the glowing screen, fingers frozen over the keyboard, and for th

Amelia Reyes had always hated being told no.It wasn’t arrogance, though people often mistook it for that. It was survival. From the time she was old enough to form sentences, the world had been telling her what she couldn’t do. She couldn’t climb the neighbor’s fence. Couldn’t speak over her older brothers. Couldn’t afford certain schools. Couldn’t dream too big without being reminded of where she came from.So when Julian Blackwood, the man who had looked at her like she was both salvation and ruin, tried to shut the door on her, she didn’t crumble. She sharpened.The folded letter had appeared in her campus mailbox the next morning, tucked inside a plain white envelope with his tight, unmistakable handwriting. She’d known what it was even before opening it. The paper crackled as she unfolded it, the words terse and final:This has to stop. If you care for me at all, you’ll keep your distance. I cannot see you outside of class again.Amelia read it once, twice, three times. By the f