บททั้งหมดของ Sinful Nights: A Filthy Collection of Erotic Stories: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The train car was quiet. It was almost empty, a fact she had been trying to ignore for the last hour. A man sat directly across from her, a presence that was a physical weight, a heat that seemed to absorb all the oxygen in the space. She kept her eyes fixed on the paperback in her lap, but the words were just meaningless black squiggles. Her entire being was focused on the man opposite her.He wasn’t classically handsome. His face was a collection of hard angles, a strong jaw shadowed with the dark stubble of a long day, and a thin, white scar that sliced through one eyebrow, giving him a permanent, cynical arch. But it was his eyes that held her captive. They were dark, a deep, liquid brown, and they hadn’t left her since he’d sat down opposite her at the last station. It wasn’t a leer. It was something far more unsettling. It was a look of absolute, unnerving focus, as if she were a puzzle he was methodically solving, or a meal he was patiently planning to eat. Her heart hammered a

The head of his cock was smooth and hot against her lips. The taste of him was salty, clean, and unmistakably male. It was a taste that spoke of power and raw, primal need. She opened her mouth wider, an invitation. He took it, pushing the thick head past her lips and into the wet heat of her mouth. He filled her completely, stretching her jaw, the tip of his cock nudging the back of her throat. She gagged slightly, her body’s involuntary reaction, but she didn’t pull away.“Relax your throat,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Breathe through your nose. You can take it.”She tried to obey, forcing her muscles to relax as he pushed deeper. He slid in inch by inch, his hand fisted in her hair, holding her head in place. He was in control, setting the pace, using her mouth for his pleasure. The feeling was overwhelming, a complete and total surrender. She was no longer a person; she was a vessel for his desire, a warm, wet hole for him to fuck.He began to move, a slow, steady rhyth

The train had stopped. The silence was absolute, a heavy blanket after the hours of motion and sound. They were in a small, deserted station. Outside the window, the world was still and dark. Caine stirred, lifting his weight off her. He pulled out of her slowly, a strange, empty feeling left in his wake. He stood up, adjusting his clothes, looking every bit the powerful, in-control man he was. She remained on the floor, a boneless, spent mess, her body aching in ways she had never imagined.He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might just leave her there, a used-up toy on the floor of the train. A flicker of panic went through her. But then he held out his hand, just as he had before. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.“Come,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Our journey is over.”He led her to the door of the train car and stepped out onto the platform. The night air was cool and crisp. She followed him, her bare feet cold on the c

The next night, Anna returned to the gallery. The click of the door closing behind her sounded like the cocking of a gun. Adrian was there, a stark figure in the dim light. At his feet was a black leather box, long and narrow, like a case for a musical instrument. Anna had a feeling the music it would play would be written on her body."Tonight's lesson is about control," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "Not my control over you. That is a given. Tonight, you will learn to control yourself. A true artist must master her instrument. In your case, your body is your instrument. Your pleasure is the music. I will teach you to play it perfectly."He nudged the box with the toe of his expensive shoe. It slid across the polished floor and stopped at her feet. "Open it."Anna knelt, the concrete cold through the thin fabric of her dress. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, was an array of objects that made her

The reception area of Coker Conglomerates was cold. The air conditioning was turned up so high Nkechi felt the goosebumps rise on her bare arms. She clutched her folder tighter, the cheap plastic a flimsy shield. She had been waiting for forty-five minutes. Every other candidate who had gone in before her had emerged pale and defeated within ten. This was her last chance. Her last fifty naira had gone on transport here.Finally, a sleek, polished door opened and a woman, looking like she was carved from ice, stepped out. "Nkechi?""That's me," Nkechi stood, smoothing down the only smart skirt she owned."Chief will see you now."Chief. Not Mr. Coker. Not Sir. Chief. The title hung in the air, heavy with unspoken power.His office was a testament to obscene wealth. A wall of windows overlooked the chaotic grid of Victoria Island. The furniture was massive and dark, smelling of old money and leather. And behind the desk, a man so large he seemed to swallow the expensive chair he sat in.