Lahat ng Kabanata ng Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother : Kabanata 101 - Kabanata 110

Nolan's POV She reached across the table then, her fingers finding mine again—deliberate this time, no casual squeeze but a full clasp, palm to palm, the calluses from her charcoal grips rough against my smoother skin. The horchata sat forgotten between us, a half-melted ring of condensation pooling around its base like tears unshed. "Nolan," she said, her voice threading through the evening's hush, steady as the campus clock tower chiming the hour somewhere distant, "the net's there. It's me. I've been catching you since the day you showed up at my door with that half-finished linocut and a scowl that could've etched glass."I searched her face, hunting for the lie—the polite deflection that people offer when they don't want to wade into the muck. But there was none. Just Clara: unflinching, her green eyes holding mine like she was committing them to canvas, every fleck of hazel and doubt cataloged. The wind toyed with the loose strands of her ponytail, sending them dancing across h

Clara's POV "Nolan," I breathed, half-protest, half-invitation, my free hand coming up to cover his, not stopping him but guiding—higher this time, until his fingers brushed the swell of my breast, the thin cotton barrier doing nothing to dull the spark. The wok spat behind us, demanding, but I ignored it, arching back into him, the curve of my ass pressing against the hard line of his hips. He was already half-hard, the evidence of it a insistent pressure that made my pulse throb between my thighs. "The lime," I managed, voice threading with want, turning slightly to press my lips to the hinge of his jaw, tasting salt and shadow.He sliced it open with a thumbnail, the citrus tang bursting sharp and bright, and squeezed it over the pan in a hiss of juice, his other hand never leaving me—sliding up to cup my breast fully now, thumb circling the peak through fabric until it pebbled under his touch, a soft ache blooming there. "Like this?" he asked, voice roughened, his hips rolling fo

Clara's POVThe morning light filtered through the half-drawn blinds like an unwelcome intruder, slanting across the rumpled sheets in dusty gold bars that caught on the curve of Nolan's shoulder, the ink-black tangle of his hair against the pillow. I woke to the weight of his arm still slung possessively over my waist, his breath warm and steady against the nape of my neck—a rhythm that had lulled me under last night, chasing away the doubts with the simple, animal comfort of his nearness. But now, in the stark clarity of dawn, they crept back: not as thunder, but as a low hum, persistent as the neighbor's coffee grinder whirring through the thin walls.I shifted carefully, not wanting to wake him, my thigh brushing the coarse hair of his leg, the faint stickiness between us a tactile reminder of how thoroughly we'd claimed each other. The ache lingered—delicious, dull, a secret etched into my muscles—but it grounded me, tethering the whirlwind in my chest to something real. Tangible

Clara's POV We didn't make it back to the bed. The wall caught me first—cool plaster shocking against my spine as Nolan hiked the sheet higher around my waist, his hands roaming with renewed fervor, mapping the territory he'd nearly lost to a stranger's kindness. The apartment door clicked shut behind us with a finality that echoed in my chest, but it was his mouth on my neck that silenced everything else. Hot, insistent, teeth grazing the pulse point where my heart hammered like a trapped bird."Nolan," I gasped, my fingers twisting in his hair, pulling him closer even as the rough edge of the doorframe dug into my shoulder blade. The air between us crackled, thick with the scent of cooling coffee and the faint, acrid tang of his cologne—something woody and wild, like pine smoke from a forest fire. We'd barely crossed the threshold, our bodies still humming from the walk home, from the way his hand had swung loose in mine under the streetlights, casual but charged, like a live wire

Clara's POVWe didn't make it to the sink—not yet. Instead, he spun me gently, pressing my palms to the tile, and entered me from behind with a slow, measured thrust that stole my breath. The water made everything slick, heightened—the glide of him inside me, the slap of skin muffled by the spray. I pushed back, meeting him halfway, our rhythm building like a crescendo: his hand on my hip, the other reaching around to circle my clit, fingers slippery and sure. "Come again," he whispered, lips at my ear, nipping the lobe. "Let me feel you clench around me."I did, shattering softer this time, a rolling wave that left me gasping, knees buckling. He held me up, thrusting through it until his own release hit, spilling with a muffled curse against my shoulder. We stayed like that, locked together under the cooling water, until pragmatism kicked in—class wasn't going to wait forever.Dressed in fresh clothes—me in a loose sweater that smelled faintly of his detergent, him in that faded blac