All Chapters of Tamed By The Devil Stepbrother : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Nolan’s POV"Fuck me, Nolan," she demanded, wrapping legs around me, her heels digging into the small of my back like spurs urging a horse to gallop. Her voice was breathy, edged with that practiced seduction that came too easy in places like this—hot, anonymous, no room for the messy truths that clawed at you later. Mia's thighs were smooth, toned from whatever gym routine she bragged about earlier, but they weren't the right ones. Not soft and yielding in that way that made my blood roar, not marked with the faint freckles Clara had along her inner thighs, the ones I'd map with my tongue on lazy mornings, tasting salt and her until she begged for mercy.I grabbed a condom from my wallet—always prepared, even if this felt like betrayal—and sheathed myself with shaking hands, the latex cool and constricting against the heat throbbing in my veins. Whiskey made everything sharper, the edges of sensation amplified: the scrape of her nails on my shoulders, the hitch in her breath as I pos

Nolan's POV I stood, resolve hardening. No more running. I texted Elena: "Tell Dad to fuck off. I'm going to get her." I stared at the screen after the text sent, my thumb hovering like it might still undo everything. Tell Dad to fuck off. I’m going to get her. For the first time in days, my chest didn’t feel hollow. It felt tight—but solid. Like a decision had finally locked into place. I didn’t wait for Elena’s reply. I stood there by the pond, the morning sun breaking through the clouds, turning the water into a sheet of light. Ducks drifted past, unbothered, and somewhere behind me a child laughed. Life didn’t pause for heartbreak—but it didn’t forbid courage either. Clara hadn’t left because she stopped loving me. She’d left because she loved me too much. That truth settled in my bones. I walked back toward Jake’s place with purpose now, every step clearer than the last. The city no longer felt like it was pressing down on me—it felt like something I was moving

Nolan’s POV We lingered in that golden haze for what felt like hours, our bodies spent but our touches lingering—lazy strokes along her spine, her fingers tracing the scars on my chest from that dumb skateboarding accident back in high school, the one where she'd been the first to rush over, yelling at me for being reckless while dabbing at the blood with her shirt sleeve. "Idiot," she'd called me then, but her eyes had been soft with worry. Now, in this cramped dorm room that smelled of fresh paint and our mingled sweat, she whispered it again, teasing, as she nuzzled into my neck. "Idiot for coming here. Brave idiot." Her breath was warm against my skin, sending fresh shivers down my spine despite the exhaustion. I chuckled low, pulling her closer, our legs entwined under the rumpled sheets. "Worth it. Every mile, every risk." The afternoon sun had shifted, casting long shadows across the floor cluttered with her art supplies—charcoal sticks scattered like fallen soldiers, half-fi

Nolan’s POVMorning light filtered through the thin curtains like a reluctant intruder, painting stripes across Clara's sleeping form—her hair a tangled halo on the pillow, lashes fanning shadows on her cheeks, one arm draped possessively over my waist. The faint hum of Florence waking up outside—distant scooters buzzing like angry bees, vendors shouting in melodic Italian—seeped into the room, but inside, it was still our bubble. I watched her for a while, my chest tight with that mix of awe and protectiveness that hit me every time I woke up to her. Her breaths were soft and even, her skin still flushed from last night's marathon, faint marks from my fingers blooming like faint bruises on her hips. No nightmares last night, just the hum of the city lulling us into exhausted sleep after our late-night affirmations. But the clock on her nightstand ticked mercilessly toward 10 AM—the meeting. Reality crashing back like a hangover after a wild night, reminding me that freedom wasn't fre

Nolan’s POV Weeks melted into one another like wax under the relentless Tuscan sun, the sharp edges of our early drama softening into a rhythm that felt almost normal—almost, because nothing about us had ever been normal. The cease-and-desist had worked its magic; Dad's threats dried up like the Arno in a scorching summer drought, his silence a grudging admission of defeat that echoed louder than any of his bellowing rants ever could. Elena's calls tapered off too, her last one a tearful whisper over the crackling line: "I just want you both happy, Nolan. Be careful out there—Italy's beautiful, but life's unpredictable." Careful. As if we hadn't been tiptoeing around emotional landmines our whole damn relationship, dodging judgmental stares and family bombshells like pros. But with the storm finally passed, Florence unfolded for us like one of Clara's sprawling canvases—vibrant and chaotic, layered with hidden depths we explored together, hand in hand, our love no longer a dirty secr