Lahat ng Kabanata ng Cravings, and Lustful Confessions.: Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 97

The silence in their cabin was like a heavy woolen blanket, smothering every sound and thought. Clara lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, and beside her was John. He also lay on his back, and neither was asleep.The space between them on the large four-poster bed felt like a canyon.She couldn’t stop thinking about Anya’s eyes. That clear, unashamed look across the dining room. It hadn’t been an accident. None of it was.Somehow, they had become viewers to a show they never subscribed for. But why?Why show off like that? Was it a performance? A lesson? A cruel joke?Clara’s cheeks burned in the dark. Worse than the memory of their passion was the memory of her own reaction. The soaking heat, the throbbing ache, the complete, rapt fascination she had given them.She despised herself for it. What kind of woman was she, to get so turned on watching strangers? To feel her own husband’s hurt radiating beside her and still be unable to look away?Clara wasn’t the only one wrapped in a

The morning light filtered through the pines in soft and golden colours, resting upon the gravel path that led from their cabin to the main lodge.Clara walked beside her husband, her steps matching his. A small, genuine smile played on her lips, one she didn’t have to force. She felt loose.Her usual morning-after stiffness was replaced by a pleasant, humming warmth between her legs, a lingering echo of the shocks that had wracked her body hours before.John walked with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders not quite as squared as usual. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a new set to his jaw, a quiet, contemplative pride in the way he occasionally glanced at her from the corner of his eye.He had done that. He had brought those sounds from her throat, those tremors to her thighs.He should be repulsed by what he had subjected himself to. He wasn’t.Instead, the memory of her taste was a vivid ghost on his tongue. He felt like he had discovered a fragment of a complex, secret languag

The afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the main lodge, painting the polished floorboards in long, warm rectangles. John sat in a leather armchair in what James called the den, a cozy room off the main lobby with a large television, a well-stocked bookshelf, and a smell of woodsmoke.He despised being alone with James but it wasn’t something he could avoid without being suspicious. He was taking a walk around the resort, spending an afternoon to himself when James had found him an hour ago, looking pensive.“Clara’s with Anya, yeah?” James had said, not really asking. He held up two bottles of a local craft beer, condensation beading on the dark glass. “Might as well. Catch up on the match. What do you think?”And with James not giving much of a choice, in the next few minutes he was sitting just a few spaces away from the man he had watched eat out his wife tentatively.Both men sat in silence and just watched the game. John was grateful for that; he didn’t think he could ho