All Chapters of Forbidden Romance Tales: Chapter 31 - Chapter 38

November 17, 2025The air in Charles’s office still tastes of him, of old whiskey, expensive ink and the sharpness of his self-control finally snapping. I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin as I write this. I have to write it down, to pin the memory to the page before it fades because I might convince myself it was a dream.It was after the final strategy meeting for the Blackwood case. The other lawyers left the large conference room adjacent to his main office. Charles was already at his desk, the king returned to his throne, his focus buried in a legal brief. The pretense was admirable. I knew one of his problems was currently standing in a silk blouse and a skirt that suddenly felt too tight.I stayed behind. “I’ll just tidy up,” I murmured, not waiting for a reply, already gathering the discarded water glasses.The excuse was flimsy even to my own ears. This was not my job and we both knew it. He didn’t protest. He didn’t even look at me. But his silence was a roar

November 18, 2025 continues…"Tired already, baby?" Charles teased, giving my breasts a light slap that made them jiggle. "We've got the whole night ahead of us. I've only just begun."I whined low in my throat, both dreading and anticipating the pleasurable torment I knew was coming. True to his word, he slithered his way down my body, pushing my legs up to my chest and diving face-first into my soaked, swollen pussy.The feeling of his warm breath ghosting over my sensitized folds had me trembling. When he gave a long, slow lick up my entire slit, my back arched off the bed and a loud keen fell from my lips. I was still sensitive from my previous two orgasms, every touch feeling amplified tenfold.But he showed me no mercy, burying his face in my cunt and eating me out with gusto. He lapped at every inch of me, fucking me with his tongue before stiffening it to a point and flicking it rapidly over my clit.I couldn't stop moaning and writhing beneath him, fisting my hands in his hair

It had been three months since Ellie joined her job, each day weaving her deeper into the fabric of a life that was not hers, yet felt more like home than any she had ever known. The initial nervousness had melted away, replaced by a deep affection for her new life, for the little girl with the brown eyes and a more complicated ache for the man who was her father.Spencer was a man carved from silence and responsibility. He never failed to leave extra cash on the kitchen counter with a note that read, “For ice cream,” or “Get yourselves a new book.” He stocked the pantry with her favorite tea without her ever asking, a gesture so subtle she almost missed it. Ellie watched him, this quiet mountain of a man. His life was a testament to duty.But she saw the loneliness that clung to him like a shadow. She saw it in the way he’d stand at the kitchen sink long after the last dish was washed, staring into the dark backyard. She watched him on the nights when the grief would sneak up on Esme

The Saturday morning sun streamed into the kitchen, painting bright rectangles on the tile floor.  A month had passed since the unexpected night between Ellie and Spencer. It happened once, then twice more against the washing machine after Esme was asleep or a whispered exchange in the dark of his bedroom before he rolled away to sleep. It was never enough, always hurried, always shadowed by his exhausting work schedule and her primary role as Esme’s caretaker. “And we’re off!” Dorothy’s cheerful voice cut through the quiet as she bustled into the hallway. She stood by the front door, holding Esme’s small backpack. “The community center’s ‘Grandparents and Me’ day at the botanical garden is here. My little partner here is ready to dominate the sack race. There will be f