All Chapters of Forbidden Sinful Desires: A Steamy Spicy Erotica Collection : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

I pushed open the heavy glass door, the golden script of “Bliss & Bloom Spa” catching the light above me. It had been three months since I’d last been here—three months of court dates, late-night arguments over text, and the hollow ache of signing divorce papers. My ex-husband had started calling again, leaving voicemails about how he missed me, how we could try again. I knew better. He missed the life I’d built without him, the promotions, the money. I was done caring.Today was for me. Just me.Everything looked different—sleeker, more luxurious than I remembered. Two receptionists stood behind the marble counter. The one who approached me had perfect red lipstick and her dark hair pulled into a slick bun that didn’t have a single strand out of place. She gave me that polished customer-service smile. “Welcome back to Bliss & Bloom. How can we help you today?”“I’d like a massage session,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.She nodded and slid a laminated menu across the counter.

Each thrust was deep but controlled, his hips rolling forward until he was buried fully inside me, then pulling back until only the thick head remained before sliding in again. My walls stretched around him, a delicious burn that made me gasp every time he bottomed out.“Fuck, Jules,” I moaned, the sound low and shaky. “You’re so deep.”He groaned against my neck, lips brushing my skin. “You feel perfect, Lilia. So tight… so wet for me.”I wrapped my legs higher around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. He picked up the pace gradually—steady, rhythmic strokes that had the table creaking softly beneath us. Every time he drove in, my breath hitched, a soft “ah… ah…” escaping with each thrust.His hand slid between us, thumb finding my clit again, rubbing in tight circles that matched his rhythm. Pleasure coiled hot and fast in my belly.“God, yes… right there,” I whimpered.He lifted his head to watch my face, eyes dark and intense. “You’re gonna com

He knelt between my legs, eyes drinking in the wreck he’d made of me. “Perfect,” he murmured, almost tender. From the black bag he pulled a second toy—long, thick, ridged silicone that made my stomach drop. The vibrator still buzzed mercilessly inside my pussy; there was no room for more. But he pushed anyway, forcing the head alongside.The scream that tore out of me was inhuman. My back arched clear off the bed, ropes creaking as I thrashed. “No—no—too much—Uncle, please take it out!” Pain lanced white-hot through my core, walls straining around impossible fullness.He answered with a sharp slap directly to my swollen clit. I jolted like I’d been shocked, a high-pitched wail escaping. “Beg sweeter, baby.”“Uncle… please… it’s tearing me apart…” My voice cracked into sobs.He twisted the dildo deeper anyway, until both toys sat buried to the base. Then he started fucking me with it—long, punishing strokes that dragged ridges over every raw nerve while the vibrator buzzed against it,

I had just finished buttoning the last button on my cream blouse when my phone buzzed twice against the kitchen counter. A forwarded contact from Milika. Mr T. My lips curved before I could stop them. I opened WhatsApp and there she was—her profile picture unchanged for two years: Milika in a red sundress, head thrown back mid-laugh, gold hoop earrings catching sunlight, that perfect gap-toothed smile that always made me feel like the world wasn’t entirely against me. I tapped the voice-note icon, leaned close to the phone, and let my voice drop soft and grateful.“Miki baby… Thank you so much. I know you’re probably in the middle of service right now, running around with those heavy copper pots, but I just wanted to say—I’m heading out. I owe you one. Actually, I owe you like twenty. I love you, okay?” I blew a small kiss into the microphone and hit send before the nerves could claw the words back.Bag over my shoulder, keys in hand, I stepped out into the hallway and locked the door

It had been exactly two weeks since I started working as Elliot’s private chef, and without hesitation, I could say the experience had been nothing short of wonderful. The kitchen no longer felt like a battlefield; it felt like breathing. I woke up every morning excited to experiment, to plate something beautiful, to hear the quiet hum of appreciation when he took the first bite. I’d even managed to visit my mother last weekend, arms full of gifts—freshly baked financiers, a bottle of her favorite rosé, and the diploma I’d finally collected from Étoile Culinary Academy that very morning.The original results had landed in my inbox three days earlier: 87%. Eighty-seven. I’d stared at the screen until my eyes burned, the number blurring into something almost unreal. Mr. Charles had deducted forty-three points from what should have been a near-perfect score. All because his wife had died years ago and the world had apparently stopped spinning for him. He wasn’t the first person to lose s