บททั้งหมดของ When Desire Becomes A Sin : บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

"So wet for me, " he muttered tru grift ted teeth, his fingers moving rhythmically. His eyes darkened something dangerous flashing in them satisfaction, hunger, possession. For a split second, neither of us moved. The air between us felt thick, heavy, charged with everything we had buried for years. Then he snapped. His fingers slid in and out of my hole, I could feel the heat of him everywhere solid, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, voice rough against my lips. Before I could answer, his mouth claimed mine. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Possessive. Months years of restraint breaking all at once. I gasped into him, my hands instinctively grabbing his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as if I needed something to anchor me. Every nerve in my body lit up. God. I hated how much I remembered this. The way he kissed. The way he took control. The way my body responded to him. His lips moved

Of course, it didn’t end there. Even after that first night after I had given myself to him fully there were days when neither of us could resist the pull between us. The desire between us was relentless, a fire that refused to be ignored. Now, it wasn’t about nerves or hesitation. We knew each other’s bodies, the way to push each other to the edge, the spots that made the other gasp. Every glance, every brush of a hand, every whisper carried a thrill we both craved. Sometimes it was his condo. The space had become ours, private and safe, yet dangerously intimate. The city lights spilled across the room, reflecting in the glass walls, casting shadows over his perfect, confident form. He’d hold me close, pressing me against him, fingers tracing curves he already knew so well. “Can’t stay away from me, huh?” he’d murmur, lips brushing my ear, teasing yet possessive. I’d shiver, biting my lip, letting him laugh softly at the heat he ignited in me. “You’re impossible,” I’d whisper

By the fifth day in Baguio, I had mastered the art of avoidance. I stayed in my room as much as possible, only venturing out when necessary. “When I know he’s just around, I don’t leave my room. I listen first, trying to sense if there’s any movement in the house before I step out.” Even trips to the kitchen were calculated with military precision. Every footstep, every glance, every creak of the floorboards had to be accounted for. I felt like a mouse trapped in a house full of shadows, constantly aware that the predator knew exactly where I was. The fog outside thickened, swallowing the pine trees until only pale, ghostly silhouettes remained. Baguio’s chill crept through the kitchen but it was nothing compared to the heat that spread through me at the thought of Rafael Del Fierro near. It had been two days since that night two days since he had claimed me completely again. The memory pulsed in my chest like a living thing, and my pulse quickened at the thought. I swallowed

RAFAEL POV I didn’t make a move to stop her. Not immediately. Watching Sapphire leave my room, I assumed she simply needed space, that she wanted to step back and gather herself. She often pulled away when things became… heated. I could respect that. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. But standing there, fully clothed while she dressed, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Every curve, every line of her body was a map I knew too well yet could never grow tired of. College had been the beginning, and for seven years, no woman, no thrill, no fleeting encounter had ever matched the gravity she had over me. Even now, as she slipped into her clothes, aware of my gaze, I felt the familiar ache of desire but tempered by a discipline I rarely had to summon. The pull of her, the magnetism she exuded, was intoxicating and dangerous. I could have claimed her again with a word, a touch, but I didn’t. Not tonight. The night stretched on in silence. I had no idea she would leave the house

The music swirled around us, a soft waltz fading into the background as Rafael’s hand pressed firmly at the small of my back. “Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear it. His words were almost a command, yet soft, teasing, and intimate. I swallowed hard, my pulse spiking at the heat in his tone. I tried to focus on the dance, the rhythm, the subtle sway of the crowd around us but every time our bodies brushed, every time his hand lingered at my waist, it was impossible to think clearly. “You’re fidgeting,” he whispered, leaning just slightly closer so that his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “I’m not,” I said, though my voice was shaky, betraying me. “You are,” he countered, his smirk evident even without looking at him. “Always so stubborn. Always pretending you’re in control.” My stomach fluttered at the statement. He wasn’t wrong. I had spent a week convincing myself that I was fine, that I could be rational, that I could keep my distance. An