Wet Desires [An Erotic Collection] のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

I made dinner. Barely.The pasta was overcooked, the sauce too salty, but Victor ate two full plates anyway, watching me across the island the entire time like he was memorizing every time I squirmed in my seat. Conversation stayed brutally polite (work, my classes, Mom’s latest email from Singapore), but every word felt like foreplay. His eyes kept dropping to my mouth when I licked sauce off my thumb. I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs under the counter because I was so wet I was scared it would show.He cleared the plates, told me he had “a thing downtown” and would be back late. The front door shut behind him at 9:12 p.m. exactly. I stood in the hallway listening to the silence for a full minute before I bolted upstairs.His bedroom door was cracked open. I could smell him in the hallway (cedar, gun oil, whatever the fuck it is that makes my knees stupid). I didn’t go in. I went to my own room, shut the door, locked it, and immediately stripped.I didn’t even make it to the be

I hadn’t had an orgasm with another person in three years.Not one.I could get myself off in under four minutes if I was desperate, but the second a man touched me (fingers, tongue, cock, didn’t matter), everything shut down. My body turned to concrete. I’d fake it, roll off, and lie there staring at the ceiling while whoever it was snored beside me, convinced he’d rocked my world.It was starting to feel like a curse.The last straw was Julian (tall, sweet, stupidly good in bed by every objective metric). We’d been seeing each other for five months. One night he went down on me for forty-five patient, worshipful minutes and I still felt nothing below the waist except a vague, medical pressure. I started crying. Not pretty tears; ugly, hiccupping, mortified sobs. He thought he’d hurt me. I couldn’t explain that the problem was the opposite: I literally could not feel him.He left the next week. Said he couldn’t be with someone who was “somewhere else” during sex. Fair.So there I was

I didn’t walk into what I knew would be our last session.I crawled.The door was already ajar. Inside, the room had changed again. The couch was gone. In its place stood a wide, padded exam table draped in black leather, restraints dangling like promises. Soft red light bled from hidden sconces. The air smelled of antiseptic and sex.Dr. Rylan waited in the center, wearing only loose black linen pants, barefoot, silver chain still at his throat. Nurse Carter stood beside him in a crimson version of her latex uniform, zipper pulled so low her breasts threatened to escape with every breath.No one spoke.I shed my coat in the doorway. Underneath: nothing except for the gold waist chain and the largest plug yet, ruby-red, locked in place for the past seven days. My thighs were slick before I took a single step.Dr. Rylan’s eyes flicked to the jewel nestled between my cheeks. “Present.”I dropped to hands and knees and crawled to him. The plug shifted with every movement, a constant remi

I woke up alone, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and Caleb’s skin. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting gold stripes across the bed. My body felt used in the best possible way: thighs sore, nipples tender, a dull ache between my legs that pulsed every time I shifted.Caleb was gone, but the indent on the pillow beside me was still warm. I could hear low voices in the kitchen (his rough laugh, Liam’s quieter one) and the sizzle of something cooking. My stomach flipped.I pulled on the sheet around me and padded to the door, cracking it open. The smell of coffee and bacon hit me like a drug.Caleb was at the stove in nothing but black boxer briefs, tattoos stark against his skin, hair still messy from my fingers. Liam leaned against the counter beside him, wearing low-slung pajama pants and that same faded black T-shirt from last night. They both looked up when I appeared.“Morning, gorgeous,” Caleb said, smirking like he knew exactly how wrecked I still was.Liam’s eyes

Ethan’s POVI turned eighteen the day my life started unraveling, though I didn’t know it then. It was a nothing birthday—my brother, Mark, slapped me on the back, handed me a six-pack of beer I wasn’t old enough to buy yet, and told me to “man up” about our shitty situation. We’d been crashing at his fiancée’s place for two months by then, ever since the eviction notice hit our old apartment like a bomb. Mark lost his job at the warehouse, some bullshit about cutbacks, and I’d just graduated high school with no plan beyond flipping burgers or community college if I could scrape the cash.Samantha—Sam, she insisted I call her—was the only bright spot in the mess. She was twenty-eight, ten years older than me, with this effortless beauty that made her look like she stepped out of a magazine. Long auburn hair that fell in waves down her back, green eyes that crinkled when she smiled, and a body that… well, let’s just say she filled out her yoga pants in ways that kept me up at night. Sh