All Chapters of Wet Desires [An Erotic Collection]: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

I’ve wanted him for longer than I should ever admit.His name is Marcus—Uncle Marcus to me, technically, though he’s not blood. He’s been my dad’s best friend since before I was born. Forty-two now, broad-shouldered, inked arms that flex whenever he lifts anything heavier than a beer, dark hair just starting to silver at the temples, and those green eyes that always seem to see straight through whatever bullshit I’m trying to pull. He’s the kind of man who fills a room without trying. Deep voice, easy laugh, but there’s always been something darker underneath it when he looks at me. Something that made my stomach flip even when I was too young to understand why.I turned eighteen three months ago. Legal. Grown. And ever since that birthday dinner—when he hugged me a little too long, his hand low on my back, his mouth brushing my ear as he whispered “happy birthday, princess”—I haven’t been able to think about anything else.So when my parents announced this trip—a week at a private vi

The next day started innocent enough.My parents wanted a “proper family dinner” in town — some fancy seaside restaurant with white tablecloths and candlelight. I spent the afternoon getting ready, trying on three different dresses before settling on a backless red one that hugged every curve. No bra. No panties. Just like Daddy liked.Marcus watched me come down the stairs, eyes dragging over me like hands. He was in linen pants and a black button-down, sleeves rolled up to show those tattoos. He looked edible.In the car on the way there — Dad driving, Mom navigating — Marcus sat in the back with me. His hand rested on the seat between us, innocent. Until his fingers slipped under the hem of my dress, tracing slow circles on my inner thigh.I had to pretend to look out the window while he teased higher and higher, brushing my bare pussy, finding me already wet.He didn’t push inside. Just stroked my clit lightly, enough to make me squirm, until I was biting the inside of my cheek to

I woke up sore, deliciously sore, every muscle remembering how thoroughly my stepbrothers had used me.The morning sun streamed through the pool house windows, warming my naked skin where I lay sandwiched between Caleb and Connor on the wide outdoor couch. Their heavy arms were still draped over me, bodies pressed close, morning wood hard against my hips and ass like they were already ready for more.I shifted slightly, and both of them stirred at once.Connor’s hand slid down my stomach first, fingers dipping between my thighs without asking. He found me wet, swollen, still sticky with last night’s loads.“Morning, little breeder,” he rasped against my neck, teeth grazing the bruises he’d left there. “Already dripping for us again?”Caleb’s eyes opened lazily, a slow smirk spreading as he watched his twin tease me open. “Told you she’d wake up hungry.”I whimpered when Connor pushed two fingers inside me easily, curling them, pumping slow.“Please…” I breathed, not even sure what I w

I’ve always been the good girl. The one who sits in the front row, notebook open before the professor even walks in, hand shooting up with the right answer every time. My parents drilled it into me young: good girls study hard, dress modestly, and never, ever let a man see what’s under their skirt unless there’s a ring and a vow first. Sex was a whispered sin, something dirty that happened to bad people.But God, I’m tired of being good.It started the first day of Senior Seminar in Contemporary Literature. Professor Harlan Reed strode in late, sleeves rolled up, tattoos curling around thick forearms, dark hair just messy enough to make me wonder what it would feel like gripped in my fist. He didn’t smile at the class. He just leaned against the desk, scanned the room with those storm-gray eyes, and started talking about desire as destruction in modern novels. His voice was low, rough, like he’d smoked a pack the night before and fucked someone senseless after.I felt it right between

Finals week is hell for everyone else, but for me, it’s a haze of need. I’ve barely studied—how can I focus on books when my body aches for him? Professor Reed—Harlan, he made me call him that once, whispered in my ear while buried inside me—owns my thoughts now. I finger myself in the library bathroom between cramming sessions, imagining his hands instead of mine, his voice telling me I’m his perfect little whore. The guilt is gone. Replaced by this burning want that makes my pussy clench at nothing.He texted me last night: My house. 8 PM. Wear nothing under your coat.I’m at his door now, heart racing, coat belted tight over bare skin. No bra, no panties, just heels and the thin leather choker he slipped around my neck after our classroom fuck. It’s hidden under my collar most days, but tonight it feels like a promise.He opens the door, eyes dark and hungry. Pulls me inside without a word, slams it shut. His mouth is on mine instantly—rough, claiming. Hands yank open my coat, expo