All Chapters of Dirty Little Lessons (An Erotica Collection): Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

I didn’t move for what felt like forever. Just lay there on sweat-damp sheets, legs still trembling, heart thudding in my ears, the phone silent now on the nightstand like nothing had happened. But everything had happened.Jake’s voice still echoed in my head—low, surprised, and filthy. I’d never done anything like that before, I’d never let someone listen while I fucked myself to climax. And fuck… I wanted more.The thought alone sent a fresh pulse between my thighs. My body wasn’t satisfied, it was greedy, starving. One orgasm with the toy, one shattering one on the phone, and still not enough.I rolled onto my stomach, my cheek pressed to the cool pillow, ass up just enough to feel the air kiss the wetness still leaking out of me. I reached back lazily, fingers sliding through the mess, coating them before bringing them to my lips. I tasted myself, and moaned softly against my own fingers.That’s when I noticed the curtains, they were half-open. Not wide, not enough for the w

I still remember the exact moment I decided to stop pretending I could make it on my own.It was a rainy Thursday evening in late autumn. My shoes were soaked through from the walk home, my phone showed a negative account balance, and the landlord had left another polite-but-firm reminder taped to my door. I was twenty-three, drowning in student loans, and the only thing between me and eviction was another week of double shifts at the café.That night I downloaded an app. It was a common one between my mates,they were always talking about it. I created a profile in twenty minutes—three carefully chosen pictures, a short bio that said “young, ambitious, open-minded,” and a smile that looked more confident than I felt.The messages started popping within an hour. Most were predictable,ones I had expected from an app like this.Then came his:Victor Kane. Forty-six. Founder and CEO of a fintech company I’d actually heard of. He had a really nice profile picture,not something sexual

I woke slowly, face tucked against his shoulder, one leg thrown over his hip. His arm was still draped around me, heavy and possessive even in sleep. Between my thighs I could feel the faint, delicious soreness from last night, that had left me tender, full, and blissfully wrecked.I shifted just enough to look at him.His eyes were closed, dark lashes fanned against his skin, jaw relaxed for once. Even asleep he looked powerful, dangerous, and mine.I couldn’t help it, I pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart.He stirred immediately. A low, sleepy rumble vibrated through him. His hand slid down my back, cupped my ass, and squeezed once like he was reminding himself I was real.“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough from sleep.“Morning, Daddy.” The word came out soft, almost shy, even after everything we’d done.His lips curved. He rolled us so I was underneath him, wrists gently pinned above my head with one hand. The weight of h

I had been folding towels—Mark’s golf towels, that was still smelling faintly of grass and sunscreen—when I heard the soft tread of his loafers on the hallway tile. My stomach did that familiar, guilty flip, I didn’t turn around. I kept folding, pretending the stack needed perfect alignment, pretending my pulse wasn’t already racing.He didn’t speak at first.He simply walked up behind me, close enough that I felt the heat of his body before his hands found me. One palm settled low on my belly, his fingers splayed wide, while the other slid up to cup my breast through the thin cotton of my tank top. I had no bra on again, because I’d noticed how easy it made things yesterday.His mouth brushed the side of my neck.“You’re still leaking me,” he murmured, voice so low it barely carried over the hum of the dryer. “I can smell it.”Heat rushed to my face. He was right, I hadn’t showered after he left the kitchen last night. I’d gone to bed with him still inside me, dried on my thighs, and

Rain hammered the roof of the broken-down limo like it was trying to break through and drown us all. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of our wet clothes, expensive cologne, and the faint metallic tang of champagne that had spilled across the leather seats hours earlier. My wedding dress was an ivory lace, with beaded bodice, and a full skirt. The dress was now clinging to my thighs like a second, and was soaked from the knees down. Mathew was sprawled across the back seat, his tux jacket open, bow tie hanging loose, and snoring softly with his mouth open. He’d started drinking at the reception “just to celebrate,” and by the time the driver pulled over he was gone—passed out cold, and oblivious to the storm, to me, to the fact that our honeymoon was currently stranded twenty miles from anywhere civilized.I sat in the front passenger seat, arms wrapped around myself, shivering despite the heater still blowing warm air. My phone had zero bars, and the driver had walked back to