All Chapters of All Yours: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

She had known him for months as Mr. Harlan—her older, devastatingly handsome neighbor who always seemed to be watching out for her. He fixed her leaky faucet without being asked, carried her groceries up three flights of stairs when her arms were full, and left little notes on her door when he noticed her car had a flat tire. He was kind, and impossibly attractive in that quiet, mature way that made her stomach flutter every time their eyes met.But tonight was different.She stood in his living room, heart hammering against her ribs, wearing the simple sundress he’d complimented weeks ago—“That color looks beautiful on you, sweetheart.” The memory of his low voice saying it had kept her up more nights than she cared to admit.He’d invited her over for dinner after she’d mentioned—offhand, nervously—that she was tired of eating alone. What started as polite small talk over pasta and wine had shifted somewhere between the second and third glass. The conversation turned personal. She co

The alarm on his phone chimed at exactly 6:30 a.m.—soft, melodic, nothing jarring. She stirred beside him, burrowing deeper into the blankets with a sleepy little whine. He smiled against her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before sliding out of bed.By the time she opened her eyes again, he was already dressed in loose sweatpants and nothing else, the low morning light carving shadows across his broad chest. He carried a glass of water in one hand and stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her with that calm, expectant expression she knew so well.“Morning, babygirl,” he said, voice low and warm. “Time to start the day.”She stretched, the sheet slipping down to reveal her bare breasts, and gave him a sleepy smile. “Five more minutes, Daddy?”He arched a brow. “You know the rules. Up when Daddy says up. Water first, then bathroom, then inspection. No negotiating.”She pouted, but the sparkle in her eyes told him she loved this—the structure, the ritual, the way he

The scene had ended twenty minutes ago, but she was still floating—deep in that hazy, boneless space where nothing existed except the warmth of his arms and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear. Her body ached in the most delicious ways: faint bruises blooming on her hips, her bottom tender from earlier play, her thighs sticky and trembling from the intensity of it all.He hadn’t rushed a single second of the comedown.As soon as the last tremor left her body, he’d gathered her close, wrapping her in the soft blanket he kept at the foot of the bed for exactly this purpose. He’d whispered praise against her temple—endless, reverent words that soaked into her skin like balm.“You were perfect, babygirl. So brave. So beautiful. Daddy is so proud of you.”Now they were in the bathroom, the air thick with steam from the bath he’d drawn. The tub was deep and wide, filled almost to the brim with warm water and the lavender oil she loved. Candles flickered on the counter—vanilla a

Eliza had spent the entire week replaying that night in Dr. Vale’s office.Every lecture, every seminar, every casual brush of his gaze across the room had felt like foreplay. She’d barely slept, her mind looping through his words—discipline, consequences, bend you over this desk—until she was permanently flushed and restless.So when the deadline for her annotated bibliography on Victorian gothic literature came and went without her submitting it, she knew exactly what she was doing.Provoking him.She told herself it was an accident. A busy week. Oversight.But the truth was simpler: she wanted to see if he’d follow through.His email arrived Friday morning, crisp and professional.Subject: Overdue Assignment – Office Hours TodayMiss Harper,Your annotated bibliography was due Wednesday at 5:00 p.m. It has not been submitted.My office hours end at 4:00 p.m. today. I expect to see you before then to discuss this lapse.Do not be late.—L. ValeNo pleasantries. No gentle reminder. J

Eliza stood outside Dr. Lucian Vale’s off-campus house at exactly 7:58 p.m., heart racing like she was about to defend her dissertation instead of… whatever this was. The house was everything she’d imagined: a restored Victorian on a quiet, tree-lined street near campus. Tall windows, wrap-around porch, the kind of place that looked scholarly and imposing even in the dark. She’d driven past it once or twice, wondering, but never dared hope she’d be invited inside. She smoothed her dress—a simple black wrap style he’d specified in a terse text that afternoon—and knocked. The door opened almost immediately. Lucian filled the frame, dressed more casually than she’d ever seen him: dark jeans, charcoal button-down open at the throat, sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms. No tie. No jacket. “Punctual,” he said, a faint smile curving his mouth. “Good girl.” The praise slid through her like warm whiskey. He stepped aside to let her in. The interior was warm and masculine—dark wo