All Chapters of All Yours (An Erotica Collection): Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The second attack came faster than anyone expected, striking like lightning on a night when the spring rain hammered the compound windows in relentless sheets. A month had passed since the first breach, and the estate had settled into a tense normalcy. Nikolai had been away more often—meetings in the city, leads on the rivals who’d dared invade his home. He’d left that evening with a kiss to her forehead and a quiet “Be good. I will be back late.” Lila had spent the hours in the library—her favorite room now, with its leather-bound books and oversized sofa facing the fireplace. She’d curled up with a volume of Russian poetry—trying to decipher the Cyrillic, tracing the words with her finger. The lights flickered once. Then plunged into darkness. Backup generators hummed to life seconds later—dim emergency bulbs casting long shadows. She froze. Then heard it. Urgent shouts in Russian. Gunfire—close, too close. Her heart seized in her chest. She dropped the book. Ran for

Elara stepped out of her rideshare into a world muffled by snow. The sprawling colonial house looked exactly the same as it had three years ago—white columns, black shutters, circular driveway now buried under a fresh foot of powder. Her parents had texted from the cruise ship that morning: ‘Having the time of our lives! The house is all yours until mid-January. Love you!’ They hadn’t mentioned that Cade would be there. She dragged her suitcase up the cleared path, breath fogging in the frigid air, and let herself in with the key under the frog statue. The foyer was dim, warm, smelling faintly of pine from the Christmas tree nobody had bothered to take down yet. She kicked off her boots, dropped her coat on the banister, and called out a tentative “Hello?” Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy, unhurried. Cade appeared at the landing in gray sweatpants and a black thermal shirt that clung to his shoulders in a way it definitely hadn’t when they were teenagers. His dark hair was longer n

I have always been greedy. Daddy Marcus says it is one of the things he loves most about me: how I never pretend to be satisfied with “enough” when I can have more. Tonight, that greed is about to be rewarded in the best possible way. We have talked about this for months. Planned it. Negotiated every detail until the fantasy felt safe enough to become real. Daddy Marcus’s oldest friend, Daddy Elias, is coming over. One night. One perfect shared night. No jealousy, no expectations beyond pleasure and aftercare. Just me, in the center of both of them, exactly where I want to be. I am kneeling on the plush rug in our bedroom when they walk in together. The sight steals my breath. Daddy Marcus is tall, broad, dark-haired, with that calm authority that makes my knees weak. He is in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to show the forearms I love wrapped around my throat. Daddy Elias is leaner, silver threading his temples, eyes a piercing blue that always look like

I wake up to sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows and the smell of fresh coffee. For a disorienting second I think I am still dreaming—my tiny studio didn’t have windows like this, or a bed this enormous, or the heavy, warm arm draped possessively across my waist. Then memory floods back: the $5,000 tip, the knock at the door, Victor Vaughn on his knees eating my pussy like a starving man, taking my virginity slow and deep until I saw stars. Falling asleep with his silk tie knotted softly around my throat like a claim. I shift carefully. Every muscle between my legs aches in the most delicious way, a reminder that last night actually happened. I am sore, sticky with dried cum and juice, and completely naked except for the tie still loosely looped around my neck. The arm tightens, pulling me back against a hard, naked chest. “Good morning, little one,” Daddy rumbles against my ear, voice rough with sleep. His cock is already half-hard against my ass. I whimper softl

Chapter 2: Forever His Little Girl I wake up sore in the best possible way. Sunlight filters through half-closed blinds in soft golden stripes, warming the massive king bed that definitely isn’t the guest-room twin I fell asleep expecting. My body feels heavy, languid, every muscle humming with the memory of yesterday—ass still throbbing faintly from the hardest spanking of my life, pussy aching deep inside with that delicious, well-used fullness that only comes from being fucked thoroughly and repeatedly by a man who knows exactly what he is doing. I stretch carefully, a soft whimper escaping as the pull between my legs reminds me just how big he is. I am wearing one of Uncle Luke’s soft black T-shirts, the hem brushing mid-thigh, sleeves falling past my elbows. It smells like him—clean soap, faint expensive cologne, warm skin, pure man. The sheets smell like us: sex and sweat and something sweeter, like the vanilla body lotion he rubbed into my spanked skin before tucking me in