All Chapters of All Yours (An Erotica Collection): Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The power had flickered twice since they’d left the living room rug, but the generator held strong, bathing the upstairs hallway in soft amber light.Mary’s bare feet sank into the plush runner as Luca led her by the hand toward the master suite—the one their parents shared when they were here. The door stood ajar, moonlight spilling across the massive four-poster bed like an invitation.He paused on the threshold, glancing down at her.“We shouldn’t,” she whispered, even as her body leaned toward him.His fingers tightened around hers. “We already did.”He pushed the door wide and pulled her inside.The room smelled faintly of their mother’s perfume—something expensive and floral—but underneath it now was the raw scent of sex that clung to their skin. It felt deliciously so.Luca shut the door behind them with a soft click.Moonlight painted silver stripes across the king-sized bed, across the silk duvet their parents slept under. He released her hand only long enough to strip the co

The rectory was silent except for the distant tick of an old grandfather clock and the soft rustle of Father Elias’s cassock as he led Sophia up the narrow back stairs. Moonlight filtered through stained-glass windows, painting crimson and sapphire patterns across her bare shoulders. Her blouse was ruined—buttons gone, bra stuffed in his pocket beside her soaked panties—so she clutched the edges together with trembling fingers.He hadn’t let her fix her skirt either. It stayed bunched at her waist, his cum still slick between her thighs, trickling slowly down as they walked. Every step reminded her how thoroughly he’d claimed her in that tiny sacred booth.At the top of the stairs he opened a heavy wooden door and pulled her inside his private quarters. Simple, austere: a single bed with white linens, a crucifix on the wall, a desk piled with books and sermon notes. The contrast between the holy space and what they’d just done—what they were about to do—sent a fresh rush of heat throu

Nine months.That was how long Mark’s deployment dragged on—extension after extension, each email or call promising “just a little longer” until Lila stopped believing it. She stopped marking the calendar. Stopped sleeping diagonally across the king-sized bed to fill the empty space. Stopped pretending her body didn’t ache every single night for the kind of rough, claiming fuck only a man built like Mark could give her.Ethan made sure she never went without.It started innocently enough—him “checking in” once a week, fixing the leaky faucet Mark never got around to, mowing the lawn, bringing groceries. By the third Friday, she was greeting him at the door in nothing but a silk robe that barely covered her ass. By the fourth, the robe never made it past the entryway.He fucked her against the front door that night—hard, desperate, her back scraping paint as he lifted her and buried himself balls-deep. She came twice before he carried her upstairs and did it again on the marital bed, s

Mom was gone until Sunday night. Forty-eight hours alone in the house with Jaxon. Forty-eight hours after he’d taken my virginity on the kitchen counter, after he’d filled me with his cum and whispered that this wasn’t over. I should have been terrified. Should have locked my door, called a friend, done anything to stop what was coming. Instead, I spent the rest of that Friday afternoon in a haze of anticipation and soreness, feeling his release slowly leak out of me every time I moved. I didn’t shower. I wanted to keep him on me, in me, for as long as possible. He let me have space for a few hours—disappeared into the garage to tinker with his bike, giving me time to process. But I could feel his eyes on me whenever I walked past the open door, and could feel the promise hanging in the air. By evening, the tension was unbearable. I was in the living room, curled on the couch in one of Mom’s oversized T-shirts and nothing else, pretending to watch TV. The shirt barely skimmed

I am a terrible girlfriend.I know it. I feel it every time Ryan kisses me good morning, every time he tells me he loves me, every time he fucks me like I am the only woman in the world.Because I am not thinking about him.I am thinking about his identical twin.It started with one drunken mistake at Ryan’s twenty-sixth birthday party—December 31, 2025, the night the city lit up with fireworks and bad decisions.The bar was packed, music pounding, tequila burning my throat. Ryan and Logan had flown in together, mirror images in every way: 6’2”, lean swimmer’s builds from high school they never lost, dark hair that fell over hazel eyes, mouths that curved into the same devastating smirk.I’d only met Logan a handful of times. Always brief, always surface-level. He was the “wild” twin—tattoos peeking from his sleeves, a reputation for fucking his way through cities. Ryan was the steady one, the one who stayed, the one who chose me.Until that night, when tequila blurred the lines.I wa