All Chapters of Ignite me (A collection of Short Stories): Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Ophelia's POVMy breath stalls and my nerves shake so badly when he grips my arm so hard, pushing me against his desk. Oh he's so angry for how much he wants me, and seeing his angry face for the first time gets my core buzzling with desires as I feel a slickness between my legs. l lean to kiss him even if his lips are far away, even when he's in self denial and he's halting my movement. My whole body responding to his touch— electricity coursing through my veins, and it feels like my life is being sucked out slowly the more he prevents me from touching him. I have never desperately wanted a man this much and maybe it's because I know how it's forbidden to want a man like him. A priest.“Kiss me. Please kiss me, Father Calum” I coo, my eyes faltering on his lips that will definitely feel soft. I see his jaw clenching, his eyes omitting something dark and dangerous. His hands leave my arm and come up around my waist, making my body crash against his in a swift movement that gets me swo

Father Calum's POV That was… fantastic. Having my cock in her mouth. It is still sloppy from my cum and her saliva. I will regret this later, hate myself, but now, I feast. I feast on her.“Owwwww,” She moans, and I keep sucking her red cherry pussy. My tongue licking, her clit going in between my teeth. “Oh…yes” she shoots her hips up, rolling it so her cunt is smashing against my mouth, my nose. I growl, her wetness smearing on my face, my fingers digging in her thighs.I drag her fat folds in my mouth, and then my tongue circles her clit, plunging in. I can't get enough. It's so pretty like her. So clean and pink. My fingers split her folds apart so I could see her hole clearly. god, it's so tight. I stroke my cock, and then my tongue goes into her hole. “Father, Calum” Her stomach flexes and she aches her back, fisting my head, her legs shaking as her juices drip out of her and onto her thigh. She falls back to my desk after I kiss and suck at it one last time, shrieking, only

The shock wears off after several minutes of us staring at each other in silence.And God help me, why does it turn me on so badly, knowing the man I have a huge crush on is my stalker? This isn’t how I imagined it. Being stalked.“I’m sorry.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Hannah, I’m sorry.”I keep staring at him, my silence deliberate.“Say something. Please ”I don’t think he deserves a response. I mean he did put me in chains, and scared me to death. “Why?” I finally ask. Why go this far? Why stalk me? I still haven’t ruled out the possibility that this is kidnapping. Not when I don’t know his reasons yet.“Because I’m sick,” he says. “A sick forty-seven year old man who’s obsessed with you.”My jaw drops.Obsessed?“You’re all I think about,” he continues quietly. “From the day I saw you at your parents’ anniversary.”That's almost two months now. We didn't even talk past hellos when my dad introduced him as his childhood friend. His best friend.“And so you kidnapped

The kitchen glows under the soft lights, steam curling lazily from the pot of tomato sauce on the stove. The air is mix with garlic, the earthy sweetness of basil, and the deep, smoky char of browned meat. The marble island feels cold against my forearms as I perch on the stool, wearing nothing but Reid’s oversized button down shirt. The cotton is soft and warm from his body, the sleeves rolled to my elbows after my long, steaming bath. I watch him move barefoot across the tiles. He’s shirtless, jeans riding low on his hips as he stirs the sauce. He lifts the wooden spoon, blows gently across it, then he closes his lips around it. A rumbling hum of approval vibrates in his throat. Suddenly, his shoulders go rigid, the spoon freezing mid-air. “Fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough as gravel. My heart slams against my ribs. “What?” He turns. His eyes lock onto mine, and raw regret flashes unguarded across his face. A lone drop of sauce slips down the spoon and splats onto the counte

Maria’s POV I remember the exact moment I first saw the Harrington mansion. I stand on the gravel drive with my suitcase, feeling small in my new grey maid's uniform. Mrs. Harrington greets me herself, wheeled out by a nurse. She is frail, but her eyes are soft and kind. She explains my duties to me in a calm voice… light housekeeping, meal preparation, and companionship in the evenings. “My son handles everything else,” she says with a fond smile. “Alexander comes and goes, but when he’s here, he likes things a certain way.” I nod, memorizing the routines, determined to be perfect. I need this job, and pride won’t pay bills. I am in the library, reaching to dust a high shelf, when I sense that I am being watched. I turn slowly, and there he is—Alexander Harrington. He leans against the doorframe, holding a crystal glass of scotch in one hand. I’ve seen photographs of him before, on magazine covers, and I have never seen him smile. He always looks devastated in the pictures.