Todos os capítulos de Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband : Capítulo 231 - Capítulo 240

The door exploded off its frame. Aria flinched hard, full body, even with her eyes closed—the sound of it hitting the wall was like a gunshot in the small room and the corridor light blasted in all at once in one white flood. The weight above her vanished. Lifted completely, like something had reached in and removed it entirely. She lay there for one second. Then she heard it. The sound of a fist connecting. Once. The choked grunt of impact. Again. She pushed herself upright on arms that barely held her and blinked against the light. Damian had the man against the far wall, one fist in his collar, and he was hitting him with a focused, relentless precision that had nothing controlled about it. The man's head snapped sideways with the first hit. The second buckled his knees. Damian pulled him back upright and hit him again. And again. The man raised his hands and Damian drove them aside and hit him again

He hadn't moved the chair.He'd sat down in it when he came back into the room and he hadn't moved since. That was over an hour ago. The room was dark, the city throwing its low blue light through the tall windows and across the floor, and she was asleep in front of him, his shirt loose on her shoulders, her hands open near her face on the pillow. The slap mark on her cheek had deepened while he sat here watching it. Gone from red to that particular dark purple that meant it would be worse by morning.His jaw ached.He'd been holding it tight for hours and couldn't stop.His mind kept going back to the corridor without asking his permission.He'd already been moving when Raines came around the far end of it, already walking faster than made sense in a room full of people, already feeling something pulling wrong in his chest without knowing what it was yet. Then Raines came around that corner and the way he was moving said everything befor

And then she happened and he does not know when the architecture started changing but it did.He does not hate it. That is the thing that confuses him most. She breaks his control and he does not hate her for it. She should make him furious. Every time he loses the precision she costs him, every time she pulls something out of him he did not plan to give, every time he finds himself doing something he would never do for any other reason on earth, he should be angry at her. That would make sense. That would fit. He is not angry at her. He has never been able to stay angry at her for the thing she does to his control the way he can stay angry at everything else. He just keeps reaching for her. He keeps finding himself wanting to see her laugh again, wanting to remove things that make her face close down, wanting her near him in the specific particular way that has nothing to do with ownership and nothing to do with obsession and nothing he has ever successfully called by the

He kissed the corners of her teary eyes, tasting the salt, then each eyelid, slow and reverent. His lips moved to her purple mouth, kissing her so gently it made her chest ache. He sucked softly on her lower lip, then the upper, drawing a tiny whimper from her.She wore only his silk shirt, the fabric loose and cool against her skin. His fingers found the first button. He opened it slowly, eyes on hers the whole time. “I am going to kiss every inch of you tonight,” he said quietly. “Until there is no room left in your mind for anything but us. Until your body remembers it belongs right here with me.”He kissed the hollow of her collarbone as the first button opened. His tongue traced the line there.Second button. He kissed the swell of her breast, then circled her nipple with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth and sucking with slow, steady pulls. Aria arched, a soft “Ah…” escaping her.Third button. His mouth trailed down her stomach, li

She pressed her face back against his chest. Her hand on his ribs tightened. She felt the way his chest moved under her, the controlled steady breathing of a man who had been keeping things in their places for a very long time, and she held on.“Alfred never told me,” he said. “There were no photographs in the house. Not one, in the entire estate. She was on paper. A fact in a document somewhere. I grew up knowing she existed the way you know something is written in a file you have never seen.” He paused. “I did not have a shape for her. A name. A face. Nothing that made her a person.”Her shoulders were shaking. She held herself still.“Beatrice told me,” he said. “She came to the estate when Alfred was away. She sat me down in the kitchen at the big table.” His voice was quieter now, not softer, quieter. “She just said it. She said her name was Clara. She had brown eyes. She laughed easily.” He stopped for a moment. “She was terrified and happy at the sa