All Chapters of Taboo: Ties and Sins : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Ali, in that room surrounded by books, cushions, and silence, Isadora wrote.Seated at the dark wooden desk, her feet bare, her hair in a loose bun, she wore only one of Athos's large shirts—white, soft, carrying his scent mixed with her own. Her fingers glided over the keys with familiarity, but not without emotion. Each word was a heartbeat. Each sentence, a memory tattooed beneath the skin."Seven nights," she typed."Seven abysses. Seven rebirths."She sighed.Took a sip of the jasmine tea cooling beside the computer and closed her eyes for a moment. In the background, the sound of wind beat against the windows. No cars, no horns, no clock shouting that life is passing by.Only time.And him.Athos.As if memory had the power to summon him, she heard his footsteps in the hallway.A firm rhythm, unhurried, like everything about him.The sound of the door being pushed open slowly. The slight creak of the wood. The breeze that entered with him.Without saying a word, Athos walked to

Daniella was still breathless, sprawled on the sofa, her body sated and, at the same time, hungry. The sweat between her breasts glistened. Her thighs were damp, sensitive, pulsing with the recent memory of Samuel's body inside her. But there was more. There was always more with him.Samuel slowly pulled away, his eyes fixed on her with renewed hunger. His muscles were tense, his breathing heavy. But instead of collapsing beside her to rest, he stood up and extended his hand."Come with me," he said in a deep voice, pulling her up firmly but without haste.She followed him, naked, her heels still on her feet, her legs trembling. He led her to the kitchen and made her sit on the marble countertop. The cold stone against her hot skin made her back arch slightly. Shivers ran down her spine.Samuel positioned himself between her legs, his eyes fixed on the center of her pleasure, where her lips were swollen and glistening, dripping with the remnants of desire. He ran his fingers along her

The soft carpet caressed Daniella’s back as Samuel kissed her with raw desire, but now with a different intensity. The wild urgency had given way to something slower… more intimate. But no less erotic.Their bodies were still warm. Sweaty. The marks of what they had just done were stamped on their skin—bites on her neck, scratches on his shoulders, the mix of pleasure dripping between her thighs. But Samuel’s eyes said: this isn’t the end yet.“Get up,” he said, firm but unhurried. “I want to see you another way now.”Daniella obeyed without a word, letting him guide her with his big hands on her waist. He led her to the leather armchair in front of the unlit fireplace. A throne, in that moment. And she would be his queen. Or perhaps, his devotee.Samuel sat down first, spreading his legs wide, his member still rigid, thick and glistening with traces of their last climax. He patted his lap with his palm.“Come here.”Daniella crawled to him. Literally. On her hands and knees, hair spi

The night remained dense outside, but inside the loft, time seemed to have stopped, or rather, bowed to the will of the two bodies provocatively teasing each other without shame. The air smelled of sweat, sex, and saliva. They were naked, wet, their bodies marked by all they had already done. But Samuel still wanted more.And Daniella did too.She lay on the rug before the extinguished fireplace, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, nipples hard, skin flushed and damp. Samuel rose slowly, like a predator studying his surrendered prey, and went to the shelf where he kept old fabrics used in his training. Among them, a black cotton strip, thick and soft.He held it in his hands, testing its weight and flexibility, before returning to her."Tonight, you won't touch me," he said, his voice low, drawn out, authoritative. "You're going to feel. Just feel."Daniella bit her lower lip, her entire body shivering. She already knew where this was going. And the fire in her belly grew

The heat of Madrid beat like a hot tongue against Clare’s bare back. The beige linen dress clung to her damp skin, sticking to her breasts and thighs as if the city wanted to peel away every layer of protection. Sweat trickled between her breasts as she dragged her suitcases up the stairs, muttering in English a string of muffled curses.The building was old, with yellowed walls, encaustic tiles on the staircase, and a scent of lemon and dust. On the second floor, the narrow hallway was silent, except for one open door, from which a warm breeze escaped along with the low sound of flamenco music playing softly. She halted. Her eyes fixed on the figure appearing there.Barefoot. Loose white linen pants, hanging dangerously low on his hips. The open white shirt revealed a broad, tanned chest, with a thin line of dark hair trailing down toward his navel. His dark brown hair was tousled, and his eyes, God, those eyes, looked like liquid gold in the shadow, fixed on her as if studying her u