All Chapters of Forbidden Taboos : Steamy dark stories : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The next morning Emily woke to Mark’s cock already sliding slowly in and out of her from behind—spooned tight, one of his thick arms locked around her waist, the other hand cupping her breast, thumb lazily circling her nipple.She moaned softly, still half-asleep, pushing her ass back to take him deeper. He was rock-hard, slick from the cum he’d left inside her overnight, every lazy thrust making a quiet, wet sound in the silent bedroom.“Couldn’t wait,” he rasped against her ear. “Woke up hard thinking about fucking you again before breakfast.”Emily reached back, threaded her fingers into his hair. “Then don’t stop. Fill me up before the sun’s even fully up.”He picked up the pace—deeper rolls now, grinding against her cervix on every inward stroke. His hand slid down between her thighs, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, firm circles.She came first—quiet this time, shuddering around him, walls pulsing as she soaked his cock and the sheets beneath them.Mark followed se

Jace’s truck rattled over the last stretch of gravel like it was trying to warn him to turn around.He didn’t.The lake house appeared through the pines exactly as it had in every memory he’d tried to bury: weathered cedar siding, wraparound porch sagging slightly on the lake side, the same red Adirondack chairs still chained to the railing so they wouldn’t blow away in winter storms. Nine years gone and the place looked almost unchanged—like time had only bothered with the people, not the building.He killed the engine. Silence rushed in: crickets, distant lap of water against the dock, the faint metallic tick of the cooling motor.Rowan’s Subaru was already parked crooked in the shade, driver’s door still ajar like she’d been in too much of a hurry to shut it properly. Jace stared at it longer than necessary, stomach tight.He hadn’t seen her face-to-face since the night he left. Phone calls had stopped after the third year. Texts after the fifth. The funeral notice he’d mailed her

The house settled into evening quiet after the long day of sorting. Sunlight had bled away behind the pines, leaving only the soft blue glow of dusk filtering through the lake-facing windows. Jace and Rowan had worked mostly in silence since the kiss on the living-room floor—careful touches when passing boxes, glances that lingered a beat too long, but no more words about what had happened. Neither wanted to risk breaking the fragile thing between them by naming it too soon.Dinner was simple: reheated pizza on paper plates, eaten standing at the kitchen counter because sitting at the table felt too formal, too much like the family dinners they used to have before everything fractured. They didn’t speak much. Just small things—pass the red pepper flakes, want another slice?—and even those felt intimate in the hush.When the last slice was gone, Rowan rinsed the plates while Jace wiped down the counter. Domestic. Familiar. Painfully tender.She turned off the faucet. Dried her hands on

Lila Hart had been at Voss Industries for exactly nineteen days when she stayed late for the third time that week.The thirty-eighth floor was already emptying by six-thirty. Most of the other interns had fled the moment the clock hit five, clutching their messenger bags and whispering about happy-hour drinks they couldn’t afford on entry-level stipends. Lila stayed. Not because she was noble, not because she loved the work—though she did—but because she had learned early that the people who got noticed were the ones who were still there when the lights dimmed.She sat at her glass-and-steel desk in the open-plan bullpen, pretending to proofread the quarterly investor deck for the hundredth time. The real reason she lingered was simpler: Elias Voss’s office door was cracked open.The CEO’s suite occupied the entire northwest corner of the floor—floor-to-ceiling glass, smoked to opacity during meetings, transparent when he was alone. Tonight the glass was clear. Through the gap in the

I took my towel to the laundry basket in my restroom—I couldn't help myself—before taking the elevator down from the third floor to the first. I walked through the open first floor toward the back of the house that faced the cliffside, Coastal Road, where my husband parked two of his four Porsches. For a man who was heir and co-owner of one of the biggest Engineering and Technology companies in the world, the man only drove Porches when he was at home. He kept his car collection somewhere else.Outside, the sun showed gold in a mostly blue sky, but off the coast, near the horizon, billowed a storm of gray clouds. Great. Dex would use those clouds as an excuse to drive faster than he usually did on the way to his parents' home. I frowned, then my frown deepened when I looked at the car.My daughter, Lana, stood next to the passenger-side door in her sweats with a little backpack in her right hand, looking nothing like the twenty-year-old cover girl she was. Would she be a cover girl if