All Chapters of Dirty Affairs: An Erotic Compilation : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

CLARAThe drive home was a complete blur of neon lights and the lingering, electric hum in my lower abdomen. Every time I shifted in the leather seat of my Bentley, the friction of my thighs reminded me of Tyler—of the weight of him, the scent of his skin, and the way he had methodically dismantled every bit of my composure against a rack of silicone toys.I felt like a stranger in my own skin. I was the Senator’s daughter, the prim girl who never smeared her lipstick, yet here I was with my hair matted at the nape of my neck, and my pulse still skipping like a broken record.When I stepped into the penthouse, the silence was deafening. Julian wasn't home yet. I dropped my keys on the console and walked to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Anything to suit the nerves tightening around my throat. On my way, my phone vibrated in my hand. Of course, It was Ashley. My best friend.The author of all the wrong decisions I've ever taken. "Did you do it?" she demanded the second I pres

CLARAI didn’t think twice. I murmured a quick 'please excuse me,' shoved the microphone at Julian, and bolted straight for the restroom."The silence in the restroom was all I needed to anchor my sanity. I leaned over the marble vanity, staring at my reflection. My eyes were wide, the pupils blown so large the icy blue of my irises had vanished into two black voids of panic. The lace of my dress, the one Julian had so meticulously curated, felt like a cold, wet shroud clinging to my skin.My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped my phone as I dialed Ashley."How is he in there, Ash?" I hissed the second she picked up, my voice a tight whisper. "How is Tyler Wills sitting at a table five feet from the podium? You said you’d handle it!""Wait, what?" Ashley’s voice was a chaotic mix of shock and confusion. "Clara, are you serious? He’s inside the hall? Right now?""He walked in with a black box like he owns the damn Plaza! He looked at me, Ash. He looked at me and I nearly fainted

CLARAMy heart was racing wildly like that of a horse retreating from a bloody battlefield. One half of me—the side raised to be a perfect Huntington — screamed at me to throw the key, burn the note, and scrub the memory of Tyler Wills from my brain. The other half, the part that had felt alive for the first time in years against a display table in a downtown shop, throbbed with a desperate, animalistic need.Maybe it was simply because of the fact that I felt unloved. Maybe it was because I felt a desperate need to be seen, adored and ruined by a man that didn't see me as thrash. Julian didn’t see me; he saw a polished asset. He didn't want a woman; he wanted a statue that could stand beside him at a podium and look pretty while he carved out his fucking political future. Tyler, on the other hand, saw every fractured piece of me. He saw the fire I hid behind the Huntington name. He saw the "slut" Julian claimed didn't exist, and he appreciated her. Wanted her. Deep in my heart, I

CLARAI was a ruin of silk and sweat, suspended by one wrist, my body a map of tremors. But Tyler wasn't finished. He was never finished.He reached for the third piece of equipment. It was a set of heavy, midnight-black leather restraints, lined with soft, cream-colored sheepskin. They looked ancient and modern all at once—tools designed for the sole purpose of total surrender.He unhooked my left wrist from the ceiling cuff. For a fleeting second, I thought I was free, but as my arm dropped, the blood rushing back into my fingertips, Tyler caught both of my hands behind my back. He didn't say a word. He led me towards the far wall, where a set of reinforced steel rings were bolted into the masonry."Turn around," he commanded.I obeyed, my breath coming in shallow hitches. I faced the cold, dark wall, the mirrors behind me reflecting my exposed back and the messy, dark spill of my hair. Tyler pulled my arms up behind me, high enough to make my chest arch forward, and clicked the l

ROONEY The room was meant to be quiet and peaceful—if not for the deep, steady breathing coming from the bunk above me.I lay there, eyes fixed on the underside of the top bunk, as naughty thoughts slowly crept into my mind. Marge was out cold. I knew the signs—the way her breath hitched slightly before falling into a low, rumbling snore. She’d been at a frat party since noon, coming back smelling like cheap tequila and sweat, stumbling just enough to let me know she was toasted before she climbed onto her bed. She was a heavy sleeper on a good day. But tonight, it seemed she was practically in coma.But I couldn't sleep. It was a typical cold winter night, and I was hyper-aware of everything.The rustle of my sheets felt like sandpaper against my skin because every nerve ending I owned was screaming. The blood had migrated south, pooling in a way that made my jeans feel three sizes too small. It wasn't just a physical need. It was a dull, throbbing ache in my testicles, a pressu