All Chapters of Dirty Affairs: An Erotic Compilation : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

ESMEThe beach sand was shifting under my feet, fine and white like powdered sugar, but I felt like I was walking through wet cement as a result of the tension boiling within me.I marched over to where Logan was wrestling with a massive navy-blue beach umbrella, my temper flaring higher with every single step I took. I shoved his shoulder, not hard enough to knock him over, but enough to surely make him stumble."You’re a total jerk, Logan! I could have broken an ankle back there!" I snapped.Logan didn't even look up from the sand he was digging into. He didn't even realize how angry I was. "Relax, Es. I didn't help you because I knew you were in good hands. Maddox had you, right?"I froze, swallowed nervously and bit the bottom of my lip so hard I could feel the metallic taste of blood."Good hands?" I scoffed, throwing a thumb back toward the boat where Maddox was still standing, looking like a goddamn Greek god in board shorts. "He has the hands of a serial killer. Or a groper. P

ESMEMaddox suddenly broke from the kiss, hands softly cupping my face in a very unfamiliar sweet gesture. This was a new side to Maddox I hadn't seen before. He had never been sweet on me, never in his life. “I can almost smell your desire, Es.” He murmured, sending tingling sensations dancing down my spine, his teeth slightly grazing my bottom lip. “You've been acting like a spoiled brat while deep down you've been craving this right?” I wanted to respond, say anything witty, but all of my sharp attacks died in my throat the moment his lips found mine again in a wet, hungry kiss. And God help me, but I responded. My hands were desperately reaching out for anything, anything that would anchor my sanity at that moment. The rough bark of the coconut tree bit mercilessly into my bare shoulder blades, a sharp reminder of where we were, but the sensation was quickly drowned out by the heat of Maddox’s body. While his mouth was still busy devouring mine, I felt his nimble fingers f

FINN The first time I saw Julia, I actually forgot how to breathe for a solid sixty seconds. I’m the Managing Director of one of the most cutthroat finance firms in the city. I'm what a number of people would call rigid, because apparently, I don’t get easily blown away by anything. I deal in cold, hard numbers and colder, harder people. But Julia? She was like a fucking glitch in my wired system. She was sleek, with a body that looked like it had been sculpted by a professional. She had a very detailed and very carnal physique. Her face was well-defined, so radiant, that it felt like an insult to every other woman who had ever walked on the face of earth. That very day she had walked in with that file clutched tightly in her hand like it was some sort of lifeline, and that beautiful silk blouse clinging tightly to the upper part of her body. I'd expected her to be applying for a Senior Analyst position. I'd even go as far as thinking she maybe wanted a seat on the board. Whe

ENID “Hello, this is your captain speaking. We’ve started our descent…” The rest of the words faded into the background as the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, a distant, disembodied drone announcing our descent into the O’Hare International Airport. For me, it felt like I was just about landing straight into hell. Outside the window, the Chicago skyline was a jagged teeth-line of steel and ice, cutting through a bruised purple dusk. I suddenly felt that familiar, gnawing ache in the center of my chest—the one that always flared up the second I crossed the Illinois border. It wasn't nostalgia, nope. It was more like a warning siren. I was back for the one-year memorial of my father’s passing. A milestone of grief wrapped in the suffocating tinsel of the holidays. But more than the grief, it was the thought of facing my mother that made my skin feel two sizes too small. No amount of affirmations about self worth could soothe the burning ache twisting deep in my chest.

ENID The sanctuary of the church was cold, filled with the heavy scent of lilies and the muffled sounds of people who were probably only there to be seen. My mother had picked out a satin dress for me, a dress that felt like a secondary layer of skin—a deep navy blue color that clung to every curve, the fabric so thin it felt like a betrayal. I knew it was definitely payback. She knew I hated feeling exposed, yet here I was, looking like I was headed to a gala instead of my own father’s memorial. I hadn't argued. I couldn't. Not with the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit—Knox Steele, moving through the aisles like a dark, silent shadow. Every time I caught a glimpse of him in his tailored suit, I felt his eyes perform a tactical sweep of the room, always landing on me a second longer than necessary. So, for my own sanity, I stayed tucked into the corners, avoiding him like he was a live wire. When the service finally ended, the crowd thinned out into the parking lot for the recep