All Chapters of DRIPPING WET: A COLLECTION OF EROTICA : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The next night, I swore I’d stay in my room. I swore I’d lock the door.I didn’t.Because the second I heard his voice again, deep and low from the hallway, my knees went weak.“Close the door, Lana.”That’s all he said.And I did.I closed it. Locked it. Turned around slowly—and there he was. Already inside. Already walking toward me like he had every right to be here. In my room. In my space. In my fucking skin.“Didn’t say I could sleep yet,” he murmured, eyes dragging down my body. I was in a thin tank top and lace panties. Stupid. Or maybe on purpose. I didn’t even know anymore.“I thought you weren’t coming tonight.”“I’m always coming for you.”My breath hitched.He reached out and tugged the strap of my tank down, exposing my bare shoulder. Then the other. The fabric fell to my waist like it was never supposed to be there in the first place.“No bra again,” he said, smirking. “Good girl.”My nipples were already hard. Already begging.I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just stood t

It started the night my husband forgot my birthday.Not forgot like he was busy or tired. Forgot like I never existed. He didn’t come home, didn’t call, didn’t even bother lying. Just silence.So I dressed up in the new red lingerie he never saw, poured myself a drink, and cried quietly in the corner of his cold, lifeless house.That’s when his father showed up.I’d never been alone with him before—not really. The few family dinners we had were awkward, quiet. I was the young girl his son married too fast. The one everyone whispered about behind polite smiles.But tonight, when he walked in unannounced with that expensive watch and deep voice, something changed.He stopped when he saw me—my thighs out, robe barely tied, the glass in my hand half-empty and my heart entirely broken.“What are you doing here?” I asked, voice low and bitter.He closed the door, calm like always. “I came to drop off something your husband left at the office. I didn’t know you’d be home.”“Yeah, neither did

He didn’t need to say it again.I opened wide, stuck out my tongue, and let thick strings of spit drip down onto his cock—messy, filthy, just the way he liked it. I stroked him slowly, coating every inch in my saliva, watching his jaw clench and his abs tighten with every slick pump.“Look at you,” he grunted, gripping my chin. “So pretty when you’re disgusting.”His words made me wetter.He leaned in and slapped his cock against my tongue over and over until my lips were swollen, my mouth aching to taste him again. And then he shoved himself back in—deep, deeper, until his cock hit the back of my throat and I choked around it.“That’s it,” he growled. “Choke on it. Let me fuck that filthy mouth.”He didn’t let me breathe. Just held my head steady and used me—slow thrusts at first, then faster, rougher, as tears rolled down my cheeks and spit poured down my chin.I gagged again, louder this time.He loved it.“Yeah, that’s it. Fucking perfect.” He groaned, low and deep, and pulled out

The mask hid half my face, but not the heat in my cheeks.Room 77 was dim, golden light dripping from the chandelier, sheets so black they almost swallowed the bed.The door clicked.He stepped in—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the same black silk mask. No greeting, no hesitation. The rules here didn’t allow for that.He crossed the room in three strides and had me against the wall before I could catch my breath. One gloved hand slid up my thigh, under the slit of my dress, fingers curling like he’d already memorized my body.No name. No small talk. Just a low murmur against my ear “Turn around.”I did.He pressed me to the wall, the hard line of him against me. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back just enough for him to slide the hem of my dress higher, higher, until cool air hit my skin.The mask made him a stranger. The way he touched me made him feel like someone I’d known forever.When his fingers finally slipped between my thighs, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath

I was still catching my breath when he stepped away.The bed shifted under me, the air cooling where his heat had been. I heard the faint creak of the drawer by the nightstand opening.“What are you”“Shh.”The sound of metal against metal made my pulse jump. I turned my head just enough to see it—something dark, gleaming in his hand.Handcuffs.“That’s against the rules,” I said, my voice thin. The club had strict limits—no restraints without prior consent.He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Then don’t tell anyone.”Before I could argue, he was back, pressing me forward onto the sheets again. The cold steel closed around one wrist, then the other, locking them together above my head.My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I could have said stop. I should have.But I didn’t.His hand slid down my spine, lingering at the curve of my hip. “Good girl.”The cuffs made me hyperaware of every movement—every press of his body, every shift of the mattress. I couldn’t brace myself, couldn’t control