Alle Kapitel von Screwed Into Forever [Forbidden Collection]: Kapitel 211 – Kapitel 220

Clara woke with the taste of the night still on her tongue and the ache between her legs a low, constant reminder. She had come hard on Noah’s fingers in a dark kitchen and then walked back to her room on unsteady legs, body still pulsing. Sleep had been fragmented and filthy. Every time she closed her eyes she felt the exact pressure of his hand denying her, the way he had made her wait until she was shaking.She dressed carefully—high-waisted trousers, a silk blouse that buttoned to the throat—and told herself daylight changed the rules. Whatever had happened in the kitchen stayed in the kitchen. They still had a wedding to get through. Sophie still needed her. Crossing further lines before the weekend ended was a risk she refused to take.The resolve lasted until she reached the dining room.Noah sat at the long table with Sophie and two of the cousins, casually buttering toast like he hadn’t had his fingers inside her six hours earlier. He lo

The day of the rehearsal dinner arrived with a sky so clear it felt personal. Clara moved through the morning on residual heat and very little sleep. Every time she shifted in her chair or crossed her legs she felt the faint tenderness Noah’s mouth had left behind. The memory of his confession sat heavier than the physical ache—I’ve wanted you since you were twenty-two—and she had no idea what to do with it except keep moving.Sophie was a live wire of nerves and joy. Clara stayed glued to her side through final walkthroughs, last-minute adjustments to the ceremony arch, and a brief crisis involving the wrong shade of napkin rings. Noah appeared and disappeared as needed, always competent, always just close enough that Clara’s body registered him before her mind did. A hand at her lower back as he steadied her on the uneven terrace stones. Fingers brushing the inside of her wrist when he passed her a water bottle. The brief, deliberate press of his chest to her shoulder in a crowded h

The morning of the wedding arrived clear and cool. Clara woke before her alarm, body still carrying the residual heat of the night before—the stretch of Noah’s fingers, the taste of him, the way he had held back even while marking her skin. She showered, pinned her hair into the soft style Sophie had requested for the bridal party, and stepped into the pale sage dress that left her shoulders bare and the skirt moving freely around her legs.Downstairs the house was already in motion. Florists made final adjustments. The photographer’s team set up in the garden. Sophie’s mother floated from room to room with a glass of champagne and shining eyes. Clara found Sophie in the master suite, already in her robe, staring at the gown hanging on the wardrobe door.Sophie turned when Clara entered and immediately pulled her into a tight hug.“I’m getting married today,” she whispered against Clara’s shoulder, half laughing, half crying.“You are.” Clara held her until the shaking stopped. “And i

Clara woke to the low gold of late morning and the solid weight of Noah’s arm across her waist. For a few seconds she simply lay still, cataloguing the pleasant ache between her legs, the faint marks his mouth had left on her throat, the clean scent of his skin. The wedding was over. The house beyond the locked door would be full of slow-moving guests and leftover champagne and the soft chaos of the morning after. None of it felt urgent.Noah stirred behind her. His hand slid from her waist to her hip, then lower, fingers tracing idle patterns along the soft skin of her thigh.“You’re awake,” he murmured against the back of her neck.“Mmm.”“How do you feel?”Clara turned in his arms so she could see his face. Sleep had left his hair messy and his eyes softer than usual. She reached up and brushed a strand away from his forehead.“Like someone finally stopped making me wait.”His mouth curved. “Good.”

Sebastian Vale’s office took up the entire forty-second floor. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Minimal furniture. Everything sharp and expensive and designed to remind people who held the power in the room.Nora arrived five minutes early wearing the same black dress from the night before because she refused to spend money she didn’t have on something new. The receptionist didn’t blink. Apparently desperate women in last night’s clothes were not unusual here.Sebastian stood when she entered. He looked the same as he had at the gala—controlled, immaculate, unreadable. A single folder sat on the low table between two leather chairs.“Sit,” he said.She did. The chair was softer than it looked.He opened the folder and slid the contract across to her. “Read it.”Nora picked it up. The language was clean. Six months. Full coverage of her mother’s medical expenses, paid directly to the hospital. A monthly stipend large enough to cover rent, food, and whatever else she needed. In exchange: public