Lahat ng Kabanata ng Dark (short stories): Kabanata 131 - Kabanata 140

They avoided each other in school the next day. Aisha sat in the back of the lecture hall, eyes fixed on her notebook, refusing to look at the front where Jaxon stood lecturing on unconscious motivation. He didn’t call on her. Didn’t glance her way. Not once. The tension was electric — she felt his presence like a physical touch, her panties soaked by the middle of the class, thighs clenched tight to stop the ache. He acted like she was invisible. Professional. Untouched. It only made her want him more. After the last class, she went straight to his house. The door was locked, but under the mat was a single key. No note, just the key. She picked it up with trembling fingers, unlocked the door, stepped inside. The house was quiet, empty, sunlight slanted through the windows. She closed the door behind her, the silence felt heavy, intimate. She wandered into the living room. Saw a framed photo on the shelf, Jaxon, younger, smiling in a suit at some conference, handsome and confi

Aisha’s graduation was scheduled for the next week. The countdown had started, rehearsals, family calls, final fittings, packed schedules. She knew the days ahead would be chaos, and she might not get another chance to see Jaxon alone before the graduation. The thought made her chest tight. She texted him at 11 p.m. on Friday night, her heart hammering. **Aisha**: Graduation is next week, i would be busy after tomorrow, i need to see you tonight at your house, please. His reply came in under a minute. **Jaxon**: Door’s unlocked, you can come now. She drove over in the dark, wearing nothing under her coat but the red lace thong he’d once ripped off her in his office. When she stepped inside, he was waiting in the living room, shirt unbuttoned, jeans low, eyes already burning. No words. He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed her coat and yanked it off, he saw the thong and groaned low, he pushed her against the wall so hard the picture frame rattled. “You think yo

Two days had passed since that night, and Isabella could not escape the memory of Luca Moretti. Her body still ached from the bruises on her hips from his grip, to the soreness between her legs where he had taken her virginity so ruthlessly. She cried every night, alone in her small bedroom, the sheets twisted around her as she tried to wash away the feeling of his hands, his mouth, his cock filling her until she screamed, offcourse she hated him, hated her uncle and also hated herself for the way her body still throbbed when she remembered his growl, his scent, the way he looked at her like she already belonged to him. Her uncle Tony was back home, beaten, limping, and well bruised, promising he would find the money, pay Luca off, and make things right. "Just stay away from him," he said, voice cracking. But Isabella knew it was impossible, Luca Moretti did not forget debts. The knock came at 9 p.m, she knew it was him before she even reached the door, her heart slammed against

Luca’s breath was ragged beneath her, his broad chest heaving, sweat gleaming on his inked skin. His cock was still buried deep inside her, softening slightly but still thick enough to stretch her sore walls. Cum leaked out around where they were joined, warm and sticky, dripping down her inner thighs and onto his balls. She could feel every twitch of him inside her, every aftershock of his release, and it made her own body clench again involuntarily, a soft, broken whimper escaping her lips. She didn’t move off him, Instead, she rolled her hips slowly, grinding down in lazy circles, feeling him stir again despite how many times she had already made him come. Tears still clung to her lashes, but her eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide with something raw and hungry, she leaned down, her lips brushing his ear, her voice hoarse from screaming. “You thought you owned me,” she whispered, clenching her inner muscles around him deliberately. “But I’m taking you now.” Luca g

Amara and David had been neighbors for two years, the kind of best neighbors who joked about everything and nothing. He’d knock on her door to borrow salt and leave with half her rice. She’d bang on his wall at 2 a.m. yelling “Turn down that Davido!” and he’d reply through the wall with “Come turn it down yourself, madam!” They’d laugh in the hallway the next morning like nothing happened, exchange “good morning” with fake stern faces, then crack up again. They were comfortable, always joking, never serious. Until the night he knocked at 11:47 p.m. holding a small box of birthday cake. Amara opened the door in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, hair in a messy bun. “David? It’s almost midnight.” He grinned, sheepish. “It’s my birthday, theres no one else to share cake with, thought my favorite troublemaker might want some.” She laughed, stepping aside. “Favorite troublemaker? Since when?” “Since you stole my parking spot last month and left me that note saying ‘Finders keepers, l