All Chapters of Dirty (short stories): Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The next day passed in a quiet haze. Sophia woke up in her own apartment, the sheets still smelling faintly of Liam’s cologne, her body aching in the best way from the night before. She had left his place early that morning after the confessions, no dramatic goodbye, just a soft kiss at the door and a promise to text later. The truth was out already, they both knew what they felt for each other but neither had said what came next. Her phone buzzed at 5 p.m, a delivery notification. She opened the door to find a sleek black box on her doorstep, tied with a red ribbon, no note on the outside, just her name in elegant handwriting. She carried it inside and opened it. A dress, deep red, silk, low-cut back, thigh-high slit, the kind of dress that screamed “wear me and destroy someone.” Folded beside it was a set of delicate gold jewelry: thin choker necklace, dangling earrings, a bracelet and at the bottom, a small cream envelope. She opened it. **Sophia,** **Wear this tonigh

The forbidden had just begun, but Aisha felt it already changing her. She left his office that night with her skirt smoothed down, lips swollen, thighs still trembling from how hard she had come on his fingers, his taste lingering on her tongue like a secret she could not swallow away. The campus was dark and empty as she walked back to her dorm, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat that lingered in her body. She replayed every moment ,the way he had looked at her when she dropped to her knees, the low groan when he came down her throat, the way he had kissed her softly afterward like he meant it, even if he said it could not happen again. She knew it would. The next day was torture. She sat in his lecture hall at 10 a.m., back row, her legs crossed tight under the desk. He stood at the front, explaining Freudian repression, how desires we push down never truly disappear, how they leak out in dreams, slips of the tongue, symptoms of the unconscious. His voice was ca

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