Raw & Ruined: Short Erotic Sins のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

Chapter 1 – Poker NightThe house smelled like cigar smoke and whiskey before the cards were even dealt.Sarah leaned against the kitchen doorway in her tiny sleep shorts and cropped hoodie, arms crossed under her chest, watching the two men set up at the dining table. Poker night was a monthly ritual—her stepdad Charles and his best friend David had been doing it since she was in high school. Back then she’d hide upstairs with headphones, pretending the low laughter and clink of chips didn’t exist.Tonight she wasn’t hiding.She’d had a shit day. Her ex had texted some bullshit apology that felt more like a guilt trip, her boss had chewed her out over a missed deadline, and the PMS cramps were hitting like a truck. She needed distraction. Noise. Something to drown out the noise in her head.And maybe—maybe—she needed to feel seen.Charles looked up first. Thirty-nine, broad-shouldered, dark hair still thick, faint silver at the temples now. He was in a black t-shirt that hugged his c

The gym smelled like rubber mats, metal, and the faint tang of sweat that never quite left the air. Hazel pushed through the glass doors at 2:45 p.m. on a Thursday, the sun still high outside, turning the parking lot into a shimmering black mirror. Inside, the gym was quiet—mid-afternoon slump. A few regulars on the cardio machines, one guy in the free-weight area, the front desk girl scrolling her phone. Hazel waved at her, swiped her keycard, and headed straight to the private training room she’d booked for 90 minutes. Room 3. Soundproofed walls, floor-to-ceiling mirrors on three sides, small high windows letting in slanted daylight, a Bluetooth speaker in the corner, racks of dumbbells, a bench, a squat rack, a pull-up bar, and a padded mat. The door had a lock—standard for private sessions. No cameras inside. Privacy policy. She liked it that way. She dropped her gym bag by the bench, pulled out her phone, connected to the speaker, and let low, bass-heavy R&B fill the space

Ethan’s POVI couldn’t think straight.Lara’s mouth was hot and wet around my cock, lips stretched wide, tongue swirling slow circles under the head like she’d been dreaming about this for years. Every time she sucked, my hips jerked forward on instinct—pushing deeper until I hit the back of her throat. She didn’t gag. She just hummed—low, vibrating—eyes flicking up to meet mine, green and wicked, like she knew exactly what that sound did to me.“Fuck,” I groaned, voice cracking. My hand was already in her hair—fingers tangled in the damp blonde strands—not pulling, just holding on like she was the only thing keeping me upright.She pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny, a thin string of spit connecting her mouth to the tip of my cock. She licked it away slowly, never breaking eye contact.“You taste good, baby boy,” she whispered. “Better than I imagined.”My brain short-circuited.Baby boy.She’d never called me that before. Not once in four years. And hearing it now—while she was o

Noah’s POVThe house was dead quiet when I got home from the gym.It was a Thursday afternoon in late spring. Dad was at work until late, Mum had left for her weekend spa trip with her friends—three days of “self-care” in the hills. That left just me and Lila.My twin sister.We’d always been close—too close, maybe. Same dark hair, same sharp jaw, same green eyes that could cut through bullshit in seconds. People used to joke we were mirror images growing up. Now they just stared a little too long when we walked together, like they could sense something they weren’t supposed to see.Lila had been bolder since we turned nineteen. She didn’t bother closing her bedroom door when she changed. She wore tiny sleep shorts that rode up her ass when she bent over to grab something from the fridge. She’d catch me looking and smile—just a small, knowing curve of her lips—then walk away like nothing happened.I told myself I didn’t notice.I was lying.I dropped my gym bag by the front door, peel

Audrey Thompson had been in love with Morgan Hale since the seventh grade—or at least, that's when she first noticed the way his messy brown hair fell over his forehead during middle school assembly. Back then, he was just the goofy kid who could sink three-pointers from half-court and make the whole gym erupt. By freshman year at Ridgewood High, he'd filled out—six feet of lean muscle from endless basketball drills, with sharp jawline, hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and a laugh that hit her like a shot of adrenaline. They weren't close friends, not like she was with Aria or the girls from bio lab. But they talked. Hallway hellos turned into quick chats about teachers, memes, or the latest drama. "Hey, Aud, you see that chem test? Brutal," he'd say, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, close enough that she caught the faint scent of his deodorant—clean, like pine and mint.She played it cool. Always. No one knew about the doodles in her notebook margins, the way she'd rep