All Chapters of DIRTY DREAMS (AN EROTICA COLLECTION): Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

Thursday, 2 PM. Like clockwork.I hear his truck pull into the driveway and I'm already at the bedroom window – the one that overlooks the backyard, the pool, the stone deck where he'll spend the next two hours making me question every decision that led to this invisible life.His name is Caleb. Twenty-five. The pool service company sent him in June when our regular guy retired and I opened the back door expecting a middle-aged man with a beer gut and chlorine-stained khakis and instead got – him.Tall. Lean but muscled, the kind of body built by actual labor – hauling equipment, lifting filters, working in the sun until his skin turned deep gold. Sandy brown hair that curls when it's wet, which it always is by the end because he sweats through his tank top within twenty minutes. Arms that flex when he skims the surface. Hands that grip the pool net like – I need to stop.I'm forty-two. Married. My husband travels four days a week selling medical equipment to hospitals that don't retu

The water is perfect. Cool against our sun-heated skin. He just cleaned it – the water crystal clear, chlorine-fresh, sparkling in the afternoon light.He pulls me in from the shallow end steps. The water hits my waist – cool against my overheated pussy, soothing my spanked ass – and he pulls me against him. My legs wrap around his waist. His cock, hard again already – twenty-five, god bless twenty-five – presses against my entrance underwater."I've imagined this since June," he says. "You in this pool. Wrapped around me."He slides inside me in the water. The buoyancy makes everything dreamlike – I'm weightless, floating, his cock filling me while the water laps at my tits. He grabs my ass and moves me – pulling me onto him, pushing me off – using the water to control the rhythm."Ride me," he says. "Use me."I roll my hips. Grinding, feeling his cock shift inside me underwater. The water amplifies every sensation – cool liquid against my hot, swollen pussy, his warm cock inside me,

The stretch makes me bite the desk. He's big enough that it burns every time – that first thrust that splits me open, my pussy resisting then surrendering, his cock sinking inch by inch until he bottoms out and I feel him in my spine.He fucks me against the desk with the curtains open. My wrists still bound behind my back with his belt. His hand fists my hair, arching my head up so I'm staring at the city while he destroys me. His other hand grips my hip and pulls me back onto his cock with each stroke."Tell me who this pussy belongs to.""You – it's yours –"He spanks me. Hard. The sound cracks through the room. "Who?""You – only you – harder –"He picks up his phone. I hear the shutter. My pussy tightens – he's photographing me. Bent over the desk, hands bound, his cock buried in me, the city behind us. Evidence. Proof this happened."For the nights I can't be here." He thrusts harder. "When I'm lying next to her and I need to remember what my slut looks like when she's full of m

His mouth finds mine and the taste of a man who isn't my husband – red wine and something spiced – makes my head swim. He kisses confident and slow, his hand cupping my jaw, his tongue sliding against mine with a skill that says he's done this many times and learned something new each time. His stubble scrapes my chin and the roughness compared to Alex's clean-shaven face is a contrast that makes me gasp.Across the couch, Alex has his hand in Valentina's hair. She's straddling his lap – her crimson dress hiked up her thighs, grinding against him. He pulls back and looks at me – checking in, always checking in – and I nod and his face breaks into something I haven't seen in years. Relief. Permission. Want.Marco's hand slides up my thigh. Under the hem of my dress. His fingers trace the edge of my underwear – soaked, I'm soaked, I've been soaking since I watched Valentina kiss my husband – and he groans against my mouth."You're drenched," he murmurs. "Already this wet from watching?"

I didn't mean to want him. Nobody walks into a graduate seminar thinking I'm going to ruin my academic career for a man in a tweed jacket. But Dr. James Harrison doesn't wear tweed. He wears dark fitted shirts rolled to his elbows and glasses he pushes up his nose when he's thinking and he reads my thesis drafts with a pen between his teeth and marginalia so precise it feels like being intellectually fingered.I'm twenty-eight. He's forty-three. I'm his thesis advisee. He's my committee chair. The power dynamic makes it impossible. The way he looks at me across the seminar table when I dismantle his argument makes it inevitable.Tonight I'm in his office. Comprehensive exams tomorrow. I'm spiraling – pacing, hyperventilating, three Red Bulls deep, my hands shaking around a stack of note cards."I'm going to fail," I say. "I'm going to fail and lose my funding and –""Sit down." His voice. Low. Calm. The voice that commands lecture halls and haunts me in the shower. "You are the most b