บททั้งหมดของ CRAVING MY FORBIDDEN STEPBROTHER: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

His hand slid down. Around the front of my hip. Over my belly. Lower. Two fingers slipping easy between my legs, finding me already slick, finding what I'd been hiding under those paint-stained shorts for the last hour."You're soaked.""Shut up.""You been like this the whole time?""Cain.""Painting baseboards. Wet for me." His fingers worked slow, dragging through me, circling my clit once, twice. I made a sound I didn't approve of. "Answer the question, baby.""Yes.""Yes what.""Yes, the whole time.""Good girl." He kissed the back of my shoulder. His fingers kept moving. Slower. Then he pushed two of them inside me and curled them up, and I bit down on my own forearm. "You want me to fuck you right here?""Yes.""Tell me.""I want you to fuck me.""Where.""Here. Cain. Here, please."He laughed, low, against the back of my neck. His fingers slid out of me, and he brought them up, and I heard him suck them clean."Tastes like mine.""Cain, oh my god.""Hands behind you."I gave h

Someone is saying my name.Not the way Cain says it. Not the way my mother says it. This voice is flat and urgent and close to my face and my head is pounding and the world is sideways and wrong."Layla. Wake up. Come on."My eyes open.The light is yellow and dim and the ceiling above me is concrete and stained and I don't know where I am. My wrists are behind my back. Tied. Something coarse, rope or zip ties, biting into the skin every time I move.What happened? The last thing I remember was Cain driving, then the glasses caving in, then...Oh no."Layla."Jace is crouching in front of me.His face is close. His eyes are moving over mine, checking, the way you check someone who's been unconscious, and his hand is on my shoulder and his mouth is set in a hard line."There you go," he says. "Can you see me?""Where..." My voice comes out scraped and raw. My throat burns. The sweet smell from the cloth is still in my nose, coating the back of my tongue, and my stomach lurches. "Where

I watched blankly in the mirror on the back of the door as she went to work on my hair. The flat iron clamped down on my natural curls, pulling tight as the steam hissed and rose. With every pass, another section came out flat and entirely wrong. It hung past my shoulders in sleek, lifeless sheets that lacked my natural bounce and movement. By the time she finished, the girl staring back at me was a total stranger.Of course, that was exactly the point.I was encased in black lace, thin straps and sheer panels designed to leave both nothing and everything to the imagination. She lined my eyes in heavy soot, painted my lips a stark, jarring red I would never have chosen for myself, and finished by spritzing my neck with a perfume that smelled like a stranger. Looking in the mirror, I looked expensive and readily available. I looked like the kind of girl whose name you don't bother to ask because her identity doesn't matter.I looked nothing like Layla.It's been twenty minutes since sh

I’ve been here eleven days and I’ve stopped counting the hours.The room has a window I can’t open and a bed I barely sleep in and a lock on the outside that clicks at nine every night and clicks again at seven every morning. The woman with the flat iron comes every evening to straighten my hair and paint my face and put me in something that isn’t mine. Vincent comes three times a week. He sits in the chair and reads his phone and sometimes asks me questions I don’t answer and leaves at exactly one hour. He hasn’t touched me. He hasn’t tried. Whatever game he’s playing exists inside rules I don’t understand and I’ve stopped trying to understand them because understanding takes energy and I have none.The other girls are different.I see them in the common room, the space between the bedrooms and the kitchen where Marco lets them sit during the day. Some of them look like me, young and scared and counting days. Others have been here long enough that the counting stopped and what replac

Blood is running down his arm and dripping off his fingertips. His face is white. His jaw is clenched so tight the veins in his neck are standing out. And in his good hand, the hand that isn't pressing against a bullet wound, he's holding the guard's gun."Let her go, Marco."Marco's hand tightens on my throat. He turns us both to face Jace. Using me as a shield. My back against his chest, his arm across my body."Put that down, Jace." Marco's voice is still pleasant. Still gentle. "Before you embarrass yourself.""This wasn't the plan." Jace's hand is shaking. The gun is shaking. His eyes are bright and wet and locked on Marco's face. "You said nobody gets hurt. You said it was just business. Girls come in, girls work, girls leave. That was what you said.""Plans change.""She's nineteen years old!" Jace's voice cracks. "She's nineteen and you locked her in a room with no food because she hit your girlfriend. You were going to let Sasha beat her to death!""Sasha was disciplining..."