All Chapters of Her Dirty Pleasures (Erotic Collection): Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Bella's POVI have my vibrator pressed tight against my swollen clit when my bedroom door swings open.All three of my stepbrothers walk in like they own the place — which they technically do. Their dad married my mom just a week ago, and I’ve spent every night since then in the guest room down the hall from my new stepbrothers.Cade, Micah, and Jude. Three identical twenty-four-year-old men who look like someone sculpted one perfect male body and decided to make three copies of it.Same dark hair, same sharp jaw, same broad shoulders and dangerous biceps.I’ve barely been able to tell them apart except from their hairstyles and styles, but I’ve already spent seven nights touching myself while imagining all three of them touching meOur parents went to bed twenty minutes ago. I waited until their door clicked shut, then pulled my vibrator from under the pillow, shoved my shorts aside, and pressed the buzzing tip to my clit while whispering their names like a dirty secret.Now they’re

Bella's POVThe silk tie covers my eyes, and everything goes black.My pulse thunders in my ears. I’m still leaking the mixed loads from the first round, my pussy swollen, hypersensitive, and obscenely sloppy. Every tiny shift of my body makes their cum drip slowly down my thighs and onto the ruined sheets. The blindfold makes every sound, every touch, every breath feel ten times more intense.Shame burns hot in my chest. These are my stepbrothers. My mom is sleeping just down the hall with their father. If she or their dad wakes up and walks in right now… I want this. I want them to use me until I can’t think straight.Rough hands spread my thighs wide open. A thick, hot cockhead drags through the sticky mess of my pussy, coating itself in their combined cum before slowly pushing inside me.“Whose cock is stretching this sloppy little cunt right now?” Cade asks, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.The rhythm is steady and deep, confident strokes that bottom out every single ti

Nadia's POVI’m lying in bed with two fingers circling my swollen clit, listening to my neighbor fuck another woman through the thin wall.It’s the third time tonight, and I’m wondering if he ever gets tired.His voice is low, commanding, and rough with dominance. I can’t make out every word, but the tone alone is enough — that deep tone of a man who knows exactly what his cock is doing to someone.The sounds echo in my room. The sharp crack of skin on skin. A woman's broken moans, and the rhythmic thud of a bedframe hammering against the wall in time with her cries.My pussy clenches hard around nothing as I rub faster, chasing another orgasm that I already know won’t be enough.It’s been three weeks of this since he moved in. And every night I end up like this — pathetic, soaked, face buried in my pillow so he won’t hear me while I cum to the sound of him ruining someone else.The woman on the other side of the wall screams as she comes. I cum at the same time with her. My own orga

Nadia’s POVThe leather straps lock my wrists above my head and my ankles to the base of the cross and I'm spread open facing him with my back against the wood and his cum still leaking down my thighs from the bench.He lights the candle, and olds it above my collarbone. The flame flickers and the first drop of wax hits my skin. The burn makes me gasp and jerk against the restraints.The heat is sharp for one second, then settles into a warmth that spreads outward and pulses between my legs.“Oh, you felt that, didn’t you?” he murmurs, tilting the candle again. He trails a slow, deliberate path of fire down my stomach."Don't move," he says, tilting the candle. Another drop between my tits. The wax hits and hardens and the burn-to-warmth cycle sends a clench through my pussy."Killian, it's hot, please—""It's supposed to be hot." He drips a line of wax from my sternum down to my navel and my stomach muscles twitch and contract under every drop. "Your cunt just clenched. I can see it

Sienna's POVProfessor Malachi Thorne is the reason I'm failing Literary Theory.Not because the subject is hard. Because the man stands at the front of the lecture hall in rolled sleeves, those forearms on full display, a voice so low it makes my pussy throb.I stopped absorbing information the day he walked in and wrote his name on the board. With his dark, tousled hair, sharp jaw, and blue eyes behind his glasses that seem to catch mine.I've been touching myself through his lectures for two months. Not at home to the memory of him — in class. Right there in the front row, hand pressed flat between my thighs, rubbing circles through my underwear while he lectures.Every time he makes eye contact my fingers press harder. Every time that voice drops on a particular word, my thighs clamp around my own hand.I am failing because I spend his class periods half out of my mind and soaking wet and I cannot make myself stop.So I've made a decision to do something about it.I'm standing out