Lahat ng Kabanata ng Dirty Forbidden Confessions: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

I'm stuck as he doesn’t let me off the desk.He gives me two minutes, his forehead against mine, both of us breathing, his hands still on my hips.Then he pulls back and looks at me and the hunger in his face hasn’t touched the edges.“Turn around,” he says.Something low in me clenches at the tone of it. Not asking.I turn around.He presses my chest down against the desk and I feel his hand run up the back of my thigh, unhurried and certain, pushing my dress up the rest of the way.The desk is cool against my cheek. I can see the city through the window. The building across the street, its lights still on.I can see the reflection of his office in the glass. His face. The way he’s looking at what’s in front of him.He pushes in from behind and the angle is different, deeper, and I grab the far edge of the desk with both hands.“Still okay?” he asks against my ear. His voice is completely gone and he doesn’t seem to care.“Don’t stop,” I say into the desk. “Don’t stop, please, don’t s

Ethan Cole has been first in our class for three years. I’ve been second. By one point.He calls me “number two” to my face and people laugh because he makes it sound charming. It’s a knife between my ribs every time.The university flooded our building and stuck us in emergency housing together. Two nights ago he proposed a bet.Whoever scores lower on the practice exam gives the other one night. Anything goes. No backing out. I was sure I’d win. I shook his hand and told him to prepare to lose.He’s sitting on the couch when I walk out of my room. Glasses on. Shirtless. Scores pulled up on his laptop. He turns the screen toward me.Him: 97. Me: 95.Two points. Two fucking points.My stomach drops. The confidence evaporates. He watches every stage of it cross my face. Shock. Denial. The slow horrible acceptance.The number burns into my retina. Ninety-five. I haven’t scored below ninety-seven in two years. He beat me by the margin I usually beat everyone else by and the symmetry of th

“Get on the floor.” Something in his voice I haven’t heard before. An edge that makes everything in my stomach tighten.I slide off the couch. My legs barely work. Knees on the hardwood. Looking up at him. I look like something he broke on purpose.I slide off the couch. My legs barely work. Every muscle trembling.Knees on the hardwood for the second time tonight. Looking up at him. Sweat-covered. Mascara ruined.I look like something he broke on purpose. And I can’t stop the part of me that wants him to break me further.His arousal is shining on my thighs. His spit dried on my chin. I’m wrecked in ways I didn’t know a person could be wrecked.He holds his cock. Not stroking. Aiming.His expression is calm. Measured. The same face he wears during oral exams. Complete control. Like what he’s about to do is the most natural thing in the world and I’m the one who’s overreacting.It takes me a second to understand. When I do my body goes cold. Then very, very hot.“Ethan. You can’t be se

He’s bigger than I imagined, thick enough to burn, stretching me so wide my mouth falls open in a silent scream, and he buries himself to the hilt before I can adjust.The fullness is immediate and total. My pussy clenches around him involuntarily and he groans through his teeth.My hands fly to his chest and push but he doesn’t move an inch.He grabs both my wrists, pins them above my head with one hand, and starts fucking me with long brutal strokes that shove me up the couch with each one.“Look at her,” Reid says from across the room, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “She’s already gone. Eyes rolling back and everything.”The wet slap of his skin against mine fills the room along with this filthy squelch every time he bottoms out because I’m so wet it’s running down my ass.I can feel him in places nobody’s ever reached, and the fullness is so intense my toes curl and my eyes roll back.“Shut up, Reid,” I gasp, but the truth is I like being watched, I like that three men are s

The first thing the captain of the hockey team says to me is “They sent us a girl.”He’s standing at the boards with his helmet under his arm and sweat dripping down the side of his neck.He’s six-three and built for damage and looking at me the way you look at something you’re deciding whether to break.“They sent you a professional,” I say. “Sit down.”The entire bench goes quiet. Twelve hockey players staring at the new athletic trainer who just told their captain to sit. He doesn’t sit.He stares at me for three full seconds with his jaw flexing. Then he sits.I examine his shoulder. Standard rotation assessment, range of motion check. My fingers press into the muscle along his trapezius and he doesn’t flinch. He watches my face the entire time.His skin is hot under my hands and slick with sweat and I keep my expression flat even though touching him feels like pressing my palm against a stove.“Your hands are cold,” he says.“Deal with it.”“I like it.”I tell him to rotate his ar