Todos los capítulos de Stripper's love: Addicted to Me : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

Celestia was bent over the cold, unyielding surface of the granite island, her fingers gripping the edge so hard her knuckles had turned white. Her dress was a ruin of fabric bunched around her waist, exposing the delicate black lace of her thong and the smooth curve of her ass to the cool air. Behind her, Sebastian was a furnace of heat, his presence overwhelming, dominating her senses completely. He didn’t ask for permission; he took what was offered with a confidence that made Celestia’s knees weak. She felt the blunt, heavy head of his cock prodding at her entrance, teasing her slick folds. She was already soaking wet, her body betraying her need with a flood of arousal that coated her thighs. The anticipation was a physical ache, a throb deep in her clit that demanded attention. She pushed back against him, a silent plea, a desperate invitation. "Please," she gasped, the word barely audible, torn from her throat by the sheer intensity of her need. Sebastian didn’t make her

Celestia I woke up late, but it didn’t feel like rest. My body was still tired, but my mind hadn’t stopped working since that call. Victor Hale. Even thinking his name made something in my chest tighten. He didn’t sound like a man who made empty threats. He sounded like someone who already knew how things would end and was just waiting for me to catch up. I got out of bed slowly and walked toward the window. The street looked normal. People passing, cars moving, nothing out of place. But I didn’t trust normal anymore. My phone buzzed on the bed. I turned back and picked it up. Priscilla. “Please tell me you’re inside,” she said the moment I answered. “I am.” “Good. Because something feels off today.” I leaned against the wall. “What did you hear?” “There were people asking questions about you again.” My grip on the phone tightened. “At the club?” “Yes. But not the usual type.” I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” “They weren’t drunk men looking for a show. They w

Celestia I should have known something was wrong. The silence. The way the house felt… too still. Even Sebastian hadn’t come by that morning, and that alone made my stomach twist. Priscilla was the one to confirm my fears. She didn’t call. She showed up. The moment I opened the door and saw her face, I knew. “What happened?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. She didn’t step inside immediately. She just stood there, staring at me like she was trying to figure out how to say something she didn’t want to say. “Cel…” My chest tightened. “Just say it.” Slowly, she crossed the threshold. “I heard something this morning.” “From where?” I asked, closing the door behind her. “From someone who works close to the Sinclairs.” My stomach dropped. “What about them?” She hesitated, and that hesitation said more than words ever could. “Your name came up.” I crossed my arms instinctively. “It always does.” “Not like this.” Silence stretched between us. Heavy

Celestia povI didn’t go home immediately. I should have.But after everything that happened inside that house… I couldn’t just walk away like it didn’t matter. Angel. My stepsister.Standing beside Sebastian’s father like she belonged there. Like she had earned it.Like she hadn’t just stepped into something dangerous without looking back.I stayed outside the estate longer than I planned.Watching people leave.Watching the lights slowly dim.Trying to understand how everything had changed so quickly.“Still here?”I turned. Angel. Of course.She walked toward me slowly, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. For a second, neither of us spoke.We just looked at each other.“You didn’t look surprised,” I said. “I wasn’t,” she replied.“That makes one of us.”She stopped a few steps away.“You always underestimate people.”I let out a quiet breath.“No. I just didn’t expect you to do something like this.”“Why not?” I stared at her. “Because you know what this world is like.”

The heavy, erratic sound of their breathing gradually replaced the frantic creaking of the wooden table, filling the small, shadowed room with the thick atmosphere of the aftermath. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Sebastian remained buried deep inside her, his forehead resting against the curve of her collarbone, his broad chest rising and falling in ragged heaves that pressed heavily against her own chest. The heat radiating between their slick, intertwined bodies contrasted sharply with the cool, persistent draft sweeping in from the window, chilling the spilled beer that puddled near her hip and soaked further into the hem of her rucked-up dress.Slowly, the intense fog of the climax began to clear, bringing the immediate surroundings back into sharp focus. The muffled bass from the party downstairs thumped rhythmically through the floorboards, a constant, low-frequency reminder of the world outside this locked door. The vibrations seemed to echo the fading pulse of her o