《Irresistible Sins (An erotica collection)》全部章節：第 31 章 - 第 40 章

The sun was fully up now, golden light spilling across Kai’s bed and painting their tangled bodies in warm tones. Marc lay on his side, facing Kai, one heavy thigh thrown over Kai’s leg. His body still hummed with aftershocks, ass sore and pleasantly full, nipples tender, wrists faintly marked from the rope. Cum had dried on his stomach and chest, and he could still feel Kai’s release slowly leaking from him with every small shift. Kai’s fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along Marc’s spine, gentle in a way that felt almost foreign after the intensity of the night. Neither of them had spoken for several minutes. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was heavy, comfortable, and charged with everything they hadn’t said yet. Marc finally broke it, voice rough and low. “So… what the fuck was that?” Kai’s hand paused on his back, then continued its slow caress. “You know what it was.” Marc let out a tired laugh. “Yeah. I do.” He lifted his head to look at Kai. Those dark eyes that had comm

Clara’s hands were still shaking when she pushed open the kitchen door the next night at exactly 9:00 PM. She had spent the entire day buried in spreadsheets, client emails, and last-minute allergy confirmations, but her mind had been somewhere else entirely, replaying the way Leo’s tongue had felt between her thighs, the warm drag of chocolate across her skin, the deep groan he made when he came inside her.She told herself she was only coming back for the gala prep.The lie lasted exactly three seconds.Leo was already there, music playing low from a small speaker, something upbeat with a heavy bass that made the stainless steel surfaces hum. He wore the same black t-shirt, now dusted with fresh flour, and those gray sweatpants that sat dangerously low on his hips. Tattoos peeked out as he reached for a bag of sugar on the high shelf. When he turned and saw her, that bright, trouble-making grin spread across his face.“Spreadsheet queen returns,” he said, voice warm and teasing. “Ri

The last guest left at eleven-twelve. Clara knew because she’d been watching the clock for an hour. Not obviously. She was a professional. But every time she glanced at her watch her pulse did something inconvenient. She said goodnight to David, waited until his car disappeared, then walked straight through the service corridor and pushed open the kitchen door. Leo was already looking up when she entered. He’d changed back into his black t-shirt, equipment half-packed, phone propped against the backsplash playing something low and slow. He read her face in about two seconds and set down the cloth in his hand. “Door,” she said. He locked it without a word. She crossed the kitchen and kissed him before she could overthink it, hands fisting his shirt, mouth urgent, all the tension from watching him across the room all evening pouring out at once. He made a rough sound against her lips and grabbed her, hands hard on her hips, walking her backward until the counter edge caught her.

Isla had a system. Window seat. Noise-cancelling headphones on before boarding finished. Laptop open, document ready, the universal signal for I am working and I am not interested in you or your children or your opinions about turbulence. She’d been flying long haul since she was twenty-six and had perfected the art of existing in a metal tube for fourteen hours without making a single friend. First class on this particular flight had eight seats. Seven of them were empty. She’d checked. Twice. The attendant had confirmed it with the slightly apologetic smile of someone delivering wonderful news. Isla had ordered a glass of white wine, settled in, and opened her half-finished piece on coastal Portugal with the particular satisfaction of a woman who had the whole world to herself. Then he got on. Late. The jetway door was already closing. He came through it like he’d been running, except he clearly hadn’t, no sweat, no breathlessness, just a big man in a dark jacket moving with th

It started with turbulence. Not bad, just enough to shift the plane sideways, a slow roll that made the overhead compartments rattle and woke Isla from the half-sleep she’d fallen into against Marcus’s shoulder. The seatbelt sign pinged on. The cabin crew voice came through the speaker, low and automated, asking passengers to return to their seats. Marcus stirred. His arm tightened around her briefly before he was fully awake. “You should go back,” he murmured. She lifted her head. Looked at him in the dark blue light. His hair was wrecked from her hands. His shirt untucked. He looked at her with that same direct, unhurried attention he’d had since the beginning and she felt it move through her the same way it had the first time, warm and slightly destabilizing, like standing on a deck in open water. She stood. Smoothed her skirt. Crossed back to her seat and clipped her belt. The turbulence settled after ten minutes. The seatbelt sign clicked off. The cabin went quiet again.