All Chapters of Painful Pleasures(Short Steamy Collections): Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

I needed milk. That’s what I told myself at 11:47 p.m. when I pulled on sweats and drove to the 24-hour grocery store two blocks from my apartment. Really, I just couldn’t sleep again. Another night staring at the ceiling thinking about the text my ex sent earlier—“hope you’re doing okay”—like he hadn’t fucked his coworker three months ago. Milk felt like a good enough excuse to get out of my head. The store was dead quiet. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, only a couple other people wandering the aisles. I grabbed a cart and headed for the dairy section, hair in a messy bun, no makeup, just existing. He was in the same aisle, reaching for eggs. Tall, maybe six-two, wearing a faded black hoodie and jeans that fit right. Dark tattoos peeked out from his sleeve when he moved. He glanced over when I stopped next to him for the milk. “Late night essentials?” His voice was casual, a little amused. “Yeah. Can’t sleep, apparently milk fixes that.” I grabbed a carton and tossed i

My flight was delayed. Again. Three hours and counting at O’Hare, and the storm outside wasn’t letting up anytime soon. I’d already walked the entire terminal twice, eaten some dry sushi that cost way too much, and now I was stuck at the airport bar nursing a gin and tonic. My phone was almost dead, and I was bored out of my mind. The guy two seats down had been sitting there just as long. He looked like he traveled a lot—button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, laptop open in front of him, but he wasn’t really working. Dark hair, sharp jawline, early thirties maybe. When I glanced over for the third time, he caught me. “Yours delayed too?” he asked, closing the laptop. “Yeah. Supposed to board an hour ago. Yours?” “Denver. This storm is screwing everybody.” He slid over to the seat right next to me. “I’m Caleb.” “Ava. Austin.” We started talking to kill time. He was a consultant, flew three or four times a month for work. I told him I was a graphic designer coming back fr

My cousin’s wedding was the last place I wanted to be on a Saturday night. I only showed up because family guilt is a powerful thing. The ceremony was fine; pretty church, lots of flowers—but the reception at the big waterfront hall was packed with people I barely knew. I was sitting at a table by myself, sipping cheap champagne, watching my cousin dance with her new husband while my phone kept buzzing with texts from my roommate asking how bad it was. I needed air. Or another drink. Probably both. The open bar was busy, but the bartender handed me a fresh glass fast. That’s when I noticed the guy standing next to me. Tall, broad shoulders filling out his dark suit jacket, tie already loosened. Short beard, messy brown hair like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked as bored as I felt. “Open bar is the only good part of these things,” he said, clinking his whiskey glass against mine without asking. “Truth.” I took a sip. “You with the bride or groom?” “Groom. O

Lila had done this a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. Slip into the world of the living, pick out some poor bastard who looked like he’d be easy to break, and drain him dry before dawn. That was the job. That was the hunger. Simple as that. Tonight the club smelled like cheap vodka, sweat, and too much cologne. Bass thumped through the floor. Lila moved through the crowd in a tight black dress that clung to every curve, the kind of dress that made men forget their own names. Her skin had that faint, unnatural glow under the colored lights,nothing anyone could put their finger on, just enough to hook them. She scanned the room slowly, lips parted, letting the energy of the place wash over her. There. He was sitting alone at the bar, nursing a whiskey. Dark hair, a little messy like he’d run his hands through itmany times. Strong jaw. Shoulders that filled out his button-down shirt nicely. He wasn’t the flashiest guy in the place, but something about the way he held himself caug

The weekend at the cabin turned into something Lila hadn’t felt in lifetimes, peace. Real, quiet peace. They hiked a short trail around the lake on Sunday morning, hands brushing more than they needed to. Marcus skipped stones across the water while she watched, barefoot in the grass, wondering how the hell a mortal man had managed to quiet the constant roar in her head. Back at the cabin they didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Marcus bent her over the kitchen counter after lunch, jeans shoved down just enough, fucking her hard and fast while she gripped the edge and moaned loud enough to echo off the walls. No games, no performance. Just raw need. When he reached around to rub her clit she came so hard her knees buckled. He held her up, finishing with a deep groan against her shoulder. They laughed about it afterward, cleaning up and making coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world. But every time he touched her, Lila felt the hunger stir differently now. It wanted