บททั้งหมดของ One Night With My Ex's Father: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Sadie woke alone. The bed was cold on Dominic’s side. Sunlight poured through the open curtains, too bright, too ordinary for what her body felt like. Every muscle ached. Her ass throbbed with a deep, persistent burn that made even the softest shift of the sheets feel like a reminder. Between her legs she was sticky—his cum from the night before had dried in places and still leaked in others. She could feel it when she tried to close her thighs. She lay still for a long time, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way he had stretched her open, the way he had held her afterward like the ownership was already complete. Her throat felt tight. Somewhere under the soreness and the shame, a low, traitorous pulse had started between her legs again. The door opened without a knock. Dominic walked in carrying a glass of water and a small tube of ointment. He was already dressed for the day—dark trousers, white shirt open at the collar, watch gleaming. He looked rested. Controlled. Like

The phone sat on the nightstand like a loaded gun. Sadie had not touched it since Dominic placed it in her hand the day before. She had carried it upstairs, set it down, and stared at it until the light outside faded. Calling her mother should have been the easiest thing in the world. Instead it felt like stepping onto thin ice. She waited until late morning, when the house was quiet and Dominic had left her alone after breakfast with only one instruction: “When you decide to use it, you use it in the study. On speaker. With me present.” At eleven-forty she walked downstairs with the phone in her hand. Dominic was already behind the desk, reviewing something on a tablet. He looked up when she entered, took in the phone, and simply pointed to the chair across from him. Sadie sat. Her pulse was loud in her ears. “One call,” he said. “Weekly. You will not tell her where you are. You will not ask for help. You will not cry. If your voice breaks, the call ends and the privilege

The book was waiting on the library desk exactly as he had said. It was old, the leather cover worn soft at the edges, the pages thin and slightly yellowed. A single black ribbon marked a section near the middle. Sadie sat in the leather armchair by the window, the same chair she had used in the early days when she still believed she could keep some part of herself separate, and opened it to the marked place. The text was dense. Philosophical. It spoke of ownership not as theft, but as a form of responsibility—of the way a thing fully claimed begins to reshape itself around the hand that holds it. There were passages about the difference between possession and belonging, about the quiet violence of being seen so completely that resistance becomes a kind of performance. Sadie read slowly. Certain lines caught and held. *The collected object does not remain unchanged by the act of collection. It begins to reflect the desire of the one who keeps it.* *What is taken by force may

The heavy oak door of the Voss lakeside mansion slammed shut with a resounding boom that echoed through the vast marble foyer, rattling the crystal chandelier overhead. Lila Voss stood there for a moment, chest heaving, the cool evening air from the drive still clinging to her skin. At twenty-two, fresh out of college with a degree she barely gave a shit about, she was done pretending. Done with the polite smiles, the perfect daughter act, and the endless expectations that came with being Richard Voss’s only biological child. This summer was supposed to be hers—lazy days by the private lake, maybe some reckless hookups in the city, anything to shake off the suffocating weight of her father’s empire. But the second she crossed the threshold, that familiar scent hit her like a drug: aged whiskey, expensive leather, and that unmistakable undercurrent of raw, masculine power. Victor Kane. She didn’t even need to see him to know he was here. Her body reacted instantly—pulse quickenin

The sun beat down on the private infinity pool like it was in on the secret, turning the water into liquid diamonds. Lila stretched out on a lounge chair in a tiny black bikini that barely qualified as clothing — the top barely contained her full tits, and the bottoms disappeared between her round ass cheeks. She’d chosen it on purpose. Oil glistened on her skin, making every curve shine. She knew Victor was watching from the shaded cabana. He’d been “working” on his laptop for the last hour, but his eyes hadn’t left her once. She rolled onto her stomach, arching her back slightly so her ass popped higher. The heat between her legs had nothing to do with the sun. After last night — his thick cock down her throat and those three fingers leaving her empty and desperate — she was feral. Victor finally stood. His swim trunks did nothing to hide the heavy outline of his cock as he walked over, every step deliberate. He stopped beside her chair, towering, casting a shadow over her body