All Chapters of FORBIDDEN: HIS PLUS SIZE OBSESSION : Chapter 611 - Chapter 620

"I am fucked up in my fucking mind because of you." He hissed the words through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body coiled with rage as he leaned in, his grip tightening around her throat with each shuddering wave of his own release. Then, with a guttural growl, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pumping thick ropes of cum deep into her already overflowing cunt. It leaked out around his shaft in messy rivulets, trailing down her ass and soaking into the ruined sheets beneath them. He pulled out with a grunt, casually wiping his cock against her thigh before rising to his full height, towering over the wreckage of her limp body. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, chest still heaving, when his gaze landed on the remaining syringes lined up on the table. Behind him, the heavy penthouse door clicked open. "Hmmm?" He turned toward the entrance, the syringe already empty and discarded beside him. He pressed a finger to the injection site, blinking lazily a

Tarzan walked out of the bedroom without a word, his silhouette swallowed by the cavernous expanse of the living room. Diana remained frozen for a long moment, staring at the wreckage before her. The room no longer resembled a bedroom; it looked more like a debauched den, the remnants of an orgy scattered across every surface. She exhaled a shaky breath, forcing herself into motion. Methodically, she stripped the soaked sheets, balled up the stained pillows, and wiped down every surface she could reach. But the smell—a cloying cocktail of sex, sweat, and cocaine—clung to everything, stubborn and nauseating. A flicker of relief passed through her as she spotted the used rubbers strewn across the floor. At least he’d used condoms with most of them and made the others use female condoms. Without that single, minimal precaution, the consequences could have been catastrophic. A scandal involving multiple women or a transmittable disease would be nuclear for his career. Furthermore,

“Silver Adams?...” A mocking chuckle escaped Andres. “So that’s the name you chose? How painfully lame.” Tarzan said nothing back. "You don't look as bad as I expected, little shit. What do you think that you can outrun your past or that you can hide forever. Choosing a modeling career should be the last thing on your mind if you were planning on hiding away from me." For a heartbeat, the noise of the glittering crowd seemed to vanish entirely. Every single noise faded into a distant hum. The air between the two men thickened, heavy with years of unresolved hatred. Diana was silently praying Tarzan to not give Andres the drama he wants. Also hope there was no shooter hiding around waiting for a command to eliminate Tarzan. Just then, two security officers approached Andres. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” one said firmly. Andres only smirked, refusing to even glance at them. He remained rooted in place, eyes locked on Tarzan with unyielding arroga

Diana finally released the breath she'd been holding and sighed in relief.No gunshots. No drama. No fight scene.Tarzan had handled the fan encounter far better than she'd expected.Tarzan blinked slowly, as if emerging from a long, dark tunnel. The next fan—a young woman clutching an exclusive Silver Adams magazine—stepped forward. Tarzan offered her a gentle smile."Sorry for the delay," he said softly. "Are you mad at me?"The fan blushed furiously, her cheeks blooming a deep pink as she clasped her hands together. "No… not at all.""How are you doing today?" he asked, his voice warm, meeting her eyes.She swallowed hard, clearly caught off guard. Fans had always described him as polite but distant—sometimes even cold. He rarely initiated conversation.This felt different."G-good," she stammered. "You look even more handsome in person.""I appreciate that," Tarzan replied, maintaining the soft smile.The fan hesitated, then gathered her courage. "Can I… touch your hand?"Without

LENA'S POVToday officially marks my first week at culinary school.If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be living in Paris, chasing my dream of becoming a chef, I probably would have laughed.Yet... here I am.The school has been everything I hoped it would be. The instructors are demanding but fair, and every class pushes me to become better. There isn't a day that goes by without me learning something new—whether it's mastering knife techniques, understanding the chemistry behind baking, or realizing just how much patience good cooking truly requires.It's exhausting, but also exhilarating—and I love every second of it.Apparently, chopping onions into perfectly identical cubes is an art form.Who knew?I was worried I'd struggle to fit in, but thankfully, that hasn't been the case. I've already made a few friends. We study together after class, exchange recipes, and occasionally laugh at our own disastrous attempts to recreate dishes that looked so simple when the chefs demo