All Chapters of The Anatomy of Wanting Him: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

"Ohh, Severino! Ahh!" I couldn't stop the moans from ripping out of me as I fuck him, my body moving in a frantic, desperate rhythm. I was completely naked, my vision blurring into a haze of pure heat. My head lolled back, lost in the sensation. I’d honestly lost track of how many times I’d orgasm. He’s been fucking me for two hours straight, and I never wanted it to end. I’d let him do this to me every single day if I could."I could fuck this tight little pussy forever," he wheezed, his breath hot against my skin. His hands gripped my waist tight before wandering—mauling my breasts, stinging my ass with hard slaps, then tangling in my hair and bruising my neck. "I’m marking every inch of you. I’m going to fill your mouth with my cum until you swallow every drop, and fuck you in every corner of this place. I'm not stopping until I get you pregnant, Patricia."I glared at him, my hand wandering over the hard muscle of his chest. "Fuck you—a-ahh!" I collapsed against him as my fourth o

I enjoy shopping so much more now. Before Charity, fashion was just another armor I wore—a uniform of status designed to keep the world at a distance. But motherhood has a way of softening even the hardest edges. Watching her light up over a silk hem or a bold print reminds me that life isn't just about survival or precision; it’s about the joy of being seen. Having her by my side shifted my perspective. With her, the silence of my life finally has a melody."Mom, oh my god! I can’t wait to try these on!" Charity beamed, dropping an armful of high-end shopping bags onto her bed like they were spoils of war. Her energy was infectious, a bright spark that made the sterile luxury of our home feel lived-in. It turns out Charity is already familiar with Angelica Jenine and several of the other models walking tonight. My daughter has always been a sponge for the arts, quietly building a network of creatives that rivals my own professional circles. She isn't just my daughter anymore; she’s

The show was a triumph, a chaotic symphony of fabric and light that left the audience breathless. But as the final model exited and the lights surged for the bows, I found myself less interested in the applause and more focused on the man sitting three seats down from the stage."That was incredible," Charity whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. "Seven is going to be famous, Mom.""He already is," I murmured, watching as Severino walked onto the catwalk. He looked exhausted and exhilarated, his eyes immediately finding mine. He looked like he wanted to jump off the stage and carry me out of the building.But before he could even exit the stage, the man from the VIP section stood up. He moved with a predatory grace, cutting through the crowd like it was made of paper. He reached me just as the house lights came up fully."Dr. Patricia Sta. Ana," he said, his voice a smooth baritone that felt like velvet against my skin. "I’m Victor. Victor Sinquerra."He didn't grab my hand. He took i

Severino let out a low, animalistic sound and lunged. His mouth crashed against mine, not with the tentative sweetness of the car, but with the violent, starving demand of a man who had been fed only on shadows and was finally tasting the light. He backed me up against the wall, his hands finding the silk of my shirt and ripping it open, the buttons scattering across the wooden floor like tiny, discarded shells."Fuck," he groaned into my mouth. "You're real. You're actually here." He said like he didn't just fuck me last night.He lifted me, my legs instinctively locking around his waist. He carried me to the bed, the mattress groaning under our combined weight as he pinned me down. The laptop was pushed aside, forgotten, as he tore at his own clothes, his movements frantic and raw. When he finally stripped, the sight of him made my breath catch. He was perfect—a sculpture of muscle and tan skin, his torso mapped with the light of the afternoon sun. He looked down at me, his eyes da

The transition back to my "real" life the next morning felt like a fever dream breaking apart. I stood in front of the mirror in my dressing room, the harsh LED lights exposing every flaw I usually worked so hard to hide. I was meticulously dabbing concealer onto the faint purple bruise on the side of my neck, my pulse still thrumming under the skin. High collars were a staple of my wardrobe for a reason, but Seven was getting bolder. He wasn't just leaving impressions on my mind anymore; he was marking me in places he knew would be a struggle to camouflage. He wanted me to look at myself and see him."Mom? Are you coming? I’m going to be late!"Charity’s voice drifted from the kitchen, sharp and impatient. I blinked, and for a split second, the image of Severino in the studio—his dark hair falling over his forehead, his hands moving over me with a feverish intensity flashed in my mind. I shoved it into a locked box in the back of my brain and slammed the lid."Coming, ma chérie," I c