All Chapters of Craving The Playboy's Touch : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Adrian After lunch finally ended, I left the dining area and went upstairs. I stood in front of the only room that still felt like home in the whole mansion, my mother’s room. I looked at the double steel-core security doors I'd installed in front of it. I made sure no one could get in without the keys only I carried. I held the steel handles, my breath shaky as I swallowed hard. I’d never had the heart to go inside since she passed. I just wasn’t prepared for it yet. I wasn't ready to breathe in the air that might still hold her scent, only to realize she was truly gone. “You know, I can get the maids to clean up the room if you want.” My father’s low voice rang out beside me. It brought me crashing back from my thoughts. I looked to my side and saw him standing there; I’d been so lost I hadn’t even noticed him walk up. His eyes lingered on the door, an unreadable expression settling over his features. I took my hands off the door and shoved them into my pockets. “No, I

Trevor. Adrian is a lot of things. A scum, a bastard, a fucker, a godforsaken playboy, to mention just a few. But in everything he is, he is definitely not a liar. That fucker was always blunt with his words, no matter how much they drew blood. But saying Emma brought herself willingly to him the same day she found out about Allysia and me? I found it very hard to believe. The Emma I knew would never do that. She was obsessed with me. She was the girl who waited for my texts, the girl who built her world around mine. To think she’d lay with that fucker on the very same night I left her… it couldn't be true. It had to be one of Adrian’s sick mind games. I brushed my wet hair back with one hand under the shower, hoping the cold water could wash away the rage burning under my skin. But the water didn't help. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Adrian’s voice again, that calm, mocking tone as he described the way she screamed his name. I slammed my fist against the tiled bathroom w

Emma “Can I at least come in if you don’t mind?” he asked softly, his voice dropping to that low tone that used to make me melt. His eyes held mine almost cautiously, like he was afraid I’d shut the door in his face. “I promise I won’t use more than five minutes. I just really need to talk to you, Em.” I stared at him for a few seconds. My brain was screaming no, but my hand was already moving. Without a word, I stepped aside and held the door open for him. He walked in slowly, his eyes wandering over the walls and the furniture like he was a stranger visiting for the first time. What was with the looking around? Three weeks ago, we were cuddling on that very couch, planning a future that didn't exist. I pressed my hand against my lips, fighting to steady the mess of emotions rising inside me. Focus, Emma. I closed the door, but I didn't move an inch closer to him. I just stood there with my arms crossed, my toes tapping impatiently against the floor in my slippers. I was so

Emma “Adrian? What about him?” I twisted my mouth, trying to understand how the conversation had quickly shifted to Adrian. “I swear, if you’re here to tell me to stop seeing him…” He let out a heavy sigh. “No, just listen to me.” Trevor’s eyes stayed glued to mine, but I couldn’t read the expression on his face. He looked like he was about to spill a top-tier CIA secret. There was something in the way his gaze grew more intent that made my chest beat faster than before. I wondered what he could possibly have to say about Adrian that required such level of seriousness. The way he said Adrian’s name made it seem like once I found out about what he was about to say, it would put an end to whatever Adrian and I had going on. I sat up straight and braced myself for the blow. He took a moment to speak, his voice dropping even lower. “Adrian was appointed as the new CEO of his dad’s company right after he graduated, and he’s currently under a lot of pressure.” He paused, searching my f

Emma I woke up with a slight headache, the kind that throbbed right behind my eyes and reminded me exactly why I usually stayed away from drinking. I groaned, rolling over in bed and pulling the blanket over my face to block out the morning light piercing through the curtains. “Ughhh,” I grumbled, forcing myself to sit up. My eyes darted to the empty wine bottle sitting on the floor by my nightstand. I stared at it for a minute, my brain feeling foggy and slow. I shook my head and threw off the cover on my body, trying to make my way to the bathroom. But then I stopped dead in my tracks. I was completely naked. I squinted, my mind racing as I tried to recall why on earth I had woken up without a stitch of clothing when I distinctly remembered having clothes on while I was drinking last night before I drifted off. No matter how hard I tried to piece the timeline together, I couldn't remember a single thing. I finally just shrugged it off, blaming it on the alcohol, and dragged