All Chapters of Wet Dreams: The Ultimate Steamy Short Stories Collection: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Two minutes felt like an eternity. I counted to 120 in my head, then stood on shaky legs. Grabbed my purse for appearance's sake—just a woman heading to the bathroom, nothing suspicious—and walked down the aisle. The back lavatory's occupied sign glowed red. I knocked twice. The door opened immediately. Carter's hand shot out, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me inside roughly. The space was tiny. Barely room for one person, let alone two. I was slammed against him instantly, chest to chest, his back against the sink. He locked the door behind me with a decisive click. "Hi," he said, and his smile was pure trouble — dark and hungry. "Hi yourself." My hands were shaking with adrenaline and need. "I can't believe I'm doing this. "Before I could say another word, Carter grabbed my face with both hands and crushed his mouth to mine. The kiss was brutal, demanding. His tongue invaded my mouth as he pressed me harder against the sink, his thick erection a

The question hung in the air between us, loaded with meaning I wasn't sure how to interpret — but my body knew exactly what it wanted. "I want..." My voice came out smaller, huskier than I intended. "I want to succeed. To move up." "That's a safe answer." His eyes dropped slowly to my mouth, then lower to the rise of my breasts, before returning to my eyes. "What do you really want? What do you think about when you're alone at night, touching yourself in the dark?" Oh God. My breath caught. The air between us felt electric, thick with tension and raw lust. I should stand up. Should put distance between us. Should remind him this was inappropriate, that he was my boss, that this could ruin everything.Instead, heat flooded between my legs as the words spilled out. "You," I whispered before I could stop myself. His eyes darkened dangerously. "What was that?" "I think about you." The words tumbled out, reckless and honest. "I think about your hands. Your voice. The way you look a

I'd been in love with Derek Morrison for ten years, and right now, watching him lick pumpkin pie filling off his thumb across the Thanksgiving table, I wanted to climb into his lap, pull my panties aside, and sink down on his cock in front of his entire fucking family. His eyes met mine. Held. That fucking knowing look that said he could read every filthy thought racing through my mind — how wet my pussy already was, how hard my nipples were against my bra, how badly I wanted him to bend me over this table and fuck me raw while everyone watched. Heat flooded my cheeks, and lower. Much lower. I squeezed my thighs together under the table, trying to ignore the heavy throb in my clit and the fresh slickness soaking through my panties. I looked away first, stabbing at my turkey like it had personally offended me. "Sienna, honey, you haven't touched your food," Mrs. Morrison said from down the table. Because I was too busy imagining your son's thick fingers buried deep inside my drip

The kitchen was chaos. Mrs. Morrison directing traffic, Mr. Morrison fumbling with the coffee maker, Maya hunting for the pie server. I helped where I could, hyper-aware of Derek moving beside me, reaching past me for plates, his body brushing mine with deliberate casualness. Every touch was a promise. Every accidental graze of his hand against my back or hip sent another jolt of electricity straight to my soaked cunt. "Derek, can you get the dessert plates from the top shelf?" Mrs. Morrison asked. He reached up, his shirt riding up just enough that I caught a glimpse of tanned skin and the edge of that tattoo I'd seen peeking out at family barbecues. I'd spent hours fantasizing about tracing that ink with my tongue while his thick cock stretched my pussy. Tonight, I'd get to."Sienna, honey, can you grab the whipped cream from the fridge?" I moved to comply, and Derek intercepted me, boxing me in against the refrigerator with his body. "Sorry," he murmured, reaching past me. Hi

Derek's bedroom was all masculine elegance—dark wood furniture, crisp white sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights. But I barely registered any of it because he was already pulling me toward the bed."I've imagined you here so many times," he said, laying me down on the soft sheets. "Spread out on my bed. Mine to do whatever I want with.""Then do it," I challenged. "Whatever you want. I'm yours."His eyes blazed. "Careful what you offer, Sienna. I have very specific fantasies.""Show me."He opened his nightstand drawer, pulling out a length of soft black rope. "Have you ever been tied up?"My breath caught. "No.""Do you want to be?"I should probably think about this. Should consider the implications. But all I could think about was Derek's hands on me, binding me, taking complete control."Yes."He smiled—dark and satisfied. "Hands above your head."I obeyed, and he wound the rope around my wrists, securing them to the headboard. Not tight enough to hurt, but