All Chapters of Twisted Ecstasy : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

77 Chapters

Craving My New Student (Part 5)

I freeze on top of Lucien. His cock is still buried inside me. The footsteps downstairs grow louder. Keys hit the table. A familiar voice curses under his breath.Mark.He's home. After weeks of nothing, he chooses today of all days.Lucien’s eyes meet mine. He looks more amused than scared. I clamp a hand over his mouth and slide off him slowly, my body screaming in protest. I grab my robe from the floor and tie it quickly. My legs feel shaky.“Stay here,” I whisper. “Do not make a sound.”He nods, but his hand brushes my thigh as I move toward the door. A silent promise that this is not over.I slip out of the bedroom and head downstairs. Mark stands in the entryway, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his eyes glassy from whatever he drank. He looks at me with a smirk.“Well, well. Look who it is,” he says, his voice thick. “Miss me?”I keep my distance. “Where the hell have you been?” I ask. “You disappear for weeks, and all of a sudden you show up out of nowhere? What do you

Craving My New Student (Part 6)

I wake before Mark, and the house feels lighter. The divorce papers have been sitting in my drawer for weeks. This morning, I finally pull them out, place them on the kitchen table beside a pen, and make myself a cup of coffee.By the time Mark stumbles into the kitchen, he's hungover, irritable, and scratching his stomach. His gaze lands on the papers, and he stops short.“What the hell is this?”“Divorce papers,” I say, taking a sip of coffee. “Sign them.”He stares at me as if I've suddenly started speaking another language.“Divorce? You? The old Catherine would never pull this shit. You always forgave. You always stayed.”I set my mug down.“The old Catherine is gone. Sign.”A laugh escapes him, but there's no real amusement behind it.“You can't be serious. We have kids. A life. You really want to throw that away because of one mistake?”“One mistake?” I fold my arms across my chest. “You fucked my friend for months. Disappeared for weeks. Called me leftovers. Don't talk to me a

Craving My New Student (Part 7)

Standing at the front of the lecture hall, I move through the material with the steady assurance years of teaching have carved into muscle memory. The notes on the projector advance behind me in sequence, though I barely rely on them. My voice carries cleanly across the room as I connect theory to lived decisions, the kind of choices people make when no one is watching, when ethics are tested in ordinary places.The students respond in uneven patterns. Some lean forward, pens moving across notebooks, capturing every structured idea. Others recline, eyes lowered to phones they try to disguise under the desk, still listening in fragments. A few nod at precise moments, as though something internal has aligned with what I am saying. The rhythm of teaching steadies something in me that has been unsettled. In this space, there is only structure, language, and the expectation of clarity. Everything else is temporarily muted.Halfway through the session, I scan the back rows and pause.Lucien

Craving My New Student (Part 8)

Lynn recovers first. A small, satisfied smile tugs at her mouth, as if she’s been waiting for this exact moment.“Well, this is awkward. Catherine. Didn’t expect to see you here.”I ignore her completely and fix my gaze on Lucien instead. My voice comes out cutting, stripped of patience. “Explain this bullshit.”The studio suddenly feels tighter, like the walls have shifted closer while no one was looking. Lucien steps forward with his hands slightly raised, his face drained of color.“Catherine, it is not what it sounds like. Let me explain.”Letting out a soft laugh, Lynn leans back against the piano, her arms still crossed. She looks exactly as she used to when we spent nights at clubs, trading secrets over drinks and music that felt harmless. The same woman who listened as I broke down for months over Mark’s growing distance. The same woman who apparently decided I was something she could step over.“Oh, please,” she says lightly. “Let’s not pretend there is confusion here. Lucien

Craving My New Student (Part 9)

I walk into Chancellor Whitlock’s office without an appointment. Amy tries to stop me, her voice rising as she calls my name from the reception area, but I brush past her with a curt, “It’s urgent.”The interruption earns me a startled look from Whitlock, who glances up from a stack of documents spread across his desk.He is holding a fountain pen in one hand, reading glasses perched low on his nose.“Professor Hale,” he says, setting down the pen. “Is everything alright?”The concern in his voice almost makes me reconsider.Almost.It is not that he sounds insincere. It is worse than that. It is genuine concern wrapped in institutional control, the kind that comes with knowing every decision here carries consequences beyond the person standing in front of him.If I wait any longer, I might lose my nerve.I remain standing. Sitting would soften this into a discussion instead of what it needs to be.“I am ending the special support arrangement with Lucien Grayson. Effective immediately

Craving My New Student (Part 10)

The lock clicks into place.No one else is getting in.Lucien stands a short distance from the couch, his gaze tracking me as though he's afraid I'll vanish if he blinks. That look always does something dangerous to me.I cross the space between us.My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, pulling him close enough that our bodies almost touch."Why do you keep coming back to me?" I ask."The same reason you can't let go," he answers. "We both know how this ends, and we still can't help it."I don't give him time to say more. I pull him down, and our mouths meet.The kiss starts slowly. Carefully. Like we're both testing whether this is just another mistake we'll regret later.His hands come up to cradle my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks.Then the kiss changes.It turns deeper. Hungrier.Tongues sliding. Breaths mingling. Teeth grazing lips.I press myself into him, needing the steady heat of his body, the undeniable proof that he's here. His hands settle on my waist as he gu

Caregiver's Creamy Milk (Part 1)

Walking into the dim master bedroom of the old mansion, my heels click across the polished hardwood. The smell of stale air and medicine hits me like a freight train. The family warned me that Knox is stubborn, cruel even in his decline, and that he hasn't touched solid food in nearly three weeks. They're paying me triple my usual rate to keep him alive until they can sort out the inheritance mess.I don't ask questions.At thirty-eight, with breasts that haven't stopped leaking since I underwent an experimental hormone treatment, I need the money far more than I need morals.Knox lies propped amid a mountain of pillows in the massive four-poster bed, his once-powerful frame reduced to sharp bones wrapped in thin, papery skin. Seventy-five years old, with silver hair plastered to his scalp, he fixes those pale eyes on me the second I enter.“Another caregiver?” Knox rasps, voice dry as dust. “Here to torture an old bastard before he finally checks out?”“I’m Mia, and I’m here to make

Caregiver's Creamy Milk (Part 2)

This crosses every line. I know it. Yet my body leans in before my mind can catch up. I peel the ruined blouse open, the buttons already scattered from his earlier grip. The fabric slips from my shoulders and gathers around my waist. My bare breasts spill into the open, swollen and glistening, my nipples stiff and flushed from his earlier attention. Knox's breath catches audibly.I guide his head forward. He latches onto my left nipple with raw urgency, skin meeting skin at last. The sensation hits like lightning. A hot mouth, an insistent tongue, firm suction that draws milk in steady streams. I gasp sharply, one hand braced against the headboard while the other cradles his silver head. He sucks noisily, his throat working visibly with every swallow. Excess milk leaks from the corners of his mouth, trailing in creamy rivulets down his neck and onto the sheets.“Ungh…” I moan.Each pull sends sparks racing from my spine to my clit. My thighs press together instinctively, seeking frict

Caregiver's Creamy Milk (Part 3)

I laugh softly at his question about my mother, keeping my voice light and teasing as I continue rocking my hips in slow circles. Milk drips steadily from my nipples, dampening his chest and lips."My mother? You really think the universe works like that? The chances are too slim, Knox. You've ruined so many lives over the decades. It could be anyone."He watches me for several heartbeats before his mouth curves into a faint smile. The suspicion fades from his eyes."You are right. Too many ghosts in my past. Coincidence."He accepts my words and pulls me closer, latching onto my left nipple with renewed hunger. I moan softly and press my breast deeper into his mouth, letting him drink.This is the moment I have orchestrated for years. I knew exactly who he was the day his family contacted me.Knox—the man who systematically destroyed my mother, left her broken and destitute, and forced her to raise me in poverty while he built his empire.I came here with a plan, using my body and my

Raw-Ridden Into Alliance (Part 1)

Sand lashes the heavy canvas of my tent like a thousand furious whips. The storm has swallowed the oasis whole, turning the world beyond these embroideries into a roaring void of grit and wind. Lanterns sway from their brass chains, casting flickering golden light across piles of folded silks, cedar chests overflowing with spices, and low tables displaying my wares. The air tastes of cardamom, myrrh, and the ozone carried by the desert fury outside.I stand over my captive, bare beneath an open robe of deepest indigo silk that brushes my calves. Kael kneels on layered Bokhara carpets, his wrists lashed securely behind his back with lengths of my finest vermilion scarves. The knots are intricate, designed to tighten with every struggle rather than yield. His body gleams under the lamplight—broad shoulders, corded arms, a map of old scars and fresh bruises from the scuffle when my guards seized him. A faint trail of hair disappears below his navel, drawing the eye to his exposed manhood

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