บททั้งหมดของ Twisted Ecstasy : บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Dawn light filters through the torn canvas in pale gold streaks, painting the ruined interior of my tent in soft hues. The storm has finally moved on, leaving behind a heavy silence broken only by the occasional whisper of settling sand. The air smells of spent myrrh, cooling sweat, and the faint metallic tang of the desert after rain. Bolts of silk lie scattered everywhere, many of them marked by our bodies and dusted with fine grit.I am still straddling Kael, his cock settled deep inside me, half-hard and slowly recovering. His hands rest on my hips with a possessiveness that feels strangely right after the chaos. We watch each other in the quiet, our breathing steady, our bodies marked by bites, scratches, and streaks of sand.Neither of us speaks. I feel the subtle twitch of him inside me as blood flows back, the warmth of his skin against mine, and the way grains of sand cling to the drying sweat on our bodies. My thighs ache pleasantly from hours of tension and release. I study

All our jaws drop.“Scott, Javier, I know you guys are seeing this absolute madness rising up,” Becky mutters. “That giant stalk can devour the whole damn group and still ask for dessert afterward.”Javier presses closer, his eyes glued to the towering central formation. “Devour might be too polite. Those fat appendages dripping everywhere haven't even reached us, and my body already volunteers for whatever depraved shit they have planned. I should probably panic, but instead I just want them to hurry up.”I try to steady my breathing as another thick wave of golden spores washes over us. “We are beyond screwed, and I mean that in the most literal, dripping way possible. Still no real objections from me yet. Where the hell did Zayn and Giselle disappear to earlier? We lost them back in that vine mess.”The basin floor shakes again. Two sturdy vines whip up from the edges, yanking the missing pair straight into our midst. Zayn, the bossy expedition leader who always barked orders, now

RHYS Rain pounds the roof as though it holds a personal grudge. I stand at the window with the lights off, the Glock heavy in my hand, watching the driveway through a narrow gap in the blinds. Nine days in this godforsaken coastal shack, and every shadow feels like the end. My body aches from sleeping on the floor. My thoughts never stop circling. One wrong move, and I'm dead. Headlights pierce the downpour. A single vehicle. My pulse quickens. I rack the slide, press my back to the wall beside the door, and wait. The engine dies. A door slams. Footsteps splash through puddles, followed by a sharp knock that rattles the frame. “Open the damn door, Wilder. It's me.” A woman's voice. Low, irritated, familiar enough to make my shoulders loosen a fraction. I crack the door, gun still raised. She stands there soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face, a white shirt molded to every curve, black jeans streaked with mud around the knees. Camilla Duvall. The handler's daughter.

We stay on the couch after I show him the files. Naked, our skin still warm from what we did earlier, our laptops open in front of us. Rhys sits with one arm draped along the back of the couch, his tattooed fingers occasionally brushing my shoulder while I work. The shattered badge on his chest catches the lamplight whenever he leans forward to point at something on the screen.I pull up more decrypted layers, cross-referencing timestamps and account numbers. The deeper we dig, the worse it looks. Rhys says nothing, absorbing everything, but I can feel the tension building in his body like a storm gathering force.“You really think your father is this deep in it?” he asks as I scroll through another chain of messages.“I don't think about it anymore. I know it.” I highlight a transfer record and zoom in so he can see the details. “This payment goes through an account he has full access to. It happens a few days after you send your last report from inside the task force. The timing isn

Seven years with Jett, and I've accepted that sex with him is just... okay. He climbs on top, does his thing, mutters, “You're so hot,” like he's reading from a script, then checks his phone right after. I smile, tell him it was great, and spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, wondering why my body keeps craving something that actually consumes me. I never told him about the quiet thoughts I have about women. I barely admitted them to myself.Until her.Madame Vivienne Laurent.She's the French perfumer who recently arrived at the fragrance company. Piercing blue eyes and a voice that makes every sentence sound like a secret. She's one of the greatest noses alive. Legend says she can identify thousands of individual scent molecules. Everyone in the lab whispers about her. Everyone knows she only sleeps with women.A few days ago, she pulled me aside after a team meeting and told me she had a new project. Something that's never been done before. She needed one willing tes