Semua Bab Forbidden Lust: My Father-in-law: Bab 81 - Bab 90

The confrontation with Lila lingered like poison in Freya’s veins. Every smile the woman gave her at dinner felt like a blade pressed against her throat. Victor remained blissfully unaware, laughing with Draven over old stories while Freya sat across the table, thighs still sticky from the quick, desperate fuck Draven had given her in the guest bathroom an hour earlier. The contrast was maddening — polite conversation on the surface, raw sin underneath. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way Draven had bent her over the sink, hand clamped over her mouth as he pounded into her from behind, whispering, “One day I’m going to fuck you in front of the whole world so they know who you belong to.” The danger made her come harder than ever. But Lila’s warning echoed in her head: *I will destroy you both.* After dinner, Freya escaped to the garden to clear her mind. The night air was warm, heavy with the scent of jasmine. She sat on the stone bench where Draven had first kissed her w

The penthouse felt like a luxurious prison. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a glittering view of the city skyline, but Freya saw none of it. She sat curled on the massive leather sofa, wrapped in one of Draven’s soft black shirts that smelled like him — cologne, musk, and the faint trace of their shared sin. Her phone lay dark on the coffee table. Victor’s last words still echoed: If you choose him, you’re no longer my daughter. Draven emerged from the shower, towel slung low on his hips, water droplets tracing the hard lines of his chest and abs. Even in the middle of this nightmare, the sight of him made her body respond instantly. He crossed the room and pulled her into his lap without a word, burying his face in her neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin. “I knew the cost. I just didn’t think it would hurt you this much.” Freya threaded her fingers through his damp hair. “I chose this. I chose you. But God, Draven… he’s my father. The only parent who ever really stay

The proposal hung in the air like a match held over dry tinder. Freya and Draven spent the following week wrapped in a cocoon of desperate intimacy and tentative planning. The penthouse became their sanctuary and their prison. They barely left. Days melted into nights filled with long conversations, heated arguments about the future, and sex that ranged from tender and healing to raw and punishing. Draven would wake her in the middle of the night with his mouth between her thighs, licking her slowly until she came awake moaning his name. He’d fuck her lazily from behind while they watched the sunrise over the city, his hand rubbing her clit in perfect rhythm with his deep thrusts. In the afternoons, Freya would drop to her knees while he was on conference calls, sucking him off under the desk just to feel powerful in the chaos. The sex was their escape, their language, their proof that what they had was worth the world burning around them. One particularly intense evening, after a

The city never slept, but in the penthouse high above it all, time moved differently. Freya stood barefoot on the cool marble floor, one hand resting protectively over the gentle swell of her belly, the other pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass. The lights of the metropolis sparkled like diamonds scattered across black velvet. Behind her, Draven’s reflection approached slowly, his powerful frame silhouetted by the low lighting. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, large hands splaying over her rounded stomach where their child grew. “Still thinking too much?” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice was that perfect mix of gravel and velvet that had ruined her from the very first forbidden touch months ago. Freya leaned back into his solid warmth. “Always. I keep wondering if we did the right thing. If the price was too high.” Draven turned her gently to face him. He was naked, as was she — they had long since given up on clothing when they were alo

Sadie stood under the hot spray of the shower longer than she needed to, as if the water could wash the note off her skin. *Wear nothing under the dress tonight.* The words kept looping in her head while she scrubbed her arms raw. She had come here thinking she could keep some scrap of control. One year. Survive it. Protect her mother. Walk away. That was the plan. The plan felt thinner with every minute that passed. She dried off, pulled the soft black dress from her suitcase—the only decent thing she owned—and left her underwear in the drawer like the note demanded. The fabric clung to her still-damp skin. No bra. No panties. Every step made her aware of the cool air between her thighs. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited. The knock came thirty-seven minutes later. Soft. Almost polite. Then the door opened without permission. Dominic filled the doorway, still in the same black shirt, sleeves rolled, watch glinting under the low light. His eyes moved over her once, slow