Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 17

STORY FOUR: THE DIVORCE PAPERS PART ONE CONTENT WARNING: BLINDFOLD SEX The candlelight flickered across the crisp white tablecloth of Le Bernardin, casting soft golden shadows over the delicate porcelain and crystal stemware. It was supposed to be a celebration—my 26th birthday. I had dressed for the occasion in a sleek black silk slip dress that skimmed my curves, my dark auburn hair falling in loose waves down my back, red lips painted with the confidence I no longer felt. Marcus Kavanagh sat across from me, his jaw tight, eyes cold. He didn’t touch the wine. He didn’t smile. “I’m done, Daphne,” he said flatly, cutting through the soft murmur of the restaurant sharply. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. The words hung between us, heavy and unreal. “What?” My voice came out small and cracked. Marcus leaned back in his chair, expensive watch glinting under the lights. “You heard me. Four years of this… whatever the fuck t

PART THREE: THE MORNING AFTER The next morning, sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Kavanagh estate. I stirred in the massive bed, my body deliciously sore in all the right places, my thighs aching, pussy still tender and throbbing from the relentless pounding Kenzo had given me through the night. I slipped on his oversized white dress shirt, the hem barely skimming the tops of my thighs, the fabric carrying his clean, masculine scent mixed with the faint musk of sex. No panties. I liked the way the cool air teased my swollen folds as I moved. I padded downstairs quietly, bare feet silent on the stairs, heading straight for the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. Kenzo was in the master bathroom, the distant sound of the shower running faintly audible. Marcus was already in the kitchen, his back turned to me. He stood at the counter in nothing but gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, one hand massaging the stiff muscles of his neck while he downed a glass of hon

PART TWO: PASSION ON HIS COUCH CONTENT WARNING: HANDCUFF DURING SEX, HUMILIATION KINK I knew two things the moment I left the Warden’s office that night: either Ryker Crowe would call me back within 24 hours, or he would pretend none of it had ever happened. Twenty-four hours came and went in silence. No summons. No message. Nothing. I lay on my thin bunk staring at the ceiling, telling myself it was better this way. He was the Warden. I was just another inmate serving time for a crime I didn’t commit. What happened in that office was a one-time lapse in judgment. A filthy, delicious mistake. But at 1:17 a.m. the following night, the cell door buzzed open again. A female officer stood in the doorway, flashlight beam cutting through the dark. “Inmate 4782. Warden wants you. Now.” Anxiety clawed up my throat like barbed wire. My heart slammed against my ribs as I stood, wrists already cuffed in front of me by the officer. The walk through the silent corridors felt endless. Every s

PART FOUR: PASSION IN THE PRISON INFIRMARY Another five days dragged past in a haze of secret glances and aching need. My body still remembered every thick inch of Ryker from our risky night in the cell. I craved him constantly, my pussy wet at the mere thought of his pierced cock stretching me open. That morning I was called for the routine general medical test in the prison infirmary. The sterile room smelled of antiseptic and old leather. A bored doctor ran the usual checks—blood pressure, temperature, basic questions—while a nurse hovered nearby. I sat on the edge of the examination bed in my orange uniform, legs dangling. Just as the doctor finished scribbling notes and told me I could go, the door swung open. A stern male guard stepped in. “Everyone out. Infirmary is closing for maintenance. Now.” The doctor and nurse exchanged confused looks but obeyed quickly, gathering their things and filing out. I stood to follow. “Not you,” the guard said flatly, pointing at me. “Sta