บททั้งหมดของ Hot Desire( A Collection of Steamy stories): บทที่ 141 - บทที่ 150

Thursday arrived like a threat.Aria spent the entire week pretending the last session hadn’t happened. She reorganized her notes twice. She ran five extra miles. She answered every email from Professor Lang with professional detachment. None of it erased the memory of Sloane’s voice saying what that tight little bun looks like when someone pulls it loose.By the time she reached the third-floor study room, her jaw ached from clenching.Sloane was already there.That fact alone felt like a declaration of war. She sat in the same chair as last week, boots propped on the edge of the table, scrolling through her phone. The crop top was gone, replaced by an oversized flannel shirt left unbuttoned over a black tank that clung to her chest. Her hair was down tonight, dark waves falling past her shoulders. When she looked up, the eyeliner was sharper.“You’re late,” Sloane said.Aria checked her watch. She was three minutes early. “You’re early. Should I be worried?”“Don’t get used to it.

Aria did not text first. She told herself that mattered. She told herself the study-room floor and the ruined notes and the way she had come apart on Sloane’s fingers were a single catastrophic lapse in judgment that would not be repeated. She reorganized her entire bookshelf. She color-coded a new set of lecture notes. She ignored the phantom press of Sloane’s mouth against her throat every time she closed her eyes. It lasted until Monday night. Her phone lit up at 11:47 p.m. Sloane: Library’s closed. My place. 20 minutes. Don’t pretend you have something better to do. Aria stared at the message until the screen went dark. Then she got out of bed, pulled on black jeans and the same turtleneck from Thursday, and left her apartment without answering. Sloane’s building was older, the kind of place with a broken intercom and a stairwell that smelled like someone else’s laundry. Aria climbed to the third floor and knocked once. The door opened immediately. Sloane stood barefoot i

I unpacked like I was trying to outrun my own thoughts.Shirts folded. Jeans stacked. Toiletries lined up on the bathroom counter with military precision. None of it helped. Every time I closed my eyes I still saw Liam’s mouth on that blonde’s, the way his hand had disappeared under her shirt, the low, unbothered way he’d looked at me afterward like I’d walked in on something I was always supposed to see.By the time I came back downstairs the house smelled like garlic and butter and something richer underneath. Liam stood at the stove in the same black T-shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, stirring a pan like he belonged in this kitchen. The blonde’s lipstick was gone from his mouth. He’d washed it off. Somehow that felt worse.“Sit,” he said without turning around. “It’s almost done.”I sat at the island because standing felt like admitting I was still rattled. He plated pasta—simple, good, the kind of thing he’d always thrown together when he and Lisa stayed up too late studyin

He laid me down on the couch like he had all the time in the world.The cushions dipped under our weight. Liam settled between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against me through the thin barrier of his sweatpants and my ruined underwear. For a second he just looked at me—hair messy from my hands, eyes almost black in the low light, chest rising and falling too fast. The same boy who used to steal fries off my plate at sixteen was gone. In his place was a man who knew exactly what he was about to take.“Last chance to tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough.I answered by reaching down and shoving his sweatpants low enough to free him. He was thick, heavy, already slick at the tip. The second my fingers wrapped around him he hissed through his teeth and dropped his forehead to mine.“Fuck, Medora.”I stroked him once, slow, watching the way his jaw flexed. “You’re still talking too much.”Something dark and pleased flashed in his eyes. He kissed me hard, swallowed the sound

Dawn came gray and cold.Sissy had not slept. She had spent the remaining hours of night running the eastern border until her paws bled, trying to outpace the bond that still throbbed in her chest like a second, hated heart. It did no good. Every time she stopped, she felt him—distant, watchful, a dark pressure at the edge of her mind. Draven never truly left her alone. The claiming had seen to that.She shifted back to human form at the mouth of her cave as the first light touched the pines. Blood crusted the soles of her feet. Her white hair hung in tangled ropes down her back. She washed in the icy stream until her skin burned red, then pulled on the simple leather wrap and soft hide boots she kept for the rare times she walked among the pack. The scars on her neck and shoulders remained visible. She never hid them. Let them look. Let them remember she had not yielded cleanly.The pack grounds were already stirring when she arrived.Pups tumbled near the central fire. Hunters retu