All Chapters of WET and Ruined( collection of short sweet stories) : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

*Mia’s POV*I stood on the twenty-third-floor balcony of the penthouse Adrian had rented for the weekend, the night wind tugging at the thin silk robe I’d thrown on after dinner. Below us, the skyline burned with a thousand golden windows and the slow crawl of headlights. Music drifted up faintly from some rooftop bar. The air smelled like rain that hadn’t fallen yet and the faint spice of his cologne still clinging to my skin.Adrian stepped out behind me, bare-chested, only low-slung black pants hanging off his hips. He didn’t speak at first. He simply pressed his body to mine, chest to my back, and rested both hands on the railing on either side of me, caging me in.“You’ve been quiet all evening,” he murmured against the shell of my ear. “Thinking about what I said earlier?”I had been. All through the late dinner, the shared bottle of wine, the way his knee had pressed deliberately against mine under the table. Earlier, in the elevator, he’d leaned in and told me, low and rough,

Lia’s POVI wanted her to find out.Not in some dramatic confrontation. Not with screaming or tears. I wanted it slow. A lipstick smear on the collar of his white work shirt. The faint, unmistakable scent of my perfume and my cunt clinging to his skin when he kissed her goodnight. Little pieces of evidence left like breadcrumbs, daring Mom to notice that her perfect husband was fucking her daughter every chance he got.I was nineteen. Cole was thirty-four. My stepfather. The man who had married my mother three years ago and spent the last eight months buried inside me whenever the house went quiet.Tonight I was done being careful.I waited until Mom left for her book club—the one that always ran late—and then I walked into the master bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of red heels and the exact shade of lipstick she kept in her own vanity. Cole was loosening his tie, fresh from a long day at the office. He looked up, and the exhaustion on his face shifted into something darker the se

Lia’s POV He started calling me his messy little doll the morning after Mom left for her week-long conference. I was nineteen. Roman, my stepbrother, was twenty-three. We had been crossing every line for months in secret, but this was the first time we had the house completely to ourselves. No careful timing. No muffling my moans into pillows. No rushing to erase the evidence before someone came home. Roman wanted evidence. He wanted me full of it. That first morning he woke me with two thick fingers already working in and out of my sore pussy, stirring the load he had left there only hours earlier. I was still half-asleep when I felt the cool, tapered pressure of the plug against my entrance. “Stay relaxed,” he murmured, kissing the inside of my thigh. “You’re going to wear this all day for me. Every time you move, you’ll feel how full I left you. Every time you sit down, you’ll remember who you belong to.” The plug slid in easily. It wasn’t small. The widest part stretche

***Bella’s POV*I chose the brightest red I owned on purpose.The kind that stained. The kind that didn’t wipe off easily. The kind a woman left on a man when she wanted the whole world to know someone had been at his throat.I was nineteen. My stepbrother, Jax, was twenty-four and already late for an important client meeting. He stood in front of the hallway mirror adjusting his tie, completely focused, when I stepped up behind him in nothing but one of his old shirts.“You’re going to be late,” I murmured, rising on my toes.Before he could answer I pressed my mouth to the side of his neck and left a perfect, glossy red kiss. Then another, higher, closer to his jaw. Then one right on the crisp white collar of his dress shirt, deliberate and obvious.Jax went still. “Bella. What the fuck are you doing?”I dragged my lips along the edge of his collar, leaving a second bright smear, then a third. “Giving you something to think about in that boring meeting.”His hand shot back, grippin

Nora’s POVMom was humming.She always hummed when she cooked Sunday dinner—some soft, off-key melody that floated through the house like everything was normal and safe. The smell of garlic and roasting chicken filled the kitchen. I stood at the counter beside her, supposedly helping by chopping vegetables, but my hands felt clumsy. My stepbrother, Damon, leaned against the doorway watching us both.I was nineteen. He was twenty-four. We had been fucking for three months in secret, and the risk still made my stomach flip every single time.Mom turned to check the oven. Damon caught my eye and tilted his head toward the short hallway that led to the storeroom—the narrow, windowless space where we kept bulk rice, extra paper towels, and the tall metal shelves that had already bruised my hips more than once.I set the knife down.“I’m going to grab more olive oil,” I said, voice carefully light.Mom barely looked up. “Bottom shelf, I think. Don’t take too long—table needs setting.”Dam