Lahat ng Kabanata ng 100 DRIPPING WET DREAMS - A FULL SERIES, ROMANCE COLLECTION.: Kabanata 171 - Kabanata 180

Ivy's POVI woke up to the kind of heavy, syrupy drowsiness that made the ceiling feel too close. My skin was warm, almost feverish, and every joint ached like I’d slept wrong for a week. For a few seconds I just lay there in the tangled sheets of my own bed, staring at the familiar crack in the plaster above me, trying to remember what day it was.Then the second thought hit.My period was late.Not a day or two. Almost a week. And the last two weeks of my life had been nothing but raw, unprotected sex—Martin over the desk, Cole reclaiming me like a man possessed, the two strangers in the alley who had filled me until it leaked down my legs, and Vynny… God, Vynny. The way he had fucked me through six positions and then again in the shower, thick and relentless, coming deep inside me both times.I sat up too fast. The room tilted. Panic slid cold under the feverish heat.Pregnant.The word took the breath right out my lungs. I pressed both hands to the soft curve of my lower belly as

Dr. Reid's POVTwo thick fingers buried in the hottest, wettest cunt I had ever touched, and all I could think about was the first time she walked into my office.Four days ago she had been soft and scared. Flushed from a low fever, hair pulled back messily, eyes wide with the kind of panic only a late period and too many recent risks could produce. She had sat on this same table in a wrinkled dress, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold her body together. I had done the professional thing, calm voice, negative test, mild viral symptoms, rest and fluids. I had smiled the appropriate doctor smile and sent her on her way.But the second the door closed behind her I had exhaled like I’d been punched.Attraction had hit me the moment I looked up from the chart. Soft body, full breasts pressing against the fabric of that ordinary dress, the gentle curve of her stomach, those doe eyes that still managed to look sharp even when she was terrified. I had kept my face neutral

Becca's POVThe chapel smelled of lilies and fresh polish, the kind of sweetness that clung to the back of my throat and made me want to gag. I sat in the second pew on the bride’s side, spine rigid against the hard wood, watching my mother exchange vows with a man I barely knew. Richard Hale. Silver at the temples, expensive suit, the sort of quiet confidence that made people lean in and surrender all their attention to him when he spoke.My mother looked radiant under the soft light filtering through the stained glass. Her voice trembled with happiness as she promised to love, honor, and cherish him until death or whatever clause lawyers wrote into modern marriages.I hated every second of it.My fingers twisted the program in my lap until the paper crumpled. Four years since Dad left. Two years of watching Mom cry into her wine glass. And now this. A new husband. A new life. A new set of people I was supposed to call family. I hadn’t even met the stepson yet. He’d been away at s

Dean's POVI woke up alone in the big house with the kind of silence that only settles in after the chaos of a wedding has finally burned itself out. Dad and his new wife—my new stepmum, I supposed I had to call her that now—had left before dawn for their honeymoon. Two weeks in Italy. Good for them. The mansion felt different without their voices echoing off the ceilings. Just me, the leftover champagne bottles still sitting on the kitchen island, and the quiet house.I was stretched out on the bed in my old room on the first floor, it had a long wideass window that looked straight down over the pool deck. I held my Xbox controller in my hand. I’d booted up some mindless shooter, low volume, just enough white noise to keep the quiet from crawling under my skin. Yesterday still sat in the back of my throat like a bad taste. The wedding. The girl in the hallway—what was her name again? Didn’t matter. And then her. Becca. My brand-new stepsister, standing there in that dark blue dre

Dean's POVI stared at her across the short stretch of kitchen island, the half-spiced chicken forgotten behind me, oil still cooling on my skin. Becca’s cheeks were flushed the same deep pink they’d been last night in that hallway, her mouth parted like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. The short dress she wore barely covered the tops of her thighs. Every time she shifted her weight I caught another flash of bare skin, and the memory of her fingers working between her legs by the pool made my cock throb against the soft fabric of my shorts.“Prove it,” I said.Her eyes snapped up to mine. “What?”“Prove you’re not wet right now.” I turned to the sink, flipped the faucet on, and scrubbed the spice and oil from my hands with more force than necessary. Soap, rinse, dry. When I faced her again she still hadn’t moved. “Do you mean that if I dip my fingers into your pussy right now I won’t find you wet and already soaking?”She found her voice at last, grit it out between clenched teet