Todos los capítulos de Wet & Wicked: Forbidden Collection Of Lust: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

Elias’s POV~ The basement stairs groaned under my weight like they always did. I told myself I was down here for the Bordeaux. Judith had asked for the ’15 Margaux she knew I was saving and I’d volunteered just to get out of that dining room, away from Vivian’s hand on my thigh and Sloane’s eyes burning holes through the side of my face. My cock had been hard since breakfast. Since her bare foot had slid up my leg under the table, since I’d felt the arch of her sole pressing against the rigid, aching length of me while my sister passed the fucking butter. I’d jerked off in the bathroom like a teenager, coming with Sloane’s name breaking apart in my throat, hating myself so much I’d wanted to put my fist through the tile. And now I was hard again. Painfully, furiously hard. My cock was a thick, heavy bar of iron straining against my zipper, throbbing with every heartbeat, leaking enough precum that I could feel the damp spot spreading against my boxers by just thinking about

Elias’s POV~ Three days of silence, and something in me had finally rotted clean through. It wasn’t the guilt. Fuck the guilt. The guilt had been the first thing to die, starved out by the constant, throbbing ache in my cock that wouldn’t let me sleep, wouldn’t let me think, wouldn’t let me do anything but pace this house like a caged animal while she drifted through rooms pretending I was dead. No. What rotted was the last pathetic scrap of decency I’d been clinging to, the lie that I could be her father, that I could look at Sloane and see anything other than the tight, warm little body I was going to spend the rest of my life defiling. I was done being good. I was done being sorry. My cock had been hard for seventy-two hours straight, like a thick, heavy bar of meat pressing against my zipper like it wanted to rip through the denim. It was nine inches, maybe closer to ten when I was this fucked up, veined and angry and leaking a constant stream of precum that had so

Elias’s POV~ Friday, 11:47 PM: Three weeks, four days since the funeral. The scotch had been sweating on my desk for forty-seven minutes. I knew because I had counted them while staring at the ice, watching it shrink, cube by fucking cube, diluting the amber into something weak and dishonest. Just like me. It was Friday. I was sure of that much because Sloane had mentioned breakfast plans with a friend on Saturday, and the anticipation of her leaving the house tomorrow had already settled in my gut like a stone. But the date? The fourteenth? The fifteenth? I couldn't recall. The days had begun bleeding together somewhere between the burial and the first time I caught myself staring at her ass while she bent over the dryer. She had killed me that morning at breakfast. Six-fifteen AM. I had been awake since four, my cock rigid and aching, leaking into my boxers from a dream I couldn't remember but didn't need to. I had gone downstairs to punish myself with cold coffee

Elias’s POV~ Her teeth sank into my fingers hard enough to draw blood, her eyes blazing up at me with pure filthy defiance even as she sucked. I hissed, my cock jerking so violently against my slacks that I felt another hot spurt of precum leak out, soaking the fabric completely. "You little brat," I snarled, but I was grinning, dark and demonic. "You want to play rough?" I spun her around and slammed her chest against the door. Her breasts pressed flat against the wood, her cheek turned to the side, her breath fogging the peephole. I kicked her feet apart, spreading her legs until her ass was pushed out toward me, that perfect pink cunt on full display, glistening and swollen and dripping onto the hardwood floor. The foyer was dark, but the staircase was ten feet away. Judith's room was upstairs. Vivian had left hours ago, but anyone could walk down. Anyone could hear us. I didn't give a single fuck. I unbuckled my belt. The leather slid through the loops with a hiss

Elias’s POV~ I dragged Sloane into the garage by her wrist and the door was already cracked six inches. The streetlamp outside cut a thin blade of orange light across the concrete floor and across the glossy black hood of my Mustang, and the night air was cool but my skin was on fire. My cock was a thick, aching bar of iron straining against my zipper, leaking so much precum that the front of my slacks was soaked through and sticking to my thigh in a dark, wet patch. I could feel my heartbeat in the swollen head of my cock. It had been throbbing since I claimed her throat, while Judith was upstairs. Now I was going to claim the rest. She stumbled against the car and the metal was cold against her stomach. Her tits spilled out of the torn remnants of her dress, heavy and pale, the nipples dark and fat and still bruised from my teeth the night before. I grabbed what was left of the neckline and I ripped it clean off her body. The silk fabric tore like wet paper, shredding