A Good Girl's ruin(Dark Steamy stories )의 모든 챕터: 챕터 131 - 챕터 140

The handle turned. and Rhys pulled out of me so fast the sudden emptiness made me bite down on a sound. He yanked my jeans up in one rough motion, not even bothering with the button, and shoved me toward the bathroom at the same time he grabbed the sheet from the floor. I stumbled through the doorway. He followed, closed the bathroom door most of the way, and had the sheet wrapped low around his hips before the bedroom door finished opening.My mother’s voice came from the hallway.“Rhys? Are you still here? Your father needs the updated guest list for the foundation lunch.”I stood on the cold tile with my sweater twisted, jeans half-fastened, and the unmistakable slickness of him still between my thighs. My pulse slammed so hard I could hear it in my ears. Rhys looked at me through the gap in the bathroom door, expression unreadable, then called out in a voice that sounded almost normal.“Yeah. Give me a minute.”Footsteps moved farther into the bedroom. I heard her pick something u

The foundation lunch lasted for about three hours and forty-one minutes.During that period, I kept the water glasses full, cleared plates without being asked, and stayed on the opposite side of every room Rhys occupied. He didn’t look at me once during the meal. He smiled for the donors, laughed at his father’s jokes, and played the perfect golden-boy captain while Avery sat two seats away from him in a dress that matched the team colors. My mother watched me the way she watched spill risks—carefully, and without comment.When the last guest left, she sent me to the pool house to collect the extra serving trays stored there for events. She didn’t mention Rhys. She didn’t need to. The look she gave me was warning enough.The sun had already started dropping behind the main house when I unlocked the pool house door. The air inside was still and cool, faintly chlorinated. I flipped on the light and went straight to the storage closet near the back. The trays were stacked on the middle s

Rose De'lacruz POVThe top six floors of the glass tower on Via Montenapoleone belonged to Morreno Holdings, and I had never felt smaller than the moment the lobby doors closed behind me.The Marble floors threw the September light back at me like still water. Somewhere forty stories above, the man whose signature now sat on my contract was waiting. Damien Morreno. A name I had seen in every trade magazine for years but I had never expected to answer to directly.“Signorina De’lacruz?” The receptionist’s voice cut clean through the hush. “ The Direttore is ready for you.”Already? I expected an assistant or onboarding director. Just anyone but him.My heels struck the marble in a sharp, uneven rhythm as I followed her to the private elevator. The portfolio pressed against my chest felt useless, thin armor against whatever waited upstairs.The doors opened onto the fortieth floor and the city dropped away beneath the floor-to-ceiling glass into conquered and quiet world of power. At

Thursday came too fast and not fast enough.I had redone the color story four times, chasing the word he’d given me danger until the boards finally felt less like a portfolio piece and more like a confession. Burnt orange bleeding into black. Gold like the last light before a storm. Silhouettes that clung and then let go, fabric that moved like it was trying to escape itself.I told myself it was good work. I didn’t let myself examine too closely who I’d been thinking of when I chose the palette.Louisa intercepted me outside the fortieth-floor elevator at exactly 5:58 p.m., two minutes before my scheduled review. Her expression was unreadable.“A word first.”“I’m not late—”“You’re not in trouble.” Her voice dropped, the corporate polish falling away. “I’ve worked for Damien for eleven years. I’ve watched a dozen bright young things pass through this office. He is generous with his time for exactly none of them. Until you.”My pulse stumbled. “It’s just the collection—”“Maybe.” She

The silk pooled at my feet. Damien’s eyes went black as he looked at me—lace underwear the only thing left between us, my skin already flushed under the city light pouring through the windows. He didn’t speak. He just stared, breathing hard, like the sight of me had knocked the last of his control clean out of him. One hand closed around the back of my neck, the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, and he walked me backward until my spine hit the cool glass of the window. The city burned behind me—Duomo spires, golden lights, the entire indifferent world—while his mouth claimed mine again, deeper this time, almost punishing. I tasted the edge of his restraint finally gone. “You have no idea,” he muttered against my lips, voice wrecked, “how many times I pictured this. How many times I almost dragged you into that private elevator and fucked the professionalism right out of both of us.” His hand slid down, palm flattening over my stomach, then lower. He cupped me through the