Semua Bab Desired By My StepDad and His Son: Bab 181 - Bab 190

The sunlight of the next morning filtered through the heavy curtains, casting long, golden strips across the bed. Lily woke up slowly, the feeling of a heavy arm draped across her waist grounding her. She shifted, feeling the softness of the sheets and the warmth of Dorian’s body behind her. He was already awake, his breath steady against her shoulder. Good morning, he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Lily turned in his arms, blinking up at him. Good morning. He smiled, a soft, genuine expression that she hadn't seen the night before. He kissed the tip of her nose. How do you feel? Like I've been hit by a very handsome truck, she joked, leaning her head against his chest. Dorian laughed, the sound low and rumbling. I'll take that as a compliment. They lay in silence for a while, the gravity of the previous night settling in. The age gap, the societal expectations, the sheer intensity of their chemistry—it was all still there, but it felt manageable now. What happens

The transition from the frozen silence of the walk-in to the roar of the kitchen was jarring. Sora stepped back onto the line, her skin still humming, her thighs feeling heavy and slick. Every time she moved, she felt the ghost of him inside her.Cassian was already back at the pass, barking orders. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t acknowledge that ten minutes ago, he had been roaring into her shoulder."Lin! The sea bass!" he shouted.Sora leaped to her station. Her hands were shaking, but this time it wasn't from fear. She grabbed a fresh pan, the butter sizzling instantly. *Sssst!* She watched the foam, her eyes locked on the consistency. She remembered the way he’d looked at her—the hunger that had nothing to do with food.She plated the fish, drizzled the reduction—perfectly thickened this time—and slid it onto the pass.Cassian stopped. He looked at the plate. He looked at Sora. His eyes traveled slowly down her body, lingering on the slight disarray of her chef's coat, then bac

Dinner was a silent affair, punctuated only by the *clink* of silver against porcelain. Sophie had chosen a high-collared navy dress that reached her calves, but the fabric was thin, clinging to the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts every time she breathed. Bram sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his presence filling the room. He didn't eat; he watched her. Sophie felt his gaze like a physical weight. She kept her eyes on her plate, her fork pushing a piece of roasted asparagus around. "You're not eating," Bram said. Sophie jumped, the fork clattering against the plate. "I... I am. I'm just not very hungry." "In this house, we do not waste food, and we do not pretend," Bram replied. He leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking. "Why are you nervous, Sophie?" She looked up, her blue eyes wide. "I'm not nervous." "Your hands are shaking." Sophie instinctively hid her hands in her lap. "It's just... everything is very new." "Is it the house? Or is it m

The following weeks became a blurred cycle of discipline and devotion. Bram’s rules were strict: Sophie was to study her textbooks for six hours a day, assist him in the gardens, and remain modest in the presence of the few staff members who came to the estate. But behind closed doors, the rules were different. The tension between them grew into a living thing, a constant electric current that hummed in the hallways. They learned each other's bodies like a map—the way a certain touch on the small of her back made her shiver, the way a specific look in his eyes told her that the "lesson" was about to begin. One humid August afternoon, the heat became unbearable. The air was thick and stagnant, the city's smog drifting over the vineyard like a grey veil. Bram had spent the day in the cellar, and when he emerged, he was drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his muscles, his skin smelling of earth and fermentation. Sophie was waiting for him in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of

The morning fog clung to the city like a damp shroud, blurring the edges of the skyscrapers and turning the streetlamps into ghostly smudges of yellow. Chloe arrived at the grey stone house at precisely 7:59 AM. She stood on the porch for a full minute, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had taken his advice. The cream blazer was gone. In its place, she wore a silk emerald-green blouse that draped softly over her curves, the fabric thin enough to hint at the lack of a bra beneath. Her skirt was a black pencil style, shorter than the previous day's, clinging to her hips. She felt exposed, almost naked, yet the feeling was an electric current humming through her veins.When the door opened, Harrison didn't speak. He stood in the doorway, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle. His eyes swept down her body, a slow, deliberate descent that felt like a physical touch."Seven-fifty-nine," h