Semua Bab Desired By My StepDad and His Son: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Chapter 1: The Weight of Desire The air in the Iron Vault smelled of ozone, rubber flooring, and the sharp, metallic tang of old sweat. I gripped the knurling of the barbell, the cold steel biting into my palms. My breath came in jagged hitches, fogging the mirror in front of me. Behind me, I felt the heat radiating off Zach before he even spoke. He stood too close, his chest nearly brushing my shoulder blades, a wall of solid muscle and expensive sandalwood cologne. "Chest up, Kayda. Don't let the weight cave you in," Zach murmured. His voice sounded like gravel grinding over velvet. He was forty-two, twenty years my senior, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped tight and eyes that looked through me rather than at me. I shifted my stance, feeling the spandex of my leggings cling to my thighs. "I can't get the last rep," I gasped. "You can. I've got you." He stepped in. His large hands clamped onto my waist to steady me. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core, a s

Zach slowly withdrew, the wet sound making me shiver. He didn't move away; he stayed close, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. Bryan curled up beside us on the bench, resting his head on my shoulder."Well," Bryan panted, a goofy smile on his face. "I think that's the best workout I've ever had."Zach chuckled, the sound low and contented. He kissed the top of my head. "I think we might need to adjust your training program, Kayda."I giggled, feeling a warm, lazy glow spreading through my limbs. "Oh really? And what does the new program look like?"Zach's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "More... private sessions. More focus on... flexibility.""I can definitely handle that," I whispered.Bryan nudged me. "Does this mean I'm part of the program too?"Zach looked at Bryan, then back at me. A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "I think we can make room for a gym partner.""Mmm," I hummed, leaning back into them both. "I think I'm going to like this vers

Chapter 1: The Power Play The air in the offices of Sterling and Thorne smelled of expensive espresso and old leather. Floor-to-ceiling glass offered a panoramic view of the city, a concrete jungle where the law was the only weapon that mattered. Alaric stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the gray sky. . He did not turn when Mira entered. The brief is on your desk, Alaric. I corrected the citations in the third section. Alaric turned slowly. His eyes were the color of slate, cold and calculating. He didn't look at the folder; he looked at her. Mira wore a pencil skirt that hugged her hips and a white blouse buttoned just low enough to be daring but high enough to be professional. She held his gaze without blinking. You were ten minutes late with this, Mira. I spent those ten minutes ensuring the opposition has no legal leg to stand on. I believe that is a fair trade for a bit of punctuality. A ghost of a frown touched his lips. He stepped closer, the scent of sand

The aftermath was not a retreat, but a negotiation.The three of them sat in Alaric’s office an hour later. Mira was dressed, though her blouse was slightly wrinkled and her lipstick was smudged. She sat in the oversized leather chair, her legs crossed, watching the two men. Alaric was back at his desk, though he had discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Soren was lounging on the sofa, swirling a glass of scotch.The air was still electric, the memory of the conference room lingering like a scent."That was... an unplanned deviation from the professional environment," Alaric said, though his voice lacked its usual bite."Oh, please," Soren laughed. "You were the one who pinned her to the glass, Alaric. Don't play the moral compass now."Mira leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't say this was a one-time arrangement. I said I wanted a mentorship."Alaric looked at her, his gaze intense. "And what, precisely, does that entail in your mind, Mira?""Competition," she answ

Chapter 1: The Debt of a Diamond Sasha leaned back in her velvet chair, the silk of her emerald slip dress sliding against her skin. She toyed with a single black chip, spinning it on the table with a flick of her wrist. Across from her, Romanov sat motionless. He looked less like a man and more like a monument carved from Siberian granite. His tailored navy suit hugged shoulders that seemed wide enough to carry the weight of the city, and his grey eyes remained fixed on her, devoid of emotion. "The bet stands, Sasha," Romanov said. His voice was a low rumble, a tectonic shift that vibrated in the center of her chest. "Five million. All in." Sasha glanced at her cards. A pair of kings. A strong hand, but the way Romanov held his chips—perfectly still, a wall of plastic fortifications—told her he wasn't bluffing. She felt the sweat prickle at the nape of her neck. "You're very confident for a man who hasn't smiled in three hours," Sasha replied. She pushed her remaining stack into