All Chapters of All Yours: Short Romantic Stories: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The new person arrived just after three in the afternoon. Eve only knew something was differe hint because Cole came upstairs, knocked once on her door, and said, “Downstairs. Now. Both of you.” Sloane came out of her room at the same time. They looked at each other for a second in the hallway. No words. Just the same closed distance that had been there for weeks. Then they walked down together. Richard was already in the living room with Grant and Cole. Standing near the window was a woman Eve had never seen before. She was older than Eve and Sloane, mid-thirties, maybe — dark hair pulled back, tailored black trousers, white blouse, the kind of calm, assessing face that belonged in boardrooms and formal interviews. She held a thin folder against her side and didn’t smile. Richard spoke first. “This is Lena Voss. She’s with the outside counsel attached to the review. The board insisted on a direct conversation with the people most closely connected to the exposure. She’l

The fluorescent lights in the church basement always hummed a little too loud, like they were trying to cover up something. Daniel sat on the edge of the folding table, legs swinging, Bible still open on his lap even though the youth group meeting had ended twenty minutes ago. He hadn’t moved. He never moved first. Most of the others had already filtered upstairs for the pizza and bad worship music. Only three of them left now: Daniel, Pastor Mike’s nephew who was stacking chairs with zero urgency, and me. I’d been watching Daniel for months. Not in a creepy way, at least that’s what I told myself. He was the clean one. The one who still blushed when someone said “damn.” The one who never touched the girls even when they clearly wanted him to. No rumors. No late-night stories. No one could claim he’d put a baby in anybody. That made him safe. That made him the standard. I started showing up early, sitting closer, asking him questions about scripture just to hear how soft his voice

Sunday morning came gray and heavy. Marcus sat three rows behind Daniel and watched the back of his neck the entire service. Daniel kept his head down during the prayers, Bible open on his lap like always, but every few minutes his shoulders would tighten and he’d shift in the pew like the hard wood was pressing somewhere it shouldn’t. Marcus knew exactly where. When the final hymn ended and people started filing out, Daniel didn’t move. He stayed seated until the sanctuary emptied. Marcus waited by the side door until the last old lady shuffled past, then walked down the aisle and stopped beside him. Daniel looked up. His eyes were dark. “I told my parents I was staying for the college Bible study.” “There’s no study today.” “I know.” Marcus jerked his head toward the stairs that led down to the basement. Daniel stood without another word and followed. The basement smelled the same—old carpet, folding chairs, that faint chemical scent from the industrial cleaner they used on th

Daniel showed up at 11:50 the next night already slick. Marcus opened the door and knew immediately. Daniel’s face was flushed, eyes glassy, and when Marcus shoved a hand down the back of his jeans he found two of Daniel’s own fingers still buried inside himself. The hole was soft, wet, open. Daniel had been working himself open in the car. Marcus pulled those fingers free, shoved them into Daniel’s mouth, and made him suck them clean. “Good,” he said. “On the bed. Clothes off. Ass up.” Daniel moved fast. Hoodie, jeans, briefs—all of it hit the floor in under a minute. He climbed onto the mattress on his hands and knees, back arched, knees spread wide. His hole clenched around nothing, shiny with spit and whatever he’d used to open himself. His cock hung heavy between his legs, already leaking a clear string onto the sheets. Marcus stripped slow. Let Daniel wait. When he finally climbed up behind him he didn’t push in right away. He just looked. Ran both thumbs along the rim, stre

The cell stank of sweat, piss, and the copper tang of old blood. Three bunks, one toilet that never flushed right, and a concrete floor sticky under bare feet. He’d been here six days. Six days of learning exactly what it meant to belong to Don Rocco and his two Capos. Rocco sat on the bottom bunk like a king on a throne, thick thighs spread, shirt open. Gold chain resting in the dark hair on his chest. He was built like a brick shithouse—broad shoulders, heavy gut that still looked solid, and a cock that hung heavy even soft. His Capos stood on either side of him. Vito, the skinny one with the knife scars down his arms, always smirking. And Big Lou, the quiet one, whose hands could crush a man’s throat without him even looking winded. The kid was on his knees between Rocco’s legs, where he belonged. Hands cuffed behind his back with the plastic zip-ties they liked better than the metal ones. His mouth was already open. He knew the routine. “Look at him,” Rocco said, voice low a