UNHOLY TEMPTATIONS のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

He still hadn’t said a word.The only sounds in the garage were the soft buzz of the fluorescent lights and the slow, heavy rise and fall of his chest. His eyes stayed locked between my legs even after the shirt had fallen back into place, like he could still see everything underneath. My pulse hammered so hard I felt it in my throat, in my clit, in the tips of my fingers where they still gripped the wrench.I set the tool down on the hood without looking away from him. My voice came out quieter than I expected.“You looked frustrated upstairs.”His jaw flexed. The front of his sweatpants twitched again, that thick outline jerking like it had heard me. He pushed himself fully off the creeper and stood in one smooth motion. The movement made the heavy weight of his cock shift inside the fabric, and I couldn’t stop staring at the way it hung, long and dense, the head clearly outlined against the soft material.“You shouldn’t be down here dressed like that,” he said, voice low and rough.

Two nights later he came for me again.This time he didn’t speak when he opened my door. He simply stood in the doorway, fully dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, and held out his hand. I took it without hesitation. My bare feet followed his down the hallway, past my mother’s closed door, and into the unfinished storage room at the far end of the upstairs hall—the one he had been quietly converting for weeks under the excuse of “extra storage.”The moment the door shut behind us I understood.Thick black straps hung from heavy-duty ceiling anchors he must have installed himself. A padded leather harness waited on a low bench. Soft cuffs. A spreader bar. And on a small metal table against the wall, a large, thick, realistic dildo the same intimidating size as the cock I had already taken twice.My pulse jumped.He turned me to face him. “Clothes off.”I pulled the thin sleep shirt over my head and dropped it. Nothing underneath. Cool air tightened my nipples instantly. His eyes

The apartment was quiet except for the low murmur of the television and the occasional clink of glass. Sophy and Gwen sat on the worn couch in their shared living room, legs stretched out, a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table between them. The show playing barely held their attention, as soft yellow light from the floor lamp cast long shadows across the walls, and the air smelled faintly of the takeout they’d finished earlier.Sophy had been drinking slowly, and steadily. Not enough to blur the edges of the room, just enough to loosen something in her chest. She leaned back against the cushions, with the glass in her hand, and let her gaze drift sideways.Gwen was curled into the opposite corner of the couch, her bare feet tucked under her, and her oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder. The blue glow of the screen painted her face. Sophy’s eyes moved without permission—over the line of Gwen’s throat, the soft curve of her mouth, the way her fingers absently traced th

The stall door was locked. The air in the small private bathroom was already thick with heat and the sharp scent of sex.Raphael had Isaac bent forward over the marble counter, one hand braced on the small of his back, the other gripping his hip hard enough to leave marks. Isaac’s dress shirt was still half-buttoned and shoved up his chest. His trousers and underwear were shoved down around his thighs. His forehead rested against the cool mirror, eyes squeezed shut, and his breath coming in short.Raphael spat into his palm, stroked the thick length of his cock once, then pressed the blunt head against Isaac’s tight, untouched entrance. Without any warning, he pushed in.Isaac’s body locked. A raw, broken scream tore out of his throat as the head forced its way inside. The stretch was brutal, dry, and burning. Tears sprang to his eyes instantly.Raphael’s hand clamped over Isaac’s mouth at once, muffling the sound against his palm. He leaned in close, his chest pressed to Isaac’s bac

The lecture hall emptied in the usual noisy rush. Hope fell into step beside Charles without thinking, the same way she had been doing since they were twelve. Their shoulders brushed as they walked across the campus courtyard, late afternoon the sun warm on their backs.“I’m making pasta,” Charles said, adjusting the strap of his bag. “You coming?”It wasn’t really a question. She almost always came.“Yeah,” she answered, smiling. “I’m starving.”His place was a short walk from campus — a small ground-floor flat with a tiny kitchen that always smelled faintly of coffee and whatever he had cooked the night before. He unlocked the door and stepped aside so she could go in first, a habit so old neither of them noticed it anymore.In the kitchen, he pulled out a pot, a cutting board, garlic, and tomatoes. Hope washed her hands and took the knife from him without asking, starting to chop while he filled the pot with water. Their movements were easy, practiced. She had cooked in this kitche