Lahat ng Kabanata ng FORBIDDEN DESIRE : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The house settles into its usual evening quiet after Adrian disappears upstairs for his calls. I stay in the kitchen longer than I should, finishing the fruit he cut for me one slow bite at a time. Every piece tastes like the moment his hand covered mine. I keep replaying the brush of his skin, the low command in his voice when he told me to eat slowly, the way he stood close enough that I could have leaned in and pressed my mouth to the base of his throat. I shouldn’t want that. I want it anyway. By the time I rinse the plate and put it in the dishwasher, the sky outside the tall windows has turned a deep indigo. The automatic lights in the garden switch on, soft gold spilling across the perfectly manicured lawn and the dark surface of the infinity pool. Everything about this place is designed to look untouched, controlled, expensive. The same way Adrian looks. I walk upstairs barefoot, the marble cool under my soles. My bedroom is at the opposite end of the hall from his.

Damien’s car pulls into the circular driveway at exactly 6:47 p.m. I am already downstairs, standing near the tall windows in a black silk dress that clings to my body more than I planned. The fabric feels too thin against my skin. Every time I move, it reminds me of the way Adrian looked at me in the study earlier—like he was two seconds away from doing something we could never take back. The front door opens. Voices drift in from the foyer. Adrian’s low, controlled tone. Then another voice—smoother, warmer, threaded with lazy amusement. Damien. I stay where I am for three full seconds, trying to steady my breathing, before I force myself to walk toward them. He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him six months ago and somehow worse. Taller than Adrian by an inch, broader in the shoulders, dark hair slightly longer and pushed back from a face that is all sharp edges and easy charm. He is wearing a charcoal suit with the tie already loosened, top button undone,

I spend the next two hours in my room with the door locked.It doesn’t help.Damien’s voice keeps replaying in my head—low, certain, filthy.I’m going to make you admit it while you’re coming on my fingers.I press my thighs together and try to focus on the open textbook in front of me. The words refuse to stay still. Every time I close my eyes I feel the ghost of his thumb against my pulse and the heat of his body caging me against the kitchen counter.By noon I can’t stand the silence anymore.I unlock the door and step into the hallway. The house is quiet in the way only a place this large can be—thick carpets, thick walls, the distant hum of the air system. I walk downstairs carefully, listening for any sign of him.The home office door is open.Damien is inside, seated behind the wide desk that usually belongs to Adrian. His laptop is open, sleeves rolled up, one hand resting loosely on the arm of the chair. He looks completely at home.He glances up the moment I appear in the do

I wake up aching.My body feels used in a way it never has before—thighs tender, core still sensitive, lips slightly swollen from the force of Damien’s mouth. The moment I open my eyes, the memory of last night floods back in perfect, filthy detail: his fingers inside me, his tongue, the way he made me say Adrian’s name while I came.Shame hits first.Then the heat follows, slow and unwelcome.I drag myself into the shower and stand under water hot enough to turn my skin pink. It doesn’t wash anything away. When I step out and look in the mirror, I still look like the same girl—except my eyes are darker, my mouth softer, and there is a faint mark on the inside of my left thigh where Damien’s stubble scraped me.I cover it with leggings and a long sweater.Downstairs, the kitchen is already occupied.Adrian stands at the island in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He glances up when I enter. For a second his eyes move over my face more ca

I wake up sore in places I have never been sore before.The sheets still smell like Damien. My thighs ache. There is a faint bruise on my left hip in the shape of his fingers and a tender spot on the back of my shoulder where he kissed me after he finished. When I sit up, the dull throb between my legs reminds me of every deep thrust, every time he made me say Adrian’s name while he was buried inside me.I shower longer than usual, scrubbing until my skin is pink, but the evidence remains. I choose a high-necked sweater and dark jeans that cover everything. It still doesn’t feel like enough.Downstairs, Adrian is already in the kitchen.He is dressed for the office—charcoal suit, white shirt, no tie yet. He looks up when I enter, and for a moment his eyes linger on my face longer than usual.“You’re pale,” he says.“I didn’t sleep much.”He sets his coffee down. “That’s the second night in a row. Is something wrong?”The question is simple. The answer is not.I force a small shrug and