All Chapters of A Pucking Lesson in Forbidden : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Dahlia’s POV"Dahlia! Vincent!"The frantic shouting bounced off the fake stone walls, closer now. Heavy boots were rushing through the adjacent corridor, snapping through the artificial fog.I didn't care. The terror of getting caught only mixed with the feverish heat pounding between my legs. My hands clawed into Vincent's thighs, holding him locked tight inside me."Don't stop," I choked out, my voice a broken, desperate rasp against his neck. "Vincent—"He let out a low, gut-wrenching growl, any lingering restraint completely shattering. His hands bit hard into my hips, and he drove into me with brutal, frantic speed.Three merciless thrusts that hit deep enough to make my vision flash white—and then I hit the edge, my body collapsing into a violent, breathless climax. A split second later, Vincent gritted his teeth, his jaw locking tight as he spilled inside me, his chest heaving against my back.We barely had two seconds to catch our breath.Flashlights cut through the dark hall

Dahlia’s POVThe backseat of my mother's car was… quiet.She didn't start the engine right away. She sat in the driver's seat, her hands gripped tightly around the leather steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the resort lights flickering through the windshield. Her posture was rigid, her jaw set in a tight, uneasy line that made my pulse jump."Dahlia," she began softly, her voice carrying a fragile, trembling edge I hadn't heard in years. "What is going on between you and Vincent?"My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I kept my face entirely blank. "Nothing.""Don't lie to me," she whispered, turning around in her seat. "I saw the two of you coming out of that haunted house together. You both looked... disheveled." She reached back, taking my cold fingers in hers, her grip desperate. "You need to remember who you are. You are step-siblings now. People are watching every single move this family makes, Dahlia. Nothing can happen between you two. Do you underst

Dahlia’s POVVincent was breathing like he’d been hit. His chest was heaving against mine. His eyes were black and wild, full of a rage that felt like it could swallow us both. He had my wrists pinned to the faux-stone wall. His knuckles were white. His thumb was pressing into my pulse so hard it hurt.For a second my heart stuttered. Looking at his desperate, furious face, a small voice inside me wanted to say sorry. A stupid part of me felt bad for pushing him this far, for making him bleed in front of all those people."No," I told myself. "Don't you dare soften."I lifted my chin and stared straight into his eyes."Let go of me, Vincent," I said. My voice didn't shake even though my heart was racing."You think you can just smile in his face?" Vincent snarled. He leaned in until his forehead was almost touching mine. His jaw was tight. A vein was jumping at his temple. "You think you can let him touch your mouth? Let him put his hands on your waist on the dance floor right in fron

Dahlia’s POVThe white halls of the hospital smelled faintly of bleach and rubbing alcohol, a harsh contrast to the suffocating silence of the private waiting room.My stepfather was pacing the floor like a caged animal. His jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his face was twisted in a knot of pure rage. Every few seconds, he’d slam his fist against the armrest of a chair or run both hands through his hair, muttering curses under his breath."That's it," he snarled, his voice echoing off the clinical walls. "I'm done. I am fucking done covering for him. I'm pulling him out of the league, packing his bags, and sending him abroad. First flight to Europe. He can ruin his life somewhere else where my name isn't attached to it!"I sat on the edge of the small vinyl couch, my hands clutched tightly in my lap, saying nothing. The idea of Vincent being sent away—shoved across an ocean, scrubbed out of our lives—sent a strange spike through my chest. But I kept my express

Dahlia’s POVThe sudden slam of the double doors sent a sharp jolt straight up my spine.I froze, my coffee cup hovering inches from my lips as footsteps echoed down the ruined foyer. My stepfather stormed into the dining room, his expensive suit rumpled, his face a dark canvas of pure, unadulterated fury.Right beside him was my mother, her hand clutched tightly over her wrapped ribs beneath her coat, her lips pressed into a thin line.An unbearable, suffocating awkwardness settled over the table instantly.I sat trapped between the two of them—Vincent sitting to my right, his bare chest bruised, his hands clumsily wrapped in bloody gauze while he aggressively chewed a pastry; and Alexander across from us, perfectly groomed, composed, and smelling of expensive cologne.My mother’s cold eyes swept over the shattered glass in the hall, taking in the absurd sight of us three sitting around a freshly set breakfast basket. Her gaze lingered on Vincent’s bandaged hands before finally landi