All Chapters of UNHOLY CRAVINGS: Dirty Shorts : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The apartment felt different without Marcus in it.I dropped my bag by the couch and locked the door behind me the way he had shown me. Two nights. That was all. He had a last-minute work trip, the subletter who usually took the spare key was out of town, and he hadn’t wanted the place empty. Just crash there, he had said. Use the bed, eat whatever’s in the fridge, treat it like home. The spare key was already on my ring.It should have felt simple.I set my things in their bedroom—Marcus’s and mine on the nights I stayed over—and walked back out into the open living room. The space was clean, masculine, a little sparse. Big couch, low table, the smell of his cologne still faint in the air. The second bedroom at the end of the hall belonged to his older brother, Damien. I had only met him twice. Once at a birthday dinner, once when he passed through the kitchen on his way out while I was making coffee. Tall. Quiet. The kind of man who looked at people like he was already deciding some

Damien’s control broke the second my fingers worked his zipper down.He lifted his hips just enough to shove his jeans and boxers lower. His cock sprang free—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked once, feeling the heat and the weight of him. A rough sound left his throat. Then his hands were on my waist, lifting me, positioning me, and guiding me down onto him in one slow, relentless slide.The stretch forced the air from my lungs.I sank down until he was buried completely inside me, my bare thighs flush against his. For a second we both stayed still, breathing hard, the reality of what we were doing settling between us like a third presence. Marcus’s couch. Marcus’s apartment. Marcus’s brother buried to the hilt in his girlfriend while he was out of town.Damien’s hands tightened on my hips.“Move,” he said, voice low and strained.I did.I started slow, rolling my hips, feeling every inch of him drag inside me. The T-shirt still hung loos

Saturday afternoon the house stayed too quiet.Grant had gone into his office after lunch for a long call. The door was shut. I told myself I would only rest for a minute. I stretched out on my bed in the same soft shorts and thin tank top, phone abandoned on the nightstand, and let my mind drift.It drifted straight to him.The way he had looked at me across the kitchen the night before. The controlled drop of his eyes over my legs, my chest, the places the clothes didn’t hide enough. The fact that we still had more than a full day alone in the house. My body answered the thoughts before I could shut them down. A warm pulse stirred low between my legs. I pressed my thighs together against it. That only made the ache sharper.I slipped one hand under the waistband of my shorts.I was already wet. My fingers slid through the slickness and found my clit, circling slowly at first. The pleasure was quiet and private. I bit my lip and kept the motion small, listening for any sound from the

I was still half-distracted by the playlist in my earbuds when I pushed the door open. The wrong door. The air changed immediately—warmer, heavier, the sharp scent of steam and clean sweat and whatever soap the gym stocked in the men’s showers. My steps carried me three feet inside before my brain caught up. Rows of dark lockers. Benches. The sound of a shower running somewhere deeper in the space. A duffel bag left open on the floor. This was not the women’s locker room. I froze. My first instinct was to turn around and walk straight back out. Pretend it never happened. The second instinct—the one that kept my feet planted—was the sudden, sharp awareness that I was no longer alone. He stood at the far end of the row, towel slung low around his hips, chest still damp from the shower. Older. Mid-forties, maybe. Broad shoulders, the solid build of someone who had trained for years rather than for show. Dark hair going silver at the temples. The kind of face that looked stern until

The latch clicked shut. Cole turned me to face the tiled wall and pressed in close behind. Steam still clung to the air from the earlier showers. His chest met my back, solid and warm, the towel the only barrier between us. One hand braced beside my head on the slick tile. The other found the waistband of my leggings and shoved them down with my underwear in a single rough motion. Cool air hit the wet heat between my legs. I kicked the fabric free of one ankle. That was all the room the narrow stall allowed. Cole’s mouth found the side of my neck. Not gentle. He bit once, then soothed the spot with his tongue while his free hand slid around and cupped my cunt. Two fingers stroked through the slickness there, spreading it. “You’ve been wet since you walked through the wrong door,” he said against my skin. “Haven’t you?” “Yes.” He pushed those two fingers inside me. The stretch pulled a short sound from my throat. He worked them in and out, knuckle-deep, while his thumb pres