All Chapters of RULE NO 1: DONT TOUCH HIM!: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

61IVY The water in the tub rises in slow, rolling steam, smelling of cedar and the faint trace of lavender. Christian helps me step over the porcelain edge. He doesn’t let go right away. His palm stays flattened against the small of my back, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt like he’s anchoring me to the earth. "I can stand on my own," I mutter, staring at the white tiles. "You can barely stand," he replies. He guides me down until I’m sitting on the rim of the tub, then kneels on the hard tiled floor in front of me. The warm water laps gently against my calves. I'm naked now. He picks up a soft white cloth, pours a stream of liquid soap over it, and starts working it into a lather between his palms before reaching for my foot. Every time his thumb brushes against the raw, scraped skin of my heel, I flinch back, a sharp hiss escaping my teeth. “I'm sorry this happened." "It’s not that bad," I mumble, wincing. “Just a scratch.” "It’s bad enough that you can’t walk," he

IVY His tongue traces a long, slow line right over my swollen, aching clit, and a sharp, breathless gasp of a moan shatters against my teeth. My fingers tangle into the thick duvet, twisting it until my knuckles turn white. Every single argument we just had, every wall I tried to build between us, dissolves into blinding white noise. “Christian— ahh, fuck—” He doesn't rush. He drinks me in like he’s starving, his warm breath fanning over my sensitive skin right before his tongue presses firmly, sliding deep against my wetness. I arch my hips off the bed, chasing the friction, a broken, trembling sound escaping my throat. “Please— oh God, Christian, don't stop— ahhhhh—” His hands slide up to grip my thighs tightly, anchoring me in place as his mouth devours me with absolute precision. He licks a slow, swirling circle over my clit, then sucks me in gently, sending a violent shockwave straight up my spine. My toes curl. My inner muscles begin to contract and spasm around the em

IVY Christian moves his arms wrapped securely around my waist as he drops the cake on a table I didn't know existed.“Don’t call me Vee… It’s weird,” I whisper, my voice shaking.Christian tightens his grip around my waist, pressing a quiet, lingering kiss into the side of my neck. “It’s your name.”“My name is Ivy.”“No. That was the identity you used when you were hiding from the world,” he murmurs against my skin. “You’re Vee. That’s who you are to me. From now on.”I stay quiet, my eyes drifting across the circle of tied-up men before landing back on the photographer with the camera still hanging from his neck.“How did you get these people?”“Guess.”“You kidnapped them.”“Close to that… but I prefer…’INVITED,’” he murmurs to my neck.I breathe as my body sends jolts of electricity through my spine.“You’re… you’re like a fucking demon.”A dark, faint chuckle leaves his mouth. “I told you I’d handle it.”“So these are the bugs you said you were going to take care of?”“Every sin

Chapter 1 - The Young Widow The rain came down in sheets, washing the fresh dirt from the grave. I stood apart from them, a solitary figure in black, my veil clinging to my face like a second skin. The priest's words had faded into white noise hours ago… or minutes? Time had lost all meaning since the phone call. Mrs. Marcus? There's been an accident. The morning had started as an ordeal of endless sympathies. The church had been filled to capacity with friends, colleagues, and distant relatives I'd only met once at our wedding. Later, at the downtown funeral home, I stood in the receiving line for hours—accepting handshake after handshake, hug after hug, each blurring into the next. "He was such a wonderful man." "May his soul rest in peace.” “The Lord is your strength.” I'd broken down then, sobbing into one of the visitors' shoulders while she patted my back with motherly comfort. His friends, family, and people I'd never met before showed up—except one person. Alistair,

Chapter 3 - His Intentions I thought I'd found peace. The days passed in a loop. Elena attended to my needs, bringing me meals I barely touched and drawing baths I hoped would wash away the weight of my sorrow. Alistair was present but always busy, offering polite condolences and leaving me to my solitude. I should have known better. On the evening of my fifth day in the penthouse, Elena knocked on my door with a soft smile. "Mr. Ashford requests your presence for dinner tonight. He asks that you wear this." She held out a luxury bag. I opened it slowly, pulling out a deep burgundy gown… silk, floor-length, with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. It was beautiful. It was also nothing I would ever have chosen for myself. "I don't think…" I started. "He was most insistent, ma'am," Elena said, her voice gentle but firm. "He said he has something special to discuss with you.” I dressed in the gown. The fabric clung to every curve, the plunging neckl