All Chapters of House of Sin (30 Nights of Sinful Pleasure): Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I woke up to the flashlight gone and Simon still in my bed.Gray light. Curtain half open. His arm was heavy over my waist. My sheet was stiff where he had come on it. For a second I forgot the chat. Then my phone buzzed under his hand and I remembered the bridge.He was already awake. He had not moved.“Don’t open it yet,” he said.“It’s my building.”“I know.” He kissed the back of my shoulder. Not a start. A stay. “I read it while you slept. I should have woken you. I didn’t want you to see it alone.”That landed worse than the chat.I sat up. The towel from his bathroom was on my chair. My thighs ached. I opened the group.The dog walker had posted a video. Eight seconds. No faces in the caption. Just: Top floor. Not my business. Take it down if it’s you.Simon took the phone. He did not press play in my hand. He sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on his knees, and watched it on his own screen where he had already saved it.“It’s my flat,” he said. “The first part. You at my window

The second number was not the dog walker.Simon knew the prefix. A flat in his own building. 3C. A man who fixed the lobby cameras when they glitched and never sent an invoice. We did not go at night. We went at noon, curtains already shut behind us, my face still on my phone.He opened before we knocked. Thin. Forty. Laptop on a table. He looked at me and did not smile.“I pulled it off the bridge feed,” he said. “He only had eight seconds. I have the minute before it.”Simon stepped in front of me. “What do you want?”“Not her.” The man turned the laptop. “I want the camera contract renewed. You sign that I keep the lobby job, I wipe the minute. You don’t, the landlord gets it Monday.”I looked at the screen once. My hand on the glass. My mouth open. Simon’s voice saying my name. I looked away.“Wipe it now,” I said. “He’ll sign. I am not a signature.”Simon signed. The man deleted the file in front of us. Recycle bin. A second folder. He turned the laptop around and let Simon searc

I made the bathroom before Ryan turned the corner.Tap on. Skirt down. Mouth wiped. I looked in the mirror and my lips were still too red. Ethan’s cum was warm in me. I pressed a towel to my face until the color dropped, then I walked out smiling.Ethan was in the hall with a file, talking to Ryan like a man who had not just been inside me.“Library air,” Ryan said, and hugged me. “You look wrecked. Paper done?”“Almost.”“Good. Dinner. I’m starving. Ethan, you’re coming. I already told Mia.”Ethan looked at me once. Nothing in it a brother could read. “If she wants me there.”“I want you there,” I said.Ryan drove. I sat in the back. Ethan sat in the front and did not turn around. At the house Ryan threw his keys in the bowl and went for the curry. I washed my hands so I would have something to do. Ethan came in with the plates. His fingers touched my wrist under the tap. Once. Then he was gone.We sat. Ryan at the head. Me on one side. Ethan on the other. Rice. Curry. A beer Ryan op

My name is Bae. I’m twenty-four. Jasper has driven me home for four months and never once let a sentence get personal. Thirty-nine. Quiet. He says evening, opens the back door, and looks at the road like my legs are not there.Tonight the office emptied early. Rain on the glass. Mr Okon had already sent the log before I reached the lift. Drop Bae. Confirm arrival. Jasper read it at the barrier and kept the engine in park.“Your street,” he said, “or you tell me why you asked for the long way this morning.”I had asked. I had told myself it was traffic. It was not traffic. Henry would be at the flat by ten. The log would call me a liar if the car did not pass the gate. I had spent four months watching Jasper’s mouth when he said my name and pretending I was only tired.“Not my street,” I said. “Not yet. I want you. If that is too much, take me to the gate and we never speak of it.”He was quiet through the first set of lights. His hands stayed at ten and two. At the second light he loo

My name is Sable. I’m twenty-six. Night shift. The on-call shower is the only door that locks, and at two in the morning the ward is monitors, a sleeping porter, and one doctor who will not lie down.Dr Emmett. Forty-two. Married. His wife is one floor up, in a side room after a scan. He has looked at my mouth on the round for a month and called it a chart. I was done with the chart. I told the desk I was on break. I took a razor from the drawer. I told myself I was only washing. I knew it was a lie before the cream touched me.One foot on the bench. Slow strokes. I wanted to be bare if he came in. I did not expect the door.It opened.He stopped in the frame. Collar open. Eyes on the razor, the water, the skin I had just cleared.“I thought this room was empty.”“It isn’t.” I did not cover myself. My face burned. Between my legs I was a mess, and the water was not the reason. “Lock it. Or go back up to her.”He should have gone. I watched the month of right words fail. He turned the