All Chapters of Forbidden Cravings (Short Sweet Novel): Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Elena wore the plug through the night like they told her. She woke up sore, the base still seated tight between her cheeks, a dull ache that made her shift under the sheets. She left it in while she showered, while she got dressed, while she sat through her morning classes. By the time the afternoon seminar rolled around she was already wet again just from the constant pressure. Harlan dismissed the class early. The other students filed out. Elena stayed in her seat. Vance closed the door. Crow and Reyes came in a minute later. No rope this time. Just the four of them and the same long table. Harlan looked at her. “Stand up. Everything off. Plug stays in until I say.” She stripped in the middle of the room. Blouse, skirt, nothing underneath. She turned and bent so they could see the black base still locked in her ass. Crow stepped forward, hooked two fingers under it, and tugged just enough to make her breath catch. He didn’t pull it out. He let it settle again and slapped her a

Two days later Jake had a late shift and texted that he wouldn’t be home until after midnight. I told him I’d wait up. And I lied. I showed up at the house at nine with a bottle of wine I didn’t plan on drinking. Richard opened the door in jeans and a faded black shirt, sleeves pushed up. He looked at me for a long second, then stepped aside without a word. The second the door clicked shut he had me against it. One hand in my hair, the other already shoving under my skirt. No soft buildup. No “are you sure.” His mouth crashed into mine, tongue thick and demanding, and two fingers pushed straight into my cunt like he owned the right. “Already wet,” he muttered against my lips. “You came here knowing exactly what you were going to do.” I nodded, hips rolling against his hand. He fingered me hard and fast right there in the entryway, the wet sound loud in the quiet house. When I started moaning he covered my mouth with his palm and kept going until my legs shook. “Upstairs,” he

I squeezed into the subway car at rush hour like always, the air thick with sweat and the accent of my cheap cologne. My dress was short, thin cotton that clung to my thighs the second I tried to find space. There was barely room to stand. Bodies pressed in from every side, shoulders and bags and damp shirts all crushing together. I gripped the pole and stared at the floor, already counting the stops until I could get off and breathe. Then I felt it. Something thick and hard nudged the back of my thigh. I shifted, thinking it was just some guy’s bag or phone. It pressed again, deliberate this time, sliding higher under the hem of my dress. Warm. Heavy. Skin on skin. I froze. The car jolted and the pressure stayed right there, rubbing slow along the soft skin of my inner thigh, higher, higher, until the blunt head of a cock was dragging across the front of my cotton panties. I didn’t look back. Didn’t say a word. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat and betwee

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes I felt him again— that thick black cock stretching me open on the train, the way he just took what he wanted while the whole car swayed around us. The first load still felt warm inside me when I finally got home. The second one, the one he pumped into me while my jeans hung open, had dripped down my thighs the entire walk from the station. I showered twice. It didn’t help. I kept catching myself pressing my thighs together in bed, feeling the leftover ache and getting wet all over again. By morning I was already throbbing. I stood in front of my closet longer than usual. Dress or jeans. The broken button from yesterday still sat on my nightstand like a trophy. I picked a soft black dress this time—short, thin, the kind that rode up if I so much as shifted my weight. No bra. Thin cotton panties again, the same style he’d yanked aside like they were nothing. I told myself it was just clothes. I knew better. The whole ride to the statio

I was just supposed to bring the tray in and get the fuck out. That’s the job when it’s a private suite on the top floor. No lingering. No small talk. Drop the food, smile if they look at you, leave. VIP means money, and money means they don’t want to see the help longer than necessary. The guy was already half out of his jacket when I knocked. Tall, broad, dark hair going a little grey at the temples, expensive watch catching the light. He didn’t say come in. He just looked at me like he already owned the room and everyone in it. “Put it on the table,” he said. Voice low, calm. Not loud. Didn’t need to be. I set the covered dishes down. Steak, asparagus, some fancy wine I couldn’t pronounce. My hands were steady. I’ve done this a hundred times. Then he stepped closer and the air changed. “Stay.” One word. I should’ve said I had other tables. I should’ve walked out. Instead I stood there like an idiot while he walked around me once, slow, looking me up and down. “Take the