Novel & Cerita Shaken Dirty Book 4

I hung up and set the phone down, my hands still trembling from everything crashing together at once. The money he was offering the filthy journal the way my pussy would not stop aching. Professor Voss leaned in closer again, his body heat reaching me as he picked up the journal and held it out to me. “We are not done Riley. Open it to page twenty three. The one where I describe edging a shy girl until she is dripping down her thighs and begging for cock. Read it aloud for me. Slowly. Let me hear every filthy word in your voice and watch how wet it makes you.”

And he was addicted to his little girl’s tight pussy. This was only the first story in the book of our sins. There were ninety-nine more ways to damn ourselves still waiting. And I could not wait to fall even deeper.

Dallas The suitcase handle slipped from my sweaty palm and hit the floor with a dull thud. My eyes moved slowly across the hallway, catching on the clothes scattered everywhere. Jax’s button-down shirt lay crumpled near the entrance, wrinkled and twisted together with Hazel’s favorite silk blouse. I stood there staring, my brain refusing to make sense of it. Then I heard it-Hazel’s sharp moan, followed by that low, deep sound that could only come fro My legs started shaking. I took one shaky step forward, then another. This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not after everything I’d already been through.

I lunged for the bottle, but he lifted it out of reach, a smug smirk on his face. “Easy, you're not about to vent on me.” His voice was low, raspy. The kind they wrote about in books—the kind you only heard in anime. And goodness, it did terrible, filthy things to me. Perhaps I was too invested in p**n and erotica that everything was beginning to have an effect on me. All men are the same, Mia. Fucking liars. I reminded myself. “Give it back, I'm fine.” I hiccupped, suddenly dizzy as I stumbled towards him, but the next second, my outstretched hand was pinned behind my back.

Monalisa Smutty books were getting way too filthy for my taste lately. The couple in the one I was reading were twisted into a position that looked physically impossible, legs over shoulders, back arched at a brutal angle, the hero slamming into her so deep and hard it looked like he was trying to ruin her for any other man. The author deserved jail time. How the hell did someone even write something that dirty? And how was the heroine not cramping? I gripped my Kindle so tight my knuckles turned white, equal parts horrified and shamefully turned on, when the chaos downstairs exploded again. Bass vibrated through the floor. Loud laughter. Splashing. Drunken shouts.

I'm a mess – a perfect, filthy, destroyed, worshipped mess. "Don't clean up yet," Ethan says. He grabs his phone. Photographs me – covered in cum, spread on the sheets, the bowl of unused condoms visible on the nightstand, evidence of a night that exceeded every fantasy I've ever had. "Now," he says, setting the phone down. "Who wants to go again?" Round two is dirtier than round one.

The lock clicked open, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the silent, sun-drenched office. She pulled the drawer open. There, nestled amongst expensive pens and a signed first edition, was a small, unassuming black book. It looked old, the leather worn smooth in places. It felt heavier than it should, heavy with the weight of her husband’s trust, a trust she was about to shatter into a million pieces.

I drag my nails down his back, bite his shoulder, let my hands claw through his hair. We’re not quiet. We don’t want to be. And when I feel him getting close, I pull his face to mine. “Look at me,” I whisper. “Come with me.” He buries himself deeper, and I reach between us, rub my clit fast and rough, desperate to come again— And when we do, we fall apart together. It’s not clean. Not soft. It’s messy and breathless and everything. He shudders above me, spills inside me, bites down on my shoulder as I cry out beneath him.

Owner, I presume. I leaned back slightly, folding my arms. “So this is what? A hobby?” A faint huff of amusement left him as he reached for the shaker. “Something like that.” “How profound.” His mouth curved, clearly amused. “So,” he said, already working, “fourth drink?” I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want it. I was curious actually. Tipsy, sure, but curious. I just needed a pause to file my options. Which weren’t much and all somehow had to do with Lucien.

Oh, Goodness. The sensation was so shocking, so utterly taboo and intimate, that a strangled groan was torn from him. His knuckles turned white where he gripped the wood. She didn’t just lick; she probed, her tongue a slick, relentless intruder, circling and pressing until the muscle relaxed under her ministrations. The shame was burned away by a wave of pleasure so profound it left him dizzy. He was panting, pushing back against her face, begging for it without words.