Sweet Submission: Reclaiming Her Love Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Fuck, Tatum. Let me come. Please.” “Not yet,” Tatum whispered against her folds. “Tell me how much you crave this rivalry. Say it.” Her voice was thick with lust. She added a third finger and sucked harder on Sloane’s clit. Emotions crashed through Sloane. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and so fucking turned on. The hatred fueled everything. “I crave it,” Sloane gasped finally. “I crave beating you. Fucking you. Hating you like this.”

sad? I knew he needed my reassurance, but I didn't say anything. I simply leaned back slightly and closed my eyes, letting my mind wander a bit. Just a few more hours and everything would be over—no more pretending to love Lorenzo—and I'd finally get my revenge... Then, I could legally and proudly be with Vincenzo, ruling by his side. Our plan is perfect. I trust Vincenzo has meticulously planned everything, but I couldn't help the uneasiness brewing in me.

My body leans in before my mind catches up. And then his lips crash against mine. It’s not soft. Not careful. It’s raw, hungry, the kind of kiss that rips through all the walls we’ve built. His hand cups my face, angling me closer, deeper, as though he wants to devour every lie I’ve told. The other arm snakes around my waist, pulling me into him, and I let it. I let him. A sound escapes me, muffled against his mouth, half protest, half surrender. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer when I should be shoving him away. He tastes like adrenaline and defiance, like everything I shouldn’t want.

“You built a brand from nothing while I was hiding behind a desk. You’re a lioness, Sabrina. And it’s time you stopped being afraid of your own power… and mine.” I kiss her again, but this time, it’s different. It’s not just a claim; it’s an apology. It’s a plea. It’s a slow, agonizing exploration of everything we’ve lost and everything we’re about to take back. My tongue sweeps against hers, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her surrender. She moans into my mouth, a low, guttural sound that shatters my remaining restraint.

“Mmm, smells so good. So sweet.” Susan trembled, her legs parting slightly, an unconscious invitation. “Kayla, please…” she begged, her voice barely a whisper. Kayla’s tongue, warm and wet, touched Susan’s clit, a lightning strike of pleasure that made Susan cry out. Her fingers flew to her mouth, stifling the sound, but a guttural groan still escaped her. Kayla flicked her tongue, slow and deliberate, then faster, circling the sensitive nub. Susan’s hips began to undulate, a primal rhythm taking over her body.

That the machinery of feeling hasn’t been dismantled by weeks of silence and cruelty and a word – detour – that lives in my chest like shrapnel. My hand moves lower. Not searching for pleasure. Searching for confirmation. Still here. Still alive. Still capable of heat in a body that’s been running cold since a man I loved looked through me like glass. And I find it. Not fireworks. Not the earthquake of another person’s hands. A pulse. Quiet. Mine. The low, stubborn hum of a woman who refuses to go numb. This is what reclamation feels like. Not loud. Not performative. Just a hand in the dark and the stubborn refusal to let someone else’s cruelty be the last thing my body remembers.

It took years to recover. Years of therapy, medication, and learning to live with the grief. And through it all, I made myself a promise. I would never love anyone else. Julia was the only one for me. Trying to replace her with someone else felt like a betrayal. But now… Now I wasn’t so sure anymore. I closed the locket and hung it back around my neck. “What do I do?” I whispered. For thirteen years, I had stayed loyal to her memory. Now everything was falling apart because of one kiss… and one woman.

The raw pleasure took over my senses, temporarily dissipating my thoughts about the corporate merger and the insolence of the Rossi bride. When I reached my limit, I gripped the back of Susan’s neck firmly and discharged my entire release directly into the back of her throat. She swallowed most of it, but deliberately allowed a thick streak of the liquid to dribble past the corner of her lips, smearing her chin and neck.

Seeing Quinn's beautiful face flush with embarrassment and shame, he wished he could alleviate her discomfort. Lowering himself, Harvey used his strong arms to create a barrier on either side, enclosing Quinn within his chest. Just as she struggled to find an opening to escape, a tender kiss landed on her lips like a delicate butterfly, leaving Quinn momentarily breathless with astonishment. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, taken aback. Unexpectedly, something unintended had occurred between them. That night, their intimacy was both unintended and forceful. Quinn understood it as a result of Harvey's anger from being rejected by Gemma, directing his frustration towards her.

I ask, motioning to her bright red lips, "you look kinda sore." "I want you inside me until I stop trembling," she smiles. I crawl up her sweat soaked body, pausing momentarily to kiss her taut nipples, gently sucking each one into my mouth. Leaning my hands on either side of her, I stiffen my spent cock and it easily glides into her swampy hole. Susan wraps her arms around me, squeezing me to her chest while I lower my lips to hers.