LOGIN“Who would have thought goody two shoes Tatiana Olivera is a nasty sl*t who fantasies about f*ck*ng her step brother?” Hasan continues his teasing. He inserts in middle finger in my mouth and I greedily s*ck on it, picturing it to be his c*ck. Hasan’s mouth parts open, his brows cresting as he watches me s*ck his middle finger like a kid sucking on a candy cane. I frowned when he pulled out his middle finger. He grabs my chin with a fierceness that sent me on edge. “Open your mouth.” He orders and I obey. He takes in a deep breath as though calming himself and before I knew it, hot liquid drops into my mouth. Did.. did he just spit in my mouth? It tastes divine. It tastes like him. And I want more. “Swallow.” I meet his gaze as I gulp down his saliva. A proud smile appears on his face. “There’s my good little sl*t.” ***** I hate Hasan Olivera. I can’t stand him. The way he walks into the room like he owns the place, the smug smirk that says he already knows what I am thinking. He’s insufferably cocky, sharp-tongued, insanely hot and fully aware of it. And those eyes? Dark, knowing, endlessly amused by the fact that, no matter how much I pretend otherwise, I’m completely drawn to him. I want him to f*ck me. I want him to claim me. I want him to be mine because I belong to him. But he's my step brother. And I hate my step brother. -------
View MoreTatianaMy mouth almost dropped open at the figure written across the cheque, the number stretching across the paper in a way that didn’t feel real, as though it belonged in someone else’s life. But I held myself back, forcing my expression into something steadier even as my thoughts betrayed me.Because I could see it what it meant. A clean way out with no questions asked.My fingers curled slightly against my lap as my gaze lingered on the cheque, and despite everything sitting heavy in my chest, despite the confusion, the lingering ache in my head, the fragments of memory that refused to piece together, I couldn’t stop the thoughts from forming.I could leave.Just like that.Take the money and disappear into a life that didn’t know my name, into a city where no one would look twice at me, where no one would ask questions I didn’t want to answer, where I wouldn’t have to keep looking over my shoulder, wondering when something I couldn’t remember would come back to find me.I could
TATIANAThe first thing that returned to me was the pain.It wasn’t sharp enough to make me gasp, nor sudden enough to jolt me upright. It settled instead, slow and heavy, like something that had been waiting patiently for me to wake so it could make itself known.My hand moved before I fully registered the motion, fingers pressing against my temple, then dragging slightly upward as if the pressure alone could quiet the ache.It didn’t and if anything, it made me more aware of it.I inhaled slowly, my eyes still closed, my thoughts slow to gather, slipping in and out of coherence like fragments that refused to settle into something whole. For a moment, I remained like that, suspended between sleep and wakefulness, unsure whether I wanted to open my eyes and confront whatever waited on the other side.Because something felt wrong. Not in a way I could immediately define, but enough that my body registered it before my mind could catch up.Still, I opened my eyes and they landed on the
HASANAs soon as I stepped further into the brothel, something in me recoiled so sharply it almost translated into movement. For a fleeting second, I was ready to turn around, walk straight out, get into my car, and leave this place behind as if I had never set foot in it. The instinct wasn’t subtle, nor was it something I had to think through. It rose from somewhere deeper, something instinctive and unfiltered, like my body had already judged the environment and found it unworthy of my presence.But Tatiana was here.Or at least, she was supposed to be.And that alone forced my feet to keep moving.The smell of cheap, stale whiskey clung to the air with an almost aggressive persistence, as though the walls themselves had absorbed years of it and were now exhaling it back into the room. I could taste it at the back of my throat before I even took a full breath. It coated my tongue, settled into my lungs, and I knew—without doubt—that it would follow me out of here, seep into my clothe
HASANThe ringing of my phone forced its way in the air, slicing through the stillness of the night with a persistence that refused to be ignored. For a brief moment, my mind resisted waking, clinging to the remnants of sleep, but the ringing continued without mercy, dragging me out of unconsciousness with a steady, unrelenting pull.My eyes opened slowly at first, unfocused, staring at nothing in particular as awareness began to return in fragments. The ceiling above me came into view, dimly lit by the faint glow of the bedside lamp that cast long, stretched shadows across the room. I didn’t remember leaving it on, and for a second, that detail lingered in my mind, as though my thoughts were searching for something simple to hold onto before confronting whatever had disturbed the night.The ringing continued.My head turned slightly, my gaze landing on the bedside cupboard where my phone lay vibrating against the wood, its screen lighting up in intervals that punctuated the darkness.


















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