LOGINThis crosses every line. I know it. Yet my body leans in before my mind can catch up. I peel the ruined blouse open, the buttons already scattered from his earlier grip. The fabric slips from my shoulders and gathers around my waist. My bare breasts spill into the open, swollen and glistening, my nipples stiff and flushed from his earlier attention. Knox's breath catches audibly.I guide his head forward. He latches onto my left nipple with raw urgency, skin meeting skin at last. The sensation hits like lightning. A hot mouth, an insistent tongue, firm suction that draws milk in steady streams. I gasp sharply, one hand braced against the headboard while the other cradles his silver head. He sucks noisily, his throat working visibly with every swallow. Excess milk leaks from the corners of his mouth, trailing in creamy rivulets down his neck and onto the sheets.“Ungh…” I moan.Each pull sends sparks racing from my spine to my clit. My thighs press together instinctively, seeking frict
Walking into the dim master bedroom of the old mansion, my heels click across the polished hardwood. The smell of stale air and medicine hits me like a freight train. The family warned me that Knox is stubborn, cruel even in his decline, and that he hasn't touched solid food in nearly three weeks. They're paying me triple my usual rate to keep him alive until they can sort out the inheritance mess.I don't ask questions.At thirty-eight, with breasts that haven't stopped leaking since I underwent an experimental hormone treatment, I need the money far more than I need morals.Knox lies propped amid a mountain of pillows in the massive four-poster bed, his once-powerful frame reduced to sharp bones wrapped in thin, papery skin. Seventy-five years old, with silver hair plastered to his scalp, he fixes those pale eyes on me the second I enter.“Another caregiver?” Knox rasps, voice dry as dust. “Here to torture an old bastard before he finally checks out?”“I’m Mia, and I’m here to make
The lock clicks into place.No one else is getting in.Lucien stands a short distance from the couch, his gaze tracking me as though he's afraid I'll vanish if he blinks. That look always does something dangerous to me.I cross the space between us.My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, pulling him close enough that our bodies almost touch."Why do you keep coming back to me?" I ask."The same reason you can't let go," he answers. "We both know how this ends, and we still can't help it."I don't give him time to say more. I pull him down, and our mouths meet.The kiss starts slowly. Carefully. Like we're both testing whether this is just another mistake we'll regret later.His hands come up to cradle my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks.Then the kiss changes.It turns deeper. Hungrier.Tongues sliding. Breaths mingling. Teeth grazing lips.I press myself into him, needing the steady heat of his body, the undeniable proof that he's here. His hands settle on my waist as he gu
I walk into Chancellor Whitlock’s office without an appointment. Amy tries to stop me, her voice rising as she calls my name from the reception area, but I brush past her with a curt, “It’s urgent.”The interruption earns me a startled look from Whitlock, who glances up from a stack of documents spread across his desk.He is holding a fountain pen in one hand, reading glasses perched low on his nose.“Professor Hale,” he says, setting down the pen. “Is everything alright?”The concern in his voice almost makes me reconsider.Almost.It is not that he sounds insincere. It is worse than that. It is genuine concern wrapped in institutional control, the kind that comes with knowing every decision here carries consequences beyond the person standing in front of him.If I wait any longer, I might lose my nerve.I remain standing. Sitting would soften this into a discussion instead of what it needs to be.“I am ending the special support arrangement with Lucien Grayson. Effective immediately
Lynn recovers first. A small, satisfied smile tugs at her mouth, as if she’s been waiting for this exact moment.“Well, this is awkward. Catherine. Didn’t expect to see you here.”I ignore her completely and fix my gaze on Lucien instead. My voice comes out cutting, stripped of patience. “Explain this bullshit.”The studio suddenly feels tighter, like the walls have shifted closer while no one was looking. Lucien steps forward with his hands slightly raised, his face drained of color.“Catherine, it is not what it sounds like. Let me explain.”Letting out a soft laugh, Lynn leans back against the piano, her arms still crossed. She looks exactly as she used to when we spent nights at clubs, trading secrets over drinks and music that felt harmless. The same woman who listened as I broke down for months over Mark’s growing distance. The same woman who apparently decided I was something she could step over.“Oh, please,” she says lightly. “Let’s not pretend there is confusion here. Lucien
Standing at the front of the lecture hall, I move through the material with the steady assurance years of teaching have carved into muscle memory. The notes on the projector advance behind me in sequence, though I barely rely on them. My voice carries cleanly across the room as I connect theory to lived decisions, the kind of choices people make when no one is watching, when ethics are tested in ordinary places.The students respond in uneven patterns. Some lean forward, pens moving across notebooks, capturing every structured idea. Others recline, eyes lowered to phones they try to disguise under the desk, still listening in fragments. A few nod at precise moments, as though something internal has aligned with what I am saying. The rhythm of teaching steadies something in me that has been unsettled. In this space, there is only structure, language, and the expectation of clarity. Everything else is temporarily muted.Halfway through the session, I scan the back rows and pause.Lucien
Exhaustion finally catches up to me. After the meeting, the others force me to rest. They prayed over me for hours. One of the older brothers anoints every corner with oil, tracing crosses over the windows and doorframe. Before leaving, they place a small bottle of holy water on the bedside table b
A few weeks have passed since that night in the confessional. I throw myself into work and prayer harder than ever. Extra Masses, long hours hearing ordinary sins from ordinary people, visits to the sick. The dreams still come sometimes, but I wake up, anoint myself, and push through. No more voice
My legs feel like they belong to someone else as I step out from behind the curtains. My hand is still sticky, my panties soaked, and my skirt probably wrinkled from where I was grinding against my own fingers. Lucas and Theo are looking right at me. Lucas hasn’t even pulled out of Theo yet. They’r
For the past three months I’ve been living at Vale Manor, sorting through the private library collection for Lucas and his partner. The job came through a university contact, and I jumped at it. Quiet work, beautiful old house, good pay. What I didn’t plan on was them. They’ve been together for ye







