Todos os capítulos de Noiseless Wet Dreams of You: Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 60

  I bit my lower lips before stretching out gripping the sides of my armrest tighter.  Above us, the preacher’s voice thundered about the sanctity of the soul, but all I could feel was the heat of Drake’s hand against my inner thigh. It was a slow, agonizing invasion. His fingers moved with a terrifying confidence, tracing the edge of my lace underwear, defying the holy space we sat in. I sat perfectly still, my spine rigid, my eyes fixed on the stained-glass window where a martyr was bathed in light. I wanted to scream, to stand up and denounce him right there in front of the congregation, but my throat felt like it had been stitched shut. Every time his thumb brushed against my sensitive skin, a jolt of electricity, part revulsion, part a treacherous, lingering physical memory, shot throug

  He wasn't in Tokyo. He wasn't on a video call. He was right here, dressed in a black trench coat that was still damp from the morning mist. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw set so tight it looked like it might crack. He looked dead furious, a silent, towering mountain of rage that seemed to shrink the entire house. He didn't look at Brendan. He didn't acknowledge the dog or the terrified boy peering from the top of the stairs. His gaze locked onto mine, pinning me to the sofa like a moth to a board. "Aubrey," he said, his voice a low, vibrating growl that made my entire body tremble. "Get your things. We're going home. Now." There was no room for negotiation. He didn't come here to argue; he came to reclaim. 

Our eyes locked, a silent, static charge passing between us that the camera seemed to drink in like wine. Drake’s gaze was heavy, filled with a turbulent mix of the confession he’d just spilled in my bedroom and the bitter reality of the studio lights."I love that pose!" Celine shouted, her voice bouncing off the industrial metal rafters. She was peering through her viewfinder, her finger working the shutter in a rhythmic click-clack that sounded like a ticking clock. "Stay like that! Stay exactly like that! Damn, these children are so cute!"A few feet away, I heard my mother’s voice rise above the hum of the cooling fans, dripping with that particular brand of high-society pride she wore like a Chanel suit. "Courtesy of us," she boasted, her laughter light and melodic. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she nestled closer to Jake, tucking her arm through his. "They really do have the best features from both sides, don’t they, Jake?"Jake didn't answer immediately. He stoo

   It wasn't a kiss; it was an invasion. He tasted of coffee and the cold winter air, and his tongue was relentless, claiming my mouth as if it were territory he had won in a war. I moaned into his mouth, my hands clenching into the fabric of his sweater, pulling him closer until there was no air left between us. He moved his hands down, his palms molding to my hips, lifting me slightly until I was pressed flush against the evidence of his arousal. The velvet of the dress was a thin barrier, and I could feel every inch of him. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the heat, the darkness, and this particular longing that I have been trying so hard to get away from. His tongue wetted my neck, his hands still sliding up and down, to meet every knead of my body, was it my heart that I'm

 I froze, one foot on the bottom step. I turned slowly, my heart dropping into the pit of my stomach. Jake was standing by the mahogany side table, peeling off his leather gloves with a clinical slowness. Mom looked just as surprised as I was, her brows knitting together in confusion. Not to Spain this time. He was playing the travel card again. Only days ago, he had booked my flight to Spain, and now, he’s choosing France? I clenched my fist until my nails bit into my palm. "France?" I whispered, the word tasting like exile. "What are you talking about?" "The Sorbonne has a mid-semester opening in their international relations program," Jake said. His voice was flat, devoid of the heat that had scorched me in the dressing room an hour ago. He didn’t