All Chapters of WAVES OF WANT : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The boat ride back to the dock was quiet. Vesper sat wrapped in a soft blanket on Rafferty’s lap, her head resting against his chest as the gentle rocking of the water lulled her. Her body was sore in the most delicious way — ass still tender from being fucked, thighs sticky, clit throbbing from the hours of edging and release. The sun was beginning to set, painting the lake in hues of orange and gold. Rafferty’s hand stroked slow circles on her back. “You were incredible out there,” he murmured against her hair. “Not just taking it… but letting yourself enjoy it.” Vesper smiled weakly. “I still can’t believe I screamed your name loud enough for the whole lake to hear.” He chuckled softly. “I loved every second of it.” Back at the mansion, he carried her upstairs to the master bathroom. No commands this time. Just gentle care. He filled the massive tub with hot water and lavender oil, then lowered her into it before climbing in behind her. Vesper leaned back against his chest as

Lizzy lay there in the flickering firelight, her body still humming with the aftershocks of what had just happened, Dylan’s warm sperm slowly leaking from between her thighs onto the couch cushion beneath her. Her mind was a whirlwind. *What have I done?* The thought kept ringing in her head, louder than the hurricane screaming outside. She had just let Maya’s older brother fuck her senseless on his couch while the rest of the world tried to tear itself apart. And the worst part was the fact that she didn’t even regret it. Not even a little.Dylan’s heavy arm draped accros her waist, holding her close against his chest as if afraid she might disappear if he let go. His breathing was still ragged, and his heart pounding steadily beneath her ear. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the fire crackling and the relentless fury of the storm trying to rip the cabin apart.She traced a faint scar across his collarbone with her fingertip, feeling the raised, s

Celia had endured one of the worst days in months. At 28, she was a mid level marketing analyst who is stuck in a soul crushing corporate job with endless deadlines, a boss who takes credit for her ideas, and the fresh sting of a painful breakup two weeks earlier. Her ex had called her “too much” to her face right before leaving. And tonight, after drowning her anger and frustrations in a cheap wine at a friend’s place, she’d missed the earlier trains. Now it was 10:30 p.m., and this was the last one heading toward her quiet suburb.Her heels clicked against the scarred linoleum as she boarded the near empty carriage. It smelled of stale air, iron, and faint rain from outside. Only a handful of passengers remained, scattered like ghosts under the flickering fluorescent lights.She chose a seat halfway down the train, crossing her legs and smoothing her tight black skirt over her thighs. That was when she felt it—the weight of his intense stare.He sat just three rows back on the oppos

Celia’s obsession had begun to bleed into daylight. By the following week, the nights with Oliver weren’t just escapes anymore, they were the only thing keeping her sane. She would catch herself daydreaming during meetings, thighs clenching under the conference table each time she remembers the way he filled her, the rope biting her wrists, and the wet heat of his cum leaking down her legs afterward. Michael Harlan had been especially vicious this week, publicly “improving” her presentation in front of the entire team while taking full credit. Derek had even shown up at her apartment building one evening, flowers in hand and apologies ready. She had shut the door in his face and left. She needed more than stolen tunnel moments. She needed to know if Oliver was real. She waited impatiently till it was the weekend. Saturday night arrived like every other and she intentionally waited for the late 10:30 p.m. train, black skirt, silk blouse, and the now-familiar thrill of crotchless la

Three days had passed since that night at the party. Three days since they’d torn each other apart and put each other back together again, raw and bleeding and perfect all at once. Now, they were miles away from the city. Far from that crowded, thumping room, far from that dim, stuffy passageway where the walls had felt like they were closing in, far from all the familiar faces and whispers and memories that used to cut so deep. Zayn had driven them out early the next morning, straight out past the suburbs and deep into the rolling, green countryside, until the roads turned narrow and quiet and lined with tall, old trees that cast long, cool shadows across the pavement. He’d brought her here—an old, weathered cottage tucked deep between the trees, surrounded by nothing but fields, wild flowers, and the soft endless sound of chipping birds and wind moving through leaves. It was small, solid, and quiet in a way that felt almost too big after the noise they’d left behind. No neighb