All Chapters of SINNERS: AN HOT COLLECTION : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

He tilted his head, dark eyes gleaming with amusement and something far more dangerous — patience laced with hunger. “Keep telling yourself that, little bunny. Your pussy is probably clenching just from hearing me call you that.” He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, the touch deceptively gentle. “But I’m a man of my word. No forcing. You’ll come to me when the ache becomes unbearable.”He picked up the velvet box and opened it slowly. Inside lay a delicate silver chain with a small, elegant pendant — a tiny rabbit with ruby eyes. It looked expensive. Intimate. Possessive.“A little gift,” he said, lifting the necklace. “To remind you who you belong to now. Turn around.”I glared at him but didn’t move. “I don’t want your gifts.”Dante sighed, almost fondly, and stepped behind me anyway. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck as he fastened the chain. The metal was cool against my skin, the tiny rabbit settling just above my collarbone. His breath ghosted ove

Dante’s mouth claimed mine in a kiss that stole the last fragments of my resistance. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, possessive, and deep — his tongue sliding against mine with deliberate strokes that made my head spin. I moaned into him, hands clutching at his shirt as years of built-up desperation poured out of me in trembling waves.He pulled back just enough to look at me, dark eyes blazing. “Look at you, little bunny. Finally begging so prettily.”One large hand stayed on my hip, holding me steady on the edge of the glass dining table, while the other slid slowly between my spread thighs. His fingers brushed through my soaked folds, parting them with teasing strokes. I was embarrassingly wet — slick coating his fingertips instantly as he circled my swollen clit with light, maddening pressure.“Ah—!” I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily. The sensation after days of aching denial was overwhelming. Every nerve ending felt raw and alive.“Shhh,” he murmured against my neck,

I never thought I’d end up here — naked, blindfolded, wrists bound above my head to a cold metal hook, my body trembling with equal parts fear and unbearable arousal.My name is Sophie, and until two hours ago, I was the definition of vanilla. Twenty-six, quiet graphic designer from London, the kind of girl who blushed at the word “spank” and thought “kinky” meant keeping the lights on during sex. But after one too many lonely nights scrolling through forbidden subreddits, I finally did it. I booked a flight to Berlin, found the most exclusive underground club I could, and walked through the heavy black door wearing nothing but a short black dress and nerves.Now I was in one of the private rooms at the back of the club, completely at the mercy of a man I’d only met thirty minutes ago.Master Viktor.He was tall, probably mid-thirties, with sharp cheekbones, dark piercing eyes, and a calm, commanding presence that made my knees weak the moment he spoke. His voice was low, smooth, with

Master Viktor gave me only a few minutes to catch my breath before he gently but firmly took my hand and led me across the room. My legs were still shaky, and his warm cum continued to leak slowly down my inner thighs with every step. I felt deliciously used and exposed.In the center of the private room stood a padded black spanking bench — angled perfectly so that anyone on it would have their ass raised high and vulnerable. Thick leather cuffs waited at the corners.“On the bench, Sophie,” he ordered, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “Ass up, face down. It’s time to mark that pretty skin properly.”My heart hammered as I climbed onto the bench. The padded leather was cool against my overheated skin. I positioned myself as instructed — knees spread wide on the lower platforms, chest and stomach pressed down, ass lifted high and presented obscenely. Master Viktor quickly secured my wrists and ankles with the thick cuffs, locking me in place so I couldn’t close my legs

The warm, velvet night air of Dubai wrapped around Elena like a lover’s breath as she stepped barefoot onto her 34th-floor balcony. Thirty-four floors above the glittering madness of the city, the world felt both impossibly distant and dangerously close. The Burj Khalifa stabbed the black sky like a golden spear, while the artificial Palm Jumeirah glowed in the distance like a neon mirage. The distant call to prayer floated on the breeze, mixing with the low hum of luxury cars far below.Elena wore nothing but a sheer black silk robe that clung to her curves and barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. The thin fabric whispered against her skin with every movement, teasing her already sensitive nipples. Her husband, Marcus, was in London again — another “urgent” business trip that had stretched into two weeks. She was tired of expensive silence, tired of untouched nights, tired of pretending the growing ache between her legs didn’t exist.She leaned against the cool metal railing, a gla