All Chapters of Untamed Desires (A Collection of short Stories): Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Riley Bennett slipped in through the back door a little after 11 PM. The house was dark and quiet. Mom and her stepdad were gone for the weekend, some anniversary trip. She kicked off her sneakers and headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. College was kicking her ass and the side hustle she started three months ago wasn’t helping her sleep much. She was halfway up the stairs when the living room light flicked on. “Going somewhere, little sis?” Riley froze. Damien sat on the couch in nothing but his dark sweatpants, legs spread wide, phone in his hand. 24, built like he lived at the gym, tattoos covering one arm. He had that stupid smirk on his face. “I thought you were out,” she muttered. “Nahh. Been home all night.” He tapped his phone screen a few times. “Had plenty of time to go through your shit.” Her heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?” Damien turned the phone toward her. On the screen was her secret OnlyFans

Captain Nova Kane’s fingers slammed across the console one last time. “This is Captain Nova Kane of the *Artemis*, requesting immediate extraction. Hull breach in sector four. I repeat—” Static. Then the ship shuddered hard as another boarding clamp locked on. The lights flickered and died. She yanked her sidearm from the holster, heart hammering, but it was already too late. The airlock hissed open and three massive shapes stepped through. They were huge. Easily seven and a half feet tall, gray scaled skin, broad shoulders, and cold black eyes. One had thick tendrils shifting where its arms should be. They moved like they’d done this a hundred times; with efficient, no wasted motion. Nova got off two shots. Both bounced off their armor. A sharp sting hit her neck and everything went black for her. She woke up naked. Cold metal pressed against her back. Her wrists were locked above her head. Ankles strapped wide apart, thighs spread open on a smooth examination table. Th

Tiffany gripped the wheel tight, doing eighty-five on a stretch of highway that had been empty for miles. It was a little after 2 AM. She’d stormed out of the club after her ex started texting his new girl right in front of her. Music was loud, windows cracked, cool night air whipping her hair. She didn’t see the cop until the red and blue lights was on her side mirror. “Shit.” She slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder, tires crunching on gravel. The patrol car stopped behind her, lights still flashing. The officer took his time getting out. Tall guy, with broad shoulders, maybe mid-thirties. Short cropped hair, hard jaw. He walked up with the flashlight already pointed at her face. “License, registration, and insurance,” he said. Voice flat 'n tired. She dug them out of the glovebox and handed them over. Her black dress had ridden up her thighs while she was driving. She tugged it down but not fast enough. He saw. But too tired to care. “You know how fast you were goin

Mr. Tyler had been called in as a last-minute substitute for senior English at Ridgewood Academy, and from the very first day, the energy in the room shifted. He was thirty-two, six-foot-three, with a lean, athletic build from years of weekend rock climbing and boxing. His voice was low and commanding, the kind that moved across the classroom without an effort. A permanent five-o’clock shadow framed a sharp jawline, and his dark eyes had a way of pinning people in place. The girls noticed, and the boys pretended they didn’t. But none more than Joan Moreau. At nineteen, Joan was the kind of senior who turned heads without trying, a long, honey-blonde hair that fell in soft waves down her back, bright blue eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a body that her private-school uniform struggled to contain. Her white blouse stretched tightly over full, perky C-cup breasts, and her pleated skirt barely reached mid-thigh, showing off smooth, toned legs that seemed to go on forever. She had

The private medical suite located two floors beneath the main clinic was unlike anything Sophie had ever seen. It was a perfect fusion of luxury and clinical precision, with soft ambient lighting, soundproof walls covered in elegant dark wood panels, a large adjustable medical bed dominating the center of the room with thick leather restraints built into every corner. Stirrups, monitoring equipment, IV stands, and multiple stainless steel trays laid out with instruments of varying sizes and purposes. There were cameras mounted discreetly in the ceiling and walls. A one-way mirror on one side of the room allowed observation from an adjacent control area. Sophie was already completely immobilized when Dr. Elias Crowe finally entered the room. Thick padded leather cuffs locked her wrists above her head. Her ankles were secured high and wide in the stirrups, forcing her knees to bend and her legs to spread obscenely open. A wide leather strap ran tightly across her waist, pinning he