All Chapters of Untamed Desires (A Collection of short Stories): Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Thunder stroked so loud the windows rattled. I jerked against him before I could stop even realize it, my ass pressing firmly back into that thick, obvious bulge in his sweatpants. Rafe’s breath hitched. His hand on my stomach flexed, fingers digging in just enough to hold me there. “Still pretending?” he murmured against my neck, voice gravel-rough. I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. My brain was short-circuiting between *this is crazy* and *don’t you fucking stop*. Heat pulsed between my legs, slick and insistent. The t-shirt had ridden all the way up to my waist now, and there was nothing between my bare ass and him except those thin gray pants. His palm slid higher under the shirt, slow, like he was giving me time to say no. I didn’t. When his fingers brushed the underside of my breast, I shivered hard. My nipple was already tight and mostly aching. He cupped me fully now, thumb dragging over the peak, and a tiny sound escaped my throat. “Fuck, Lila,” he breathed. “You’re

His mouth crashed back into mine the second I said yes. No more careful distance. Jax kissed like he’d been thinking about it all night--deep, demanding, one hand tangled in my hair while the other shoved my dress higher up my thighs. I moaned into him, legs parting on the stool as he stepped between them. The hard line of his cock pressed against my soaked panties and I rocked forward without thinking, chasing the friction. “Fuck, Elena,” he growled against my lips. “You’re dripping already.” He lifted me like I weighed nothing, setting my ass on the cool, polished bar top. Bottles clinked softly behind me. The lights were low, the empty bar stretching out like our own dirty secret. My dress bunched around my waist as he spread my thighs wider. His palms slid up my skin, rough and sure, until his thumbs brushed the edge of my lace panties. I should have felt guilty but Mark’s face flashed in my head for half a second, but then Jax dropped to his knees on the bar mat and dragg

Three days had passed since that night on his desk, and Elena had barely slept. Every time Marcus walked through the open office, her stomach would tiggle in the most delicious and horrorifing way ever. He’d kept things painfully professional,;short emails, brisk nods in the hallway, nothing that would raise eyebrows. But she caught him watching her during the Tuesday all-hands. His gaze lingered a beat too long on the collar of her blouse, and she’d had to press her thighs together under the conference table. By Thursday evening, the office had emptied out again. Elena was pretending to wrap up expense reports when her desk phone buzzed. “Elena. My office. Ten minutes.” Marcus’s voice was clipped, all business. He hung up before she could answer. Her pulse picked up. She waited the full ten, then grabbed her laptop like it was any other late meeting. The hallway felt longer than usual. When she reached his door, it was already cracked open. She slipped inside and closed i

Elena stood outside the heavy wooden side door of Marcus’s house, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on her bare arms. The black dress he’d told her to wear clung to her body, no bra, no panties underneath, just like he’d ordered. The upscale neighborhood was quiet, lights glowing softly from other mansions set back from the street. She felt exposed. Stupid. Turned on. She didn’t knock. The door was unlocked already, just like he said. She slipped inside. The kitchen smelled like expensive takeout and red wine. Marcus was leaning against the marble island, sleeves rolled up, a glass in his hand. He looked different here, less the untouchable CEO, more a man in his own space. His eyes darkened the second he saw her. “You came,” he said, voice low. “Obviously.” She set her small bag down. “Your wife really gone?” “Until Sunday night.” He crossed the room slowly, like he was savoring the moment, and pulled her in by the waist. The kiss started deep and hungry, his tongue

The rain came down in sheets, turning the Scottish hillside into a slick, muddy nightmare. Dr. Elena cursed under her breath as she slipped for the third time, her flashlight beam cutting through the downpour like a dying candle. She’d only meant to check one last barrow before calling it quits on this dig. Ancient Pictish site, they’d said. Probably empty. Probably not worth the soaked boots. But the ground had given way beneath her. One second she was poking at a moss-covered stone, the next she was sliding down into darkness, dirt and rocks tumbling after her. She hit the bottom hard enough to knock the wind out of her, flashlight spinning away across uneven flagstones. For a long moment she just lay there, coughing dust and rain, waiting for the pain to tell her if anything was broken. Nothing felt broken. Just bruised pride and a twisted ankle that throbbed when she put weight on it. The air down here was warmer. And there was light, a faint, flickering orange coming fr