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He pulled her panties down, then got into position with himself at her entrance. He looked up to see that she was prepared, then slid inside. She gasped under the pressure as she arched her back up and he fell onto her breast with his mouth.He started pumping himself into her, and with every movement, she panted. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him tight as his thrusts made her hips move further up on the mattress."Benedict," Sabrina moaned out. "Benedict please, I'm so close."He pulled his mouth from her breast, shaking his head as he pushed her hair back. "No angel. You don't get to cum until I say you can."She whined as a response, desperate for a release as he continued to pound into her. Despite her current state, Benedict grabbed her legs, wrapping them around his hips so he could fuck her deeper. She screamed with each thump, raising her hand and pressing it on his biceps as I pushed my hand on the curves. She burst into laughter to lighten up as he cont
Inside California prison's bleak walls, an inmate named Clara Hemp remained obdurate in rebellion. Her fellow prisoner, who spoke with quick lips and hot tongue, called Dolores, was fed up with Clara's condescending nature. The strained relations between Clara Hemp and Dolores were now burning."You think you're better than all of us, don't you Clara?" Dolores spat out, slamming her metal tray on the small table in their cell. Her voice reverberated off the cold concrete walls as it drew in the attention of inmates sitting around them. "Your rich-girl attitude won't get you very far in here, princess."Clara sat on the lower bunk, crossing her arms and giving Dolores a disdainful look. "And you think you're some kind of authority here? Save your lecture. I don't have time for your pathetic attempts to feel superior."Dolores laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Superior? Oh, honey, you're in the same cage as the rest of us. The only difference is, you still act like you're above it all. N
"You think you’ve won," Clara muttered, her voice low and venomous, the sound bouncing off the barren walls of her cell. "You think you’ve left me behind, but I’m not finished yet."For a long time, the oppressive silence of solitary confinement did not stifle her soul; it had ignited the flame of her fury. Every instant spent in that cold, empty box was tinder for her will. Clara's mind was frantically plotting and imagining scenarios. She clutched at each shred of hope for revenge as if it might be her savior.She would not allow them to beat her. The guards, nor the other prisoners. And especially Benedict and Sabrina, who actually thought they won.Clara kept to herself in the days that followed, her sharp gaze observing everything and everyone during her limited hours outside solitary. She listened intently, piecing together information, overheard conversations, and the intricate social web within the prison.There was power to be seized, even here. She just had to find the right
Benedict sat at the kitchen table, running his fingers over the rim of his coffee cup as steam curled up into the air and vanished into the morning light. The sun spat out rays that tenderly bathed the room, but the warmth did little to thaw the cold thoughts that gripped him. Clara transferring to the mental health facility had been unforeseen, but Benedict knew her too well. She was always on the next corner, always making the long play. It had already been years that they had last seen each other, but time and again every time he thought of getting out and away from her, she invented a new twist to bring him back. The soft sound of footsteps broke him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see Sabrina entering the room. The presence of her was like a balm to his soul. Her eyes were filled with quiet concern, soothing the harsh edges of his thoughts. Her steps were light, almost whispering in the air, as she walked toward him. "What's wrong, Benedict?" she asked with her soft but a
They had a future; they had a family, and nothing—no one—could take that away.But even as the warmth of the moment enveloped them, a small voice in the back of Benedict's mind continued to whisper. Clara's game wasn't over. She was just getting started.A few days into Clara's admission to the psychiatric facility, Benedict and Sabrina had attempted to move forward, focusing on their family and putting as much distance between themselves and the past as was humanly possible. But then came the jarring news once again: Clara was getting better. Her shenanigans were said to be stabilizing, and she was being rewarded with more privileges within the facility. Benedict, though, felt the sharp sting of suspicion. Clara was far too clever, too calculating, to just let herself get taken down by her own charade.She's acting. Benedict was sure of it.He stands in front of the window, and his eyes go blank as the sun sets with long shadows. His heart seems to want Clara gone, but his mind still
Clara sat on her cot, her shoulders curved forward in what might have been exhaustion or deep thought. Her hair fell softly around her face as she gently rocked, humming to herself - perhaps finding comfort in the rhythm and melody that made sense to her, even if others couldn't follow its pattern. Her eyes moved across the room, taking in her surroundings in a way that suggested she was processing her environment, even if differently than others might. While the staff saw behaviors they needed to document, there was a person there - Clara - experiencing this moment in her own way.Inside, though, Clara was far from lost. She was calculating. Her plan was working out nicely. The staff, kind-hearted and wanting to aid her, were starting to accommodate her: let her walk outside for longer, take her in the recreation room, and conduct private therapy with her. All these concessions edged her closer to the freedom she wanted—and revenge she had envisioned. "Good morning, Clara," Nurse Ele
That night, Benedict sat beside Sabrina in their living room. The warm light of the table lamp lit the space across his face and left deep shadows everywhere else. Lines of worry spread across his features as his fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm against the armrest of his chair. "She's playing them," he muttered softly. "I know it, Sabrina."She closed the book and turned to him. The way she was gazing at him showed tension, and fire flared in his eyes that was evident when Clara was present. "You don't need to prove a thing," Sabrina said coolly, though firm. "I have seen what she's capable of. But what are we going to do about it Benedict?" Benedict straightened his back, elbows on knees."We get ahead one step, Sabrina," he growled through a tightening jaw line.“If she’s planning something—and she is—we’ll be ready.”Sabrina turned her face up, a mix of sympathy and resolve. "You are not alone in this," she whispered softly. "Whatever happens we'll face it together, but smar
Clara waited patiently in the dimly lit corridors of the mental health facility. The guardians were distracted by some new minor commotion in another wing. The hall outside her room became unguarded. She was sitting calmly on her cot, imagining things. Tonight was the night for her escape. She had planned everything very carefully - each and every step of the escape.The nurse went around making rounds and stopped at Clara's door, knocking gently before entering."Clara? How're we doing tonight?" the nurse asked as she entered in a calm professional voice.Clara smiled faintly, her face curiously innocent. When the nurse turned her back to adjust the chart on the bedside table, Clara moved swiftly. She reached for the metal pitcher on the nightstand and brought it down upon the nurse's head over the back of her head with enough force to knock her unconscious.The nurse collapsed onto the floor, her clipboard clattering loudly against the tiles. Clara ducked down and ensured she was no
Her fingers stroked the material. "Okay," she breathed.The boutique manager came back once more, and Eliana smiled, her voice more even now. "We'll take this one.""Good choice, Miss Thompson." The manager clicked her fingers together, obviously delighted. "We'll have it steamed and wrapped up to deliver this evening, or would you like to take it with you?"He rested against the door of the fitting room, arms crossed, suit perfect, tie razor-sharp—but jaw clenched, eyes contained, tracking her each movement in the mirror."You're staring," she said without raising her gaze."You knew you would."Eliana swung around reluctantly, glancing at him.The way he regarded her—it wasn't admiration. It was possession, and something in his eyes that bordered on restraint."Well?" she breathed. "Too much?"His gaze dropped to the V of the neckline, black, and up to her face."It's perfect," he said softly. "Perilously perfect."A silence. The whir of the boutique died under weight of air between
There was silence. Alexa was always too professional ever to say anything that wasn't absolutely imperative, but Eliana could almost feel the twitch of interest in the static."Oh, of course, ma'am. I'll alert Mr. Wolfe right away."The intercom clicked off.Eliana slowly breathing out through her nose, her fingers running along the top of the desk as if signing the lines of her own doubt.Why does the ring of his name feel like pulling on wire that had twisted hard against her ribcage?Damian Wolfe. Her shadow. Her bodyguard. The man whose lips whispered softly, and whose eyes whispered too loudly, leaving her quivering.It was not right—the way he gazed at her. The way he avoided gazing at her when he should have.As Nathaniel had been comfortable with the old version of her… Damian was comfortable with the woman she wasn't yet. With the one with burning rage, fear, and smoldering lust all twisted up in one.She sat back from her computer screen, attempting to escape in work, but he
She did not scroll to the top of her phone contact list. She did not have to. Damian Wolfe was the first on everyone else's list—just like Nathaniel Carter was. Two names. Two men. One choice she'd never been able to make.Until today.Her thumb was still hovering, her breathing even.One telephone call changed the direction of her life.Before she could get cold feet, she heard footsteps—heavy, slow, familiar.She turned.Damian stood in the doorway to her office.And something about the way he was looking at her—as if she were his shelter and his tempest—stole her breath."Eliana," he said softly. "I'm not going to press you. I swear. I just. I needed to confirm that you were okay.""I am not," Eliana said softly. "But I will be."He bobbed his head. "Good. Because I've watched you shatter and remade myself. I understand how strong you can be once you finally begin not to attempt to flee from yourself."There was something primal in his gaze, something smothered yet deeply well-wrou
Vincent smiled at her. "Does your security detail have a habit of crashing high-level meetings?"Noelle smiled to himself as he put away the tray."Men, take a five."Reluctance was there, but Vincent finally relented. "As you desire, bella."The others flowed out of the room, and he was left alone with her.Eliana stood in front of Damian, arms crossed, but her voice was filled with softness. "You didn't need to defend me like that."He leaned in over her. "I wasn't sticking up for you. I was reminding them who the hell you are.""I know who I am.""Then why are you allowing this world to destroy you just so you won't hurt?" His words cut her like glass."I'm not avoiding—You haven't even cried," Damian breathed, pulling another closer to her. "Not for the disaster Harper created. Not for Nathaniel. Not even for you."She pulled her face away. "If I do, I would not be able to stop."She waited. Then:"I'd defend you if you did."Her eyes were burning. She raised her face, and there
She hauled herself up, carefully brushing her matted hair out of her face, her heart slowed a bit now. More confident. Less frantic.Her gaze returned to the phone.No new messages.And for once, that didn't sting like abandonment.It felt like freedom.She stood, walked barefoot into the kitchen, and poured the forgotten tea down the drain. It had cooled. Like the version of herself who sat around waiting for someone else to pick her.That version had fallen silent now, too.A vibration on the counter startled her.Damian.Just his name. No note. Just a missed call.She gazed at it forever, then she murdered the screen's power. She wasn't ready—not for him, not yet. Perhaps never.She moved to the living room, attracted by the hum of the television behind her. Her brother's form glowed under the blue light, stretched out on the couch with a pillow over his face as if he hadn't intended to sleep but the rest of the world had otherwise."Saben?" she whispered.He groaned. "Mmhmm?""Did
The door closed gently, but to Eliana it was a gunshot.Her spine against the wood, she was frozen, her breathing barely more than a stillness. Her voice was still stuck in her throat, her heart bruising under the words she had said to Nathaniel-the words she had only recently realized for herself. "What have I done?" Eliana whispered into the silence, her voice faltering slightly.The Thompson estates did hulk over her in oppressive silence. The sort that did not forgive-it judged.Stumbling, she fell to the couch with her knees buckling under her. Her hand brushed against the thick cushion next to her, which Nathaniel would lean against for drawing her into himself and whisper, "You feel like home.""Then why do I feel so far from it now?" she whispered.Her phone flashed when she answered it. No messages. No missed calls. No apologies. No begging. No promises. Just her. Alone. With the wreckage of something she couldn't fix.She stared at Damian's name burning on her screen. Her t
Eliana resolved to speak with Nathaniel.Nathaniel's presidential suite door was too intimate. It repelled her.She’d memorized the weight of her hand knocking on it. The scent of his cedarwood cologne that always lingered in the hallway. The way her heart used to leap—used to believe—that she belonged here.But now, everything felt quieter.Not empty. Just. still.He opened the door after two knocks, like he’d been waiting. Like he knew.“Eliana.” His voice cracked the silence like thunder rolling in slow motion. “You’re here.”She nodded, catching her breath.He hadn't slept. Rumpled shirt, rolled-up sleeves. Hair ever so slightly too messy. Eyes ever so slightly too shattered.As if he'd been injured by her very indecision."May I enter?" she asked, knowing the response in advance. Nathaniel stepped aside. "You don't need permission."She entered as if it would be her last time ever pushing the door open.He stood there with arms crossed over chest, shoulder blade against the wall
The sun filtered a reluctant angle over Eliana's headboard blinds, tinting the floor in pale golden stripes as if someone was trying to make amends for a bitter, long-fought battle. She was lying on her side, the crescent moon charm still amazing her palm, her fingers clenched around it as if it might prevent her heart from breaking into fragments.But there was reality—that her heart was already broken. In more than one place.Tap. Light. Soothing."Enter," she breathed, already suspecting who it was.Sabrina entered, loose linen thrown over her, bearing a tray full of hot tea. She put it down on the floor without a word at all, eyes drinking in the broken pieces of her daughter's mind.Eliana sat up, legs tucked under her, hair wet from last night's rain. "May I ask you something?" she asked."Always," Sabrina replied, sitting on the bed, facing her."How did you know?" Eliana's voice broke. "How did you know Dad was the one? Was it easy?"Sabrina's eyes softened. "No. God, no. It w
The storm was over, but the earthy scent of the rain remained. Fragile mist curled from the window panes of Eliana's room; now the sun had to struggle to break free from the clouds, while everything around looked bathed in soft golden light. The world looked washed clean—fresh, mysterious, like a blank page with wet ink smeared at the edges.Eliana sat on the edge of her bed, the silver crescent pendant sitting quietly in her palm. She smoothed its curve with her thumb repeatedly, as though it would somehow open up a hidden answer to her if she pressed hard enough.The sketch Saben left lay beside her, and she’d stared at it until the ink seemed to blur and reshape itself. Damian on one side. Nathaniel on the other. And her—right in the middle, like a bridge being pulled at both ends.She hadn’t slept. Not really. Just drifted in and out of thoughts so loud they echoed inside her skull."You’re the shadow that never departed.""You were the light when I was shattering."Two truths. Tw