CRAVE: Temptation Collection

PROLOGUE

All I wanted was a weekend away. No exes. No stress. Just me, a vibrator, and the quiet luxury of the Hotel Aurelia.

Then I got the text.

Room 406. Strip. Kneel. Don't speak unless told.

It wasn't meant for me. But I went anyway.

And when I opened the door, he didn't ask questions. He just gave orders.

Rough hands. Quiet voice. And a mouth that ruined me for every man who ever tried.

He didn't give me his name. Didn't ask for mine.

And when I told him I wasn't who he was expecting-he smiled.

And said, "You are now."

What started as a mistake becomes a weekend of obedience, bruises, and bliss.

But this stranger wants more than my body. He wants my control.

And I... want to give it to him.

Chapter 1

The Wrong Text

There's something about a hotel bed that always makes me want to misbehave.

Maybe it's the way the sheets are tucked too tight, how the pillows smell like bleach and strangers. Maybe it's the freedom of knowing I'm anonymous in a luxury building full of men in suits who wouldn't dare look twice at a woman traveling alone.

But tonight, it's the text.

I'm two sips into overpriced wine, legs bare under my robe, vibrator already charging on the nightstand, when my phone buzzes.

Room 406. Strip. Kneel. Don't speak unless told.

That's it. No name. No emojis. No apologies.

I reread it three times, sure it must be a mistake.

But my thighs press together.

Whoever it was meant for... is lucky.

I reach for the wine again, trying to ignore the heat between my legs-but the thought takes root.

Strip. Kneel.

Would I? Could I?

The soft hum of city noise outside my window fades. The room feels smaller. My robe slips open as I shift on the bed, and my nipples harden in the cool air. I stare at the phone screen again, at the bold confidence of that message.

It wasn't meant for me.

But maybe I want it to be.

I don't overthink it.

I don't even hesitate.

I pull the robe from my shoulders, letting it drop into a puddle on the floor. My bare feet slap softly on the marble tile as I cross to the mirror. My pulse is already thudding low in my belly, and my fingers tremble as I pick up my keycard.

I'm not drunk. I'm not high.

I'm wet. Curious.

And completely out of my fucking mind.

But when I step into the hallway and the elevator dings, I don't look back.

Room 406 is halfway down a dimly lit corridor. Clean carpets. Quiet.

My heart's racing as I reach the door.

This is insane.

What if it's a setup? What if someone's playing with me? What if I knock, and some middle-aged businessman in tighty-whities screams and slams the door in my face?

But worse than that...

What if it is real?

I don't knock.

I press my palm flat to the door, lean in, and breathe.

Then I slide the card in the lock, and the green light flashes.

The door opens.

The room is mostly dark-just the lamp by the bed casting a low amber glow. And there he is.

A man, tall and dressed in black, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sitting in a chair by the window like he's been waiting. Legs spread. A glass of whiskey in one hand, phone in the other.

He looks up.

And smiles.

Not surprised. Not confused.

Like he knew I'd come.

"You're late," he says. His voice is low, rough. The kind of voice you want against your throat while his hand is between your legs.

My mouth parts, but I can't form a sentence. My whole body is already buzzing, nipples tight, skin hot.

He sets the drink down and stands slowly.

"Clothes off. Kneel."

It's not a question. It's a command.

And I obey.

The carpet burns my knees a little, but I barely notice. I strip without hesitation, pulling the tank top over my head and stepping out of my panties. I leave them in a soft puddle at my feet and lower myself down. Exposed. Open.

He circles me slowly. Like a predator. Like I'm already prey.

I don't know his name. I can't see his face clearly in the low light.

But I don't need to.

He stops behind me. I can feel his presence like heat against my skin.

A large hand slides down my spine. "No bra."

"No."

"Smart girl."

His hand drifts lower, settling at the base of my spine. He presses, and I arch instinctively.

"Do you know what I do to bad girls who read texts that don't belong to them?"

I freeze.

Oh God.

He knows.

"You knew?" I whisper, panicked.

He chuckles. "You hesitated just long enough. The woman I was meeting would've walked in here with her mouth open and her ass ready."

Shame and heat burn up my neck. "I'm sorry. I-I'll go-"

"No." He grips my neck lightly. "You stay."

My breath catches.

His fingers flex. "You were curious. Now you get to find out what happens to greedy little sluts who can't follow instructions."

Oh fuck.

He steps in front of me, unzipping his slacks with slow, deliberate precision. My mouth waters.

"You like being told what to do?"

I nod.

He tilts his head. "Use your words."

"Yes," I breathe.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

His cock is already hard when he pulls it out. Thick. Smooth. Veins prominent. I lick my lips, and he laughs softly.

"Hungry?"

"Yes, sir."

He takes a step closer, rubbing the tip along my lips. "No hands. Keep them behind your back."

I obey instantly, fingers laced behind me.

"Open your mouth."

I do.

He slides in slowly, letting me feel every inch. My lips stretch, and I moan as his taste floods my tongue-dark, clean, masculine. I suck greedily, letting him set the pace, bobbing my head as he thrusts deeper.

"Fuck," he growls. "You're better than she was anyway."

My eyes water, but I don't stop. I love the feel of him in my mouth, the weight, the control.

He pulls out suddenly, and I gasp for air, spit trailing down my chin.

"Up."

I scramble to my feet.

"Turn around. Bend over the bed."

My knees shake, but I do as I'm told. The sheets are cool under my breasts. My ass is exposed, bare and ready.

Then-smack.

His palm lands sharp across one cheek. I cry out, the pain shocking but delicious.

"Count."

"O-one."

Smack.

"Two."

He alternates cheeks, delivering five perfect slaps. My skin burns, and my pussy drips. I'm dizzy from arousal.

"You disobeyed," he says. "But you took your punishment well."

Then I feel him-his cock, thick and hot, nudging between my folds.

"Beg."

"Please, sir," I pant. "Fuck me. Please."

He slams into me without warning, and I scream into the bed. He's huge, and he doesn't hold back.

He fucks like he owns me.

Like he wants to punish me with pleasure.

Each thrust is brutal, precise, dragging cries from my throat.

"You like being used, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Say it."

"I love being used."

"Whose slut are you?"

"Yours."

He groans, grabbing my hair, pulling me back against him as he pounds deeper. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, wet and obscene. My orgasm builds like a storm, fast and dangerous.

"Come for me."

He reaches around, fingers rubbing my clit in tight circles. I shatter.

Screaming. Clenching. Shaking.

My vision goes white.

He grunts behind me, thrusts once more, and spills inside me, hot and pulsing.

We collapse forward onto the bed, sweaty and breathless.

I don't even know his name.

But as he leans down and presses a kiss to my spine, he murmurs, "You did better than expected."

I swallow.

"What happens now?" I ask softly.

He chuckles again.

"You come back tomorrow."

Then he smacks my ass.

"Same time. Room 406."

Chapter 2

Use Me Again

I shouldn't have come back. But I couldn't stay away.

All day, I tried to shake it off. Tried to tell myself it was a one-time thing. A mistake. A beautiful, filthy mistake.

But my body didn't forget.

Not the sting of his hand.

Not the way my legs trembled when I came screaming into the mattress, his name never even spoken.

Not the way he looked at me like I belonged to him-like I'd always belonged to him.

And now I'm here. Standing outside Room 406 again.

No text this time. No invitation. I just came because I wanted to be used.

And when I raise my hand to knock, the door opens before I can touch it.

He's already waiting.

Still dressed in black. Still calm, composed, controlled.

His eyes flick down my body.

I didn't wear anything beneath the trench coat.

He knows.

"Take it off," he says.

I do.

He lets the coat fall to the floor behind me, eyes hungry, fingers flexing.

"You came back."

"I couldn't stop thinking about it."

He smiles, but it's the dangerous kind. Slow. Knowing.

"You're mine tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"Say it louder."

"I'm yours tonight."

"No." He steps closer, towering over me. "You're mine. Period."

I nod, breath hitching. "I'm yours."

"Good girl."

He walks behind me, and I feel the warmth of his body before his hand slides around my throat.

He doesn't squeeze. Just holds it.

"You don't get to leave early this time," he murmurs against my ear.

"I won't."

"No safe words. You want to stop, you say red. Until then-" he presses harder, "-you're mine to use."

My pussy clenches.

"Yes, sir."

He spins me around, pushes me to the bed, and doesn't give me time to think.

He binds my wrists.

Not with rope.

With his tie.

Silk. Black. Tight enough to make me feel helpless, but not enough to hurt.

"You were so eager last night," he says, voice calm as he knots it to the headboard. "Tonight, we see how eager you are when you can't touch."

I writhe beneath him, spread wide and exposed.

He stands beside the bed and slowly unbuttons his shirt.

My mouth waters. His chest is hard, cut, dusted with just enough hair to make my fingers itch.

But I can't move. Can't touch. Just lie there like the needy little whore I've become in less than twenty-four hours.

He sees it on my face. The desperation. The surrender.

"You liked being used," he says. "Now I'll make you crave it."

He kneels between my legs and lowers his mouth to my inner thigh.

Kisses. Bites.

"Please," I beg, hips rising. "Please, I need-"

"Need what?"

"Your mouth. Your tongue. I need to come."

"You'll come when I say."

Then he finally licks me. Long, slow, right up the center of my slit.

I cry out, hips bucking, but his hands grip my thighs, pinning me down.

He eats me like I'm his meal. Like I'm the only thing on the menu.

Tongue deep. Then flicking. Then sucking hard on my clit until my vision blurs.

I pant. Arch. Scream his name-no, not his name, because I still don't know it.

Just sir.

Just the man who makes me forget who I am.

"I'm gonna come," I gasp.

"No."

He pulls back.

"Not yet."

My head thrashes. I'm shaking, soaked, pulsing.

"I said not yet."

Then he moves.

One swift thrust, and he's inside me again. Fucking me rough, deep, perfect.

The tie digs into my wrists as I pull against it, lost in the rhythm of his body taking mine. He grinds into me, cock thick and punishing, chest heaving above mine.

"Say it."

"I'm yours," I gasp.

He slaps my breast, just enough sting to make me moan.

"Louder."

"I'm yours!"

He fucks me harder.

"You don't come without permission. You don't speak unless ordered. You don't move unless I make you."

"Yes, sir!"

"Whose hole is this?"

"Yours."

"Whose mouth?"

"Yours!"

He stops suddenly, still buried deep.

I whimper, desperate for friction.

"Beg."

"Please," I whine. "Please use me. I need to come. I need you to fill me. Please, I can't take it-"

He pulls out.

I cry out.

Then I hear the nightstand drawer open.

And something cold presses to my entrance.

A toy. A plug to be exact.

"Relax," he orders. "This is mine too."

The plug slides in slowly, and I moan at the stretch. At the fullness. He takes his time, fingers slick and skilled.

When it's seated deep, he smacks my ass.

"You're ready."

I feel him push into me again, this time with the plug inside me too, making everything tighter, fuller, filthier.

I scream.

He pounds harder. Deeper.

"You love being my toy," he growls.

"Yes, sir!"

"You love not knowing what I'll do next."

"Yes!"

"You're going to come now. On my cock. With your ass full and your wrists tied."

I explode.

Screaming. Trembling. Clenching around him so hard he curses through gritted teeth and spills inside me.

The bed shakes with the force of it.

We collapse again, panting, covered in sweat, and I realize my thighs are sticky with more than just his cum.

My own. So much of it.

He unties my wrists carefully, rubbing them where the silk pressed.

I lie there dazed, ruined, utterly satisfied.

But he's not done.

He kneels beside the bed, one hand gripping my jaw.

"You're not leaving."

I blink up at him. "I wasn't going to."

"I don't just fuck."

My breath catches.

"I train."

"What... what does that mean?"

His smile is slow. Dangerous.

"You want to be used?"

I nod.

"You want to be owned?"

"...Yes."

"Then you come back tomorrow."

His mouth brushes my ear.

"And next time... we play with toys."

Chapter 3

I Came for You

I told myself I wouldn't go.

I swore I'd ignore his command. That I didn't belong to him. That it was just sex.

But here I am again.

Room 406.

Only this time, I don't even hesitate. I knock once.

The door opens instantly, like he knew the exact second I'd show up.

He doesn't greet me.

He just smiles-smirks, really-like a man who already owns the answer to a question I haven't dared to ask.

"You're ten minutes early."

"I couldn't wait."

His eyes drag down my body. I'm in a dress this time-tight, short, braless. Panties? Not a chance.

He steps aside without a word.

I walk in. And freeze.

There's a box on the bed, black velvet. Like a gift.

"For me?" I ask.

He nods once.

"Open it."

My heart beats faster as I lift the lid.

Inside is a black leather collar. Smooth. Sleek. Unapologetically filthy. And a small silver tag that reads: Mine.

I stare at it then glance at him.

"Put it on," he says, already unbuttoning his shirt.

My fingers tremble slightly as I fasten the collar around my neck.

He walks over once I'm done, tugging gently on the D-ring at the front.

"Perfect."

"You're serious about this?"

His hand slides between my legs, finding me already wet.

"I don't play games."

I gasp as his thumb brushes my clit.

"You're dripping," he murmurs. "From wearing my collar alone."

"You make me wet."

"Good. You'll need it."

His eyes gleam with something darker.

Because tonight won't just be the bed.

Tonight, I'll be pushed further.

He doesn't fuck me right away.

Instead, he tells me to kneel.

Then opens the second drawer of the nightstand and pulls out a small, remote-controlled bullet vibrator.

He slides it into me-without asking-and fastens a pair of lace panties over it. Just enough friction to drive me wild.

Then he helps me up and smooths my dress over my thighs.

"We're going out."

My stomach flips.

"What?"

"You want to be my toy? You'll wear my plug, my collar, and my vibrator in public. You'll smile and act normal. And when I say come, you'll come."

I clench around the toy inside me.

My heart pounds.

I should say no.

I should feel shame.

Instead, I follow him out the door.

We're at a private rooftop bar downtown.

Dark. Velvet booths. Candlelight flickering. Jazz in the background and rich men with richer women sipping dark liquor.

He orders whiskey. For me, wine.

He doesn't ask what I want. He just tells the bartender what I'll drink, and I don't object.

I feel the collar against my throat. The bullet inside me. The panties growing damp with each second.

I feel possessed and and I love it.

"Open your legs," he whispers as we sit.

I do.

He taps something on his phone and the vibrator hums to life. I bite my lip hard, face flushing, legs tensing.

"Don't move."

I try, I really do but I'm already panting.

"Breathe through it," he says, sipping his whiskey like he's not teasing me to the edge of madness.

"You're such a bastard," I hiss.

"Language."

He raises the intensity.

I jerk slightly in the seat, nearly spilling my wine.

My nipples are hard beneath the dress, throbbing, begging to be touched.

My thighs tremble. My body is screaming.

"You'll wait until I say," he murmurs, brushing a single finger along my inner wrist. "And when I do, you'll make a mess."

I nod frantically, clutching the table.

He lets it buzz for three minutes straight.

Then turns it off.

I sag against the seat, shaking.

"You didn't come," he says, sounding impressed.

"Because I'm desperate to please you."

He leans in and kisses the side of my neck, just under the collar.

"Good girl."

He takes me back to the room without a word.

By the time the door closes behind us, I'm on my knees without being told.

I peel off the dress and panties while he watches, cock already hard and straining through his pants.

"I've been dripping in your toy for hours," I whisper.

"I know."

"You're gonna fuck me now, aren't you?"

His voice is sharp. "Beg."

"Please."

"Not good enough."

I crawl to him on all fours, drag his zipper down with my teeth, and pull him out.

Then I take him into my mouth. Deep.

Gagging. Moaning. Letting drool spill down my chin.

His hand fists in my hair.

"Fucking hell."

I bob faster, swirling my tongue around the head, sucking like it's the only thing that matters.

Because it is.

His groans get rougher, throatier.

"Stop," he growls.

I obey instantly, mouth wet and red, lips swollen.

He drags me up, spins me around, and bends me over the desk.

He pulls the toy from my pussy and tosses it aside.

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You want to be filled?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then take it like my good little slut."

He enters me in one hard thrust.

No warning. No tenderness.

Just raw, unfiltered dominance.

I cry out, nails scraping the wood as he fucks me brutally, the collar tight around my throat, my breasts swaying with every slam of his hips.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls.

I arch back.

"I said messy," he growls. "Come for me now."

And I do.

So hard I scream.

So hard my knees buckle.

So hard my pussy clamps around him like a vice.

He grunts, thrusts deep, and spills inside me, his cum hot and endless.

I collapse to the floor, panting.

He follows me down, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me. Soft. Slow. Barely a whisper of lips.

Then he drags a warm towel across my thighs, cleans me up like I'm something precious.

Which is almost more intimate than the sex.

He doesn't speak as he lifts me into the bed, wrapping me in his shirt.

Just holds me.

And right before sleep claims me, I whisper the one thing I haven't dared say out loud.

"I came back because I want more."

His reply?

A single, dangerous promise.

"You'll get more."