Wreck Me Gently - Aelyra - Wattpad

Story cover for Wreck Me Gently by Celestial0Scars

Wreck Me Gently

Celestial0Scars

LECTURAS 70
Votos 44
Partes 23
Hora 56m

LECTURAS 70
Votos 44
Partes 23
Hora 56m

Celestial0Scars

Contenido adulto

1 parte nueva

betrayal contemporary darkromance erotic forbidden lies mystery-thriller secrets slowburn spicy

She wasn't supposed to be here.
Not this deep in the woods.
Not inside his mansion.

But the storm had shattered the sky and her tire had blown out just past the bend, and now she was soaked to the skin, clutching the handle of a door that creaked open like it had been waiting for her.

And there he was.

Leaning against the banister, shadow cutting across his sharp jaw, sleeves rolled, chest bare under an open shirt, like temptation itself had built a body and breathed it to life.

"You're trespassing," he said lowly. Voice rough. Like gravel and sex.

Her breath caught. Not from fear-but from the way his eyes didn't blink. They devoured. Undressed. Possessed.

She should leave. She should run.

But instead, she stepped inside.

The air pulsed with heat and tension so thick it curled around her spine.
"Then arrest me," she whispered.

And he moved.Todos los derechos reservados

betrayal contemporary darkromance erotic forbidden lies mystery-thriller secrets slowburn spicy

23 partes

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Behind the Spotlight and the Shelves

Paris was never truly silent. Even at night, it breathed. Tires whispered over wet cobblestones, and the Seine hummed beneath its bridges like a secret lover. But inside the bookstore tucked between Rue des Martyrs and Rue Victor Massé, there was a different kind of hush. A reverent one. The hush of books. Of stories resting. And Blossom Purple belonged to that hush. She stood behind the counter, one hand on a stack of leather-bound journals, the other curled into the pocket of her cardigan like she was holding onto herself. Outside the wide glass windows, a line was already forming-fans, readers, curious souls with camera phones and tattered poetry books in hand. They were here for him. Taelyr King. The poet. The painter. The recluse. The man whose verses had seduced the world-and disappeared for three years without a trace. And now he was back. In her store. She wanted to scream. Or vanish. Or both. What none of them knew-what no one would ever know-was that she had once traced his words on her skin. That she had once stood in a crowd just like this, whispering his name in her mind like a sin. But that was before her mother died. Before the silence became her sanctuary. Before she built walls around herself so high, even her own voice couldn't climb out. She didn't need poetry anymore. She needed peace. Routine. Control. And then he walked in. A long black coat clinging to him like a shadow. Boots that echoed against the stone floor. Dark eyes that swept the store once and then-landed on her. Like a match striking dry wood. Her body went still. And in that one glance, she knew two things: He was nothing like the man she imagined. And he was everything she had been trying to forget.