Lust Behind Closed Doors
7.1 / 10.0
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Behind every locked door lies a secret... For Elena, it's the hunger she hides from her cold and distant husband. For Adrian, it's the forbidden desire he feels for the one woman he should never touch-his stepmother.
What begins as stolen glances and teasing remarks quickly spirals into something dangerous. Behind closed doors, guilt turns into obsession, lust turns into fire, and the line between right and wrong disappears.
But how long can they keep their dirty secret before it explodes, tearing the family apart?
A forbidden romance dripping with passion, danger, and irresistible temptation.
Lust Behind Closed Doors Chapter 1
The silence in the mansion was suffocating.
Elena leaned back against the plush headboard, her eyes fixed on the golden chandelier above her, its light casting soft glimmers over the expensive sheets. She shifted, the silk of her nightgown sliding up her thighs, exposing smooth skin. A sigh slipped past her lips, heavy with loneliness.
Down the hall, she knew her husband was locked away in his study, his voice probably raised on another late-night phone call. Richard had a way of making her feel like a beautiful ornament-something to look at, something to display, but never something to hold.
She pressed her palm against the empty side of the bed. Cold. Untouched.
The sharp crunch of tires on gravel outside startled her. Her head turned toward the window, and through the sheer curtains she saw the beams of headlights sweep across the driveway. A sleek black car rolled to a stop near the garage.
Her breath caught.
He was here.
Adrian.
Richard's son. Her stepson.
Elena hadn't seen him in nearly two years-not since he'd left for university. Back then he'd been lean, almost boyish, with too much restless energy and a sharp tongue he often turned on his father. She remembered his smirks, his careless charm, the occasional glint in his eyes when he looked at her in ways he shouldn't have.
Now, as the front door opened and his deep voice floated through the quiet house, she knew something was different.
Her bare feet whispered against the polished wood floor as she descended the sweeping staircase. She paused halfway down, her hand curling tightly around the banister, and her breath hitched.
The boy she remembered was gone.
Adrian stood in the foyer with the kind of presence that filled the space. Broad shoulders stretched his black shirt, his jeans hugged lean hips, and his tousled dark hair fell just enough to shadow his sharp jawline. A duffel bag hung from one strong arm, and when he lifted his head, his gaze locked with hers.
Elena's pulse stumbled.
"Hello, Elena," he said, his voice smooth and low, carrying an edge of something... dangerous.
Her lips parted. "Adrian. I didn't know you were coming tonight."
"Surprise," he drawled, his mouth curving into a slow smirk. His eyes slid over her-over the silk straps clinging to her shoulders, the soft dip of her neckline, the bare length of her legs. He didn't look away.
Heat flared in her chest. She tugged at the hem of her nightgown instinctively, guilt knotting inside her stomach. "You should have called. Your father-"
"-is busy in his study," Adrian finished, his smirk deepening. "Still married to his work, I see."
The truth stung more than it should have. Elena swallowed. "Yes. He... he didn't mention you were coming."
"I wanted to surprise him." Adrian set his bag down, straightened, and stepped closer. His scent drifted toward her-masculine, warm, with a faint trace of leather and musk. "And you."
Her throat tightened. "I'll, um... show you to your room."
She turned quickly, hoping to compose herself, but every step up the staircase seemed to echo. She was suddenly too aware of the way her hips swayed beneath the silk fabric, too aware of his eyes burning into her back as he followed.
When she reached the guest room, she pushed the door open, her hand lingering on the knob. "Here you are," she said softly, forcing a smile.
Adrian tossed his bag onto the bed without looking away from her. He leaned lazily against the post, his arms folding over his chest, muscles shifting beneath his shirt.
"You look nervous," he said.
Elena's laugh was shaky. "I'm not."
"Yes, you are." His eyes narrowed, sliding down her body slowly, deliberately. "What's wrong? Not happy to see me?"
Her lips parted. "Of course I am. I just-" She broke off, flustered.
Adrian tilted his head, his smirk fading into something sharper. "You weren't expecting me tonight, and yet..." His gaze flicked to her gown, lingering at her chest before dragging down the curve of her thighs. "...you came down to greet me like this."
Her face burned. She glanced down at herself and wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly aware of just how thin the silk was. "I wasn't dressed for company. I didn't know-"
"Don't apologize," he cut in smoothly. His voice dropped, rich and dark. "I like it."
Her breath caught.
The air between them thickened, the silence weighted with something unspoken. Elena's heart pounded so loudly she swore he could hear it. She should walk away. She should close the door and lock herself in her room.
But she didn't move.
Adrian pushed off the bedpost and stepped closer. He moved like a predator, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. Her back brushed the doorframe, and still he came closer, until his breath fanned against her cheek.
"Elena," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you miss it?"
Her chest rose sharply. "Miss what?"
"Being touched."
The words sliced through her. Heat rushed to her cheeks, but it was the ache blooming low in her belly that betrayed her. She wanted to deny it, to snap at him, to remind him of who she was to him.
But nothing came out.
A small, knowing smile tugged at his mouth. He leaned even closer, his lips grazing the shell of her ear without touching. "You don't have to answer. I can see it in your eyes."
Her knees weakened. A shiver ran through her entire body, her nipples tightening beneath the silk.
He pulled back slightly, enough for his gaze to lock with hers again. His eyes were dark, hungry, daring. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. She thought she might let him.
Then he stepped back.
"Goodnight, Elena," he said softly, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
He disappeared into the room, and the door clicked shut behind him.
Elena stumbled backward, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. Her pulse thundered. Her skin still burned where his breath had touched it, her thighs pressing together as though that would smother the sudden, shameful ache.
She had just stood inches from her stepson and felt more alive-more wanted-in those few minutes than she had in years of marriage.
And that terrified her more than anything.
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Lust Behind Closed Doors of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
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7.9
Allyson was the most hated actress in Hollywood, forced to wear a cheap, tearing gown after America's sweetheart, Joanne, stole her S-tier role.
During a red carpet disaster, Allyson tripped and fell—straight into the arms of the untouchable megastar, Byron Estes.
The internet exploded, accusing Allyson of faking the fall to seduce him. Drowning in bad press and desperate to pay her agency's termination fee, she signed a reality TV contract. She was forced to play the desperate, clingy villain, acting as a pathetic stepping stone for Joanne and Byron's highly anticipated on-screen romance.
"You could throw yourself at Byron a hundred times, and you'd still never make it into his bed," Joanne mocked.
What Joanne and the furious public didn't know was that three years ago, when Byron was in a horrific crash, Joanne had abandoned him. It was Allyson who stayed.
Even more absurd? Allyson and Byron were actually secretly married, bound by a multi-million dollar NDA.
Determined to play her villainous role and get paid, Allyson memorized a book of cringe-inducing pickup lines, ready to disgust her secret husband on live television.
"The stars are in the sky. But you... are in my heart."
She expected the ice-cold superstar to push her away in disgust. Instead, when another male guest got too close to her, Byron completely shattered his untouchable facade, his eyes burning with a lethal, undeniable possessiveness that sent the internet into absolute chaos.
8.5
Alexandrea woke up with a splitting headache in a strange hotel bed, terrified to find a brutally handsome, half-naked stranger beside her.
Before she could even scream, the door burst open. Her adoptive mother, Ivette, stormed in with a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.
"How could you disgrace our family name like this?"
Ivette sobbed, putting on a theatrical performance of a heartbroken mother. It was a setup to completely ruin Alexandrea's reputation in front of New York's elite.
For ten years, Alexandrea had lived in a house of horrors. Her back and arms were covered in silvery scars and puckered cigarette burns left by Ivette's vicious abuse.
Yet to the public, Ivette had carefully crafted Alexandrea's image as a wild, ungrateful, and manipulative liar.
Trapped under the duvet, Alexandrea was drowning in shame, her voice lost in the storm of accusations.
She didn't understand why her adoptive family hated her so much, treating her worse than a stray dog while using her brother's future to keep her chained.
But what she understood even less was the stranger beside her.
Instead of panicking, the man slowly sat up, his presence alone silencing the frantic room. He was Ace Griffith, the billionaire heir who owned half of Manhattan.
He wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling shoulders, looked Ivette dead in the eye, and dropped a bomb.
"I will be marrying her."
Then, he carried Alexandrea away from her ten-year prison, ordering his men to dig up the Terry family's darkest secrets and her true identity.
9.7
I am the Luna of the Blackwood Pack, but my Alpha mate, Ryker, has spent the last six years treating me like a placeholder while publicly pining for his ex, Faye.
When Faye's friends cornered my wolfless daughter and called her a defective embarrassment, I finally used my Luna authority to kick them out.
But instead of defending our child, Ryker stormed in and used his Alpha Command on me.
He forced me to my knees with his raw power, ordering me to apologize to the bullies who had just humiliated our daughter.
When I fought his crushing command and refused, his retaliation was swift and brutal.
He and his mother stripped me of my family's sacred heritage, the Moonpetal Grove, and gifted it to Faye as a reward.
They even tried to force a quack doctor on my daughter, telling me to just accept that she was broken.
The entire pack watched me lose everything, mocking me as the useless, rejected mate.
I had endured his coldness for years, but watching him sacrifice our daughter's safety and my family's legacy for his mistress was the final straw.
How could the Moon Goddess tie me to a man who would so easily destroy his own flesh and blood?
Instead of crying, I pulled out my mother's ancient grimoire and drafted a formal rejection of our mate bond.
And when a terrifyingly powerful, cloaked stranger suddenly appeared to save my daughter's life, carrying a familiar scent of ancient power, I knew my fate was changing.
This time, I wouldn't just walk away. I was going to burn their world to the ground.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.
7.5
I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance and cut ties with my family, all for my boyfriend of five years, Ignatz.
But just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant with our child, he dropped a bombshell.
He needed me to take the fall for his childhood sweetheart, Everleigh. She'd been in a hit-and-run, and her career couldn't handle the scandal.
When I refused and told him about our baby, his face went cold. He told me to terminate the pregnancy immediately.
"Everleigh is the woman I love," he said. "Finding out you're pregnant with my child would destroy her."
He had his assistant schedule the appointment and sent me to the clinic alone. There, the nurse told me the procedure carried a high risk of permanent infertility.
He knew. And he still sent me.
I walked out of that clinic, choosing to keep my child. At that exact moment, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a glowing article announcing that Ignatz and Everleigh were expecting their first child, complete with a photo of his hand resting protectively on her stomach.
My world shattered. Wiping away a tear, I found the number I hadn't called in five years.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm ready to come home."
9.7
Alya Harrell was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy Long Island family, treated worse than a stray dog in her own home. Tonight, her family finally found a use for her.
Her stepmother and half-sister, Chloe, forced her into a scandalous, plunging red dress. They were offering her as a bargaining chip to Warren Thorne, a ruthless, sleazy hedge fund manager known for collecting and discarding young girls.
Just to ensure her absolute humiliation, Chloe intentionally "tripped" and spilled a glass of red wine all over the silk dress.
"Now you'll have to wear that hideous little black thing you own," Chloe sneered, leaving Alya to face the high-society dinner looking like a beggar.
When Alya tried to escape Thorne's groping hands, her own father hunted her down. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back, and raised his hand to strike her for embarrassing the family.
She was nothing but a pawn to them, a cheap product to be sold and abused for their financial gain. Alya's heart turned cold as she realized her blood relatives would gladly destroy her just to secure a lucrative business deal.
But when she was sent to the cellar to fetch a $50,000 vintage wine for their billionaire VIP guest, Alya caught her perfect sister hooking up with a personal trainer next to the priceless bottle.
Quietly stealing the vintage wine and burying it in the garden dirt, Alya returned to the ballroom with a dangerous smile.
"I think I saw Chloe carrying a bottle down to the cellar," she told her furious father and the VIP, leading them straight toward the trap that would completely ruin her sister's perfect life.
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