LOGINSofia’s head was still ringing from the sack they’d thrown over it when the van finally stopped. Her wrists burned from the zip ties cutting into her skin. She’d screamed herself raw in the back, kicking at the metal walls until her bare feet were bruised. It didn’t matter. Her boyfriend, that stupid fuck, had thought he could skim a couple kilos from the Vargas cartel and get away with it. Now she was the one paying. The door slid open and rough hands yanked her out into the humid night air. She caught a glimpse of jungle trees and concrete buildings before they dragged her inside a big house that smelled like cigar smoke and gun oil. The men didn’t speak much. One of them, a short guy with a scar across his cheek, shoved her down a hallway and into a large bedroom. “Boss’ll be here soon,” he grunted, then locked the door behind him. Sofia scrambled to her feet, heart hammering. The room was nicer than she expected, had big wooden bed, heavy furniture, a ceiling fan spinning
Harper’s boots sank into the mud with every step, the trail turning into a sloppy mess after three days of rain. She’d come out here to clear her head, get away from the city noise and her asshole ex blowing up her phone. The pack felt heavier than it should on her shoulders, but the quiet was worth it. Or it was, until the woods went too quiet. She heard the twig snap behind her a second too late. A heavy arm hooked around her waist and a big, rough hand slapped over her mouth. She dropped her walking stick and tried to scream, thrashing hard, elbow jamming back into solid muscle. The guy grunted but didn’t let go. He smelled like pine and woodsmoke and sweat. “Easy, girl,” he muttered low against her ear, voice gravelly. “You’re done hiking for a while.” She bit his hand. He cursed and spun her around, shoving a cloth over her face that smelled sweet and chemical. Everything went fuzzy fast. When she came to, her wrists were tied in front of her with rope that wasn’t to
Isabella pushed open the door to the private studio at the back of the arts building, the one professors used when they didn’t want anybody barging in. It was almost midnight. The rest of the campus had gone dark and quiet except for a couple of security lights outside. She’d gotten the text from Professor Voss two hours ago: *Critique on your figure series. Tonight. Bring the new pieces.* Rafaels was already there, sleeves rolled up on his black button-down, paint stains on his jeans like he’d been working on something personal. Mid-thirties, intense dark eyes, messy hair that always looked like he’d run his hands through it too many times. He had this way of looking at your work, and at you, that made it feel like he was peeling back layers whether you wanted him to or not. “You’re late,” he said, not looking up from the canvas he was studying under the track lights. “Had to finish the last sketch.” Isabella set her portfolio down and started pulling out the big charcoal d
Claire’s wipers were doing shit-all against the sleet coming down sideways as she pulled up to the address Professor Sawyer had texted her. His house sat back from the road, lights glowing warm in the windows like it was trying to pretend everything was normal. She killed the engine and sat there a second, gripping the steering wheel. Emergency tutorial on her ethics paper at his place. At 9:30 at night. This was already a bad idea, but her grade was tanking and the deadline was breathing down her neck. She grabbed her bag and dashed up the porch steps. Reid Sawyer opened the door before she could knock. Tall, broad in a gray sweater and jeans, sleeves pushed up like always. The scar on his forearm caught the porch light. He looked tired but still wired(as usual) “Get in before you drown,” he said, stepping aside. His voice had that low rumble that always made the lecture hall go quiet. Inside smelled like woodsmoke and coffee. Books everywhere;shelves lining the walls, stacks
Sofia Reyes killed the engine of her rented Jeep outside the dusty warehouse on the edge of the port city, notebook crammed in her back pocket, camera slung across her chest. Six months chasing this story had taken her from quiet mountain roads to flashy nightclubs to lonely beach towns. Women vanishing. No bodies. No clear pattern at first. But the deeper she dug, the clearer it got and all of them had been restless, bored, aching for something sharper than their safe little lives. Elena from the parking garage. Harper from the trails. Valentina from the club. Camila from the diner. Leila from that resort cove. All gone. All... changed, according to the few whispers she’d caught. She slipped inside the side door, heart hammering. The place smelled like salt and rust and old machinery. A single bulb swung overhead. “You shouldn’t be here.” The voice came from the shadows. Deep calm 'n very much dangerous. Sofia spun around and there he was —lean muscles under a black shirt, tall
The chemistry building was a ghost town after 10 p.m. Sophie’s sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as she pushed open the heavy lab door. The overhead lights were off, just the glow of a few emergency strips and the green exit signs. Dr. Elena Voss had emailed her at 8:47: *Lab 312. Bring your notes on reaction kinetics. Don’t be late.* Elena stood at the central bench in a white lab coat over a fitted black blouse and pencil skirt, hair twisted up in a messy knot with a pencil stuck through it. Late thirties, sharp cheekbones, full mouth that rarely smiled in lectures. She was the department’s hardest grader and the one everyone whispered about, was brilliant, cold, and off-limits. “Lock the door behind you,” Elena said without turning around. Her voice was crisp and authoritative. “Security sweeps at midnight. We don’t need interruptions.” Sophie clicked the deadbolt. The sound felt loud“Thanks for doing this, Professor Voss. My kinetics scores are tanking and finals are—” “
The bottle was almost empty by the time I parked crookedly in front of my aunt and uncle’s house. It was past 2:30 a.m. I made sure I came this time. My eyes were swollen from crying, mascara streaked down my cheeks I got out the car My wedding ring felt like it was burning a hole in my finger
(Emma's POV) I pulled into the driveway a little after eleven, the Uber dropping me off early because the training session had wrapped up sooner than expected. I was exhausted but excited, I couldn’t wait to surprise Ethan. Four days away felt like forever, especially so soon after the wedding. I
Ethan’s hands were shaking as he shoved my shorts and panties down my thighs in one rough motion. I kicked them off the rest of the way, and my soaked pussy now completely bare and dripping onto the couch cushion. He looked down at me like he was starving to just sink in. “Fuck, Lila… you’re so
I didn’t pull my hands away. Instead, I let my palms glide slower, deeper and firmer, pressing into the thick muscle of his shoulders with deliberate, sensual strokes. My thumbs traced the line of his trapezius, then dipped lower along his spine, feeling every ridge and knot melt under my touch.







