La Guerrera Capitulo 8 Novels & Stories

"Move back to your seat." I said, voice rough. "I don't want to.” She whined, placing both hands on my chest before shifting slightly on my lap. My breath caught, then she did it again. Blood rushed straight to my groin instantly. I gripped her thighs, trying to keep her still. "Stop moving," I gritted out. She blinked up at me with flushed cheeks."How…? she asked softly. Before I could answer, she moved again. My body tensed up. What the hell was I supposed to do with this girl? "I want to... hmm..." She shifted again. "I feel so hot down here. Please… touch me.” she begged in a soft whisper, face squeezed with pain and pleasure. I perceived the sweet scent of her arousal and I lost it. My hands gripped her hips as I pulled her forward, rubbing her pussy against my bulge. I stifled back a groan. “Fuck… again.” She breathed. *** Ariana's relationship ends when she catches her boyfriend cheating on her. Heartbroken, she goes to a club to forget, gets drunk, and ends up getting intimate with a stranger. The next morning, she walks into her first class expecting nothing more than a normal lecture—until she comes face to face with her new hot professor. Thiago De La Cruz. The same man she spent the night with. Ariana assumes her academic life is over, expecting punishment or failure. But Thiago doesn’t expose her. He keeps her close. What starts as a mistake turns a secret affair behind closed doors—one neither of them is willing to stop. Then Ariana discovers Thiago lives in the apartment right next to hers. And just when she thinks things can’t get more complicated, her ex returns, asking for another chance. Only this time, her ex is Thiago's brother.

I was born with a built-in fortune system. Whenever I'm happy, everyone around me makes money. To keep me in a good mood, my billionaire father takes me out on adventures every single day, showering me with limited-edition sneakers, private yacht charters, and one-of-a-kind luxury items. It all comes down to one thing: the Connolly Group's luck is tied directly to my emotional state. As long as I'm laughing hard enough to snort, the stock price climbs and the money pours in. The moment my mood tanks, the losses start. At worst, the whole thing goes bankrupt. Take last month. One of the cleaning staff accidentally tossed out half a macaron I'd left sitting on the counter, and I was mildly annoyed for about a second. The next day, the Connolly Group's West Coast division posted a hundred-million-dollar loss. Dad spent the entire night buying up ten gourmet bakeries and terminating the cleaning company's contract just to smooth things over. After that, nobody in Manhattan's upper-crust social scene dared so much as look at me sideways. That was, until Dad flew out to Los Angeles on business, and Isabella, the long-lost biological daughter who'd just been found, walked into my room. "You've been leeching off this family for years," she said, looking down at me with pure contempt. "Did you actually think draining the Connolly name dry made you the real heiress? I'm the one with Connolly blood. Now that I'm back, it's time for you to crawl out of my house." I didn't react. She picked up the black coffee sitting nearby and poured it straight onto my keyboard. I watched the screen go dark, and something hollow opened up in my chest. "Get on your knees and clean it up." I wiped the coffee off my face. The air had gone cold. The Connolly Group was about to implode, and I found myself wondering whether Dad, thousands of miles away in LA, was already reaching for his heart medication as he watched billions evaporate off the ticker.