2025-12-26 00:12:25
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EARLY MORNING HEAT
CHAPTER 175 — EARLY MORNING HEATPatrick’s forehead was still pressed to hers, breath ragged, eyes locked.“Time to eat that pussy.”The words rumbled against her lips like a promise he’d waited years to keep.Joyce’s whole body lit up. A fresh wave of heat flooded her core, making her clit throb all over again. She was already soaked, swollen, aching from the orgasm he’d just ripped out of her, but hearing him say it—raw, filthy, unfiltered—made her want more. So much more.She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugged hard enough to make him groan. “Then stop talking and do it.”Patrick’s smirk was pure sin. He kissed her once—deep, dirty, tongue fucking her mouth the way she knew he was about to fuck the rest of her—then slid down her body slow enough to make her squirm.He settled between her thighs again, broad shoulders forcing her legs wider. His big hands hooked under her knees, pushing them back until she was completely open, exposed, dripping for him.“Fuck, look at you,
NO TURNING BACK
CHAPTER 174 — NO TURNING BACKPatrick’s words hit the air like a match struck in the dark.“Give me that pussy.”Joyce’s breath caught—sharp, audible. Her eyes locked on his, wide and dark, pupils blown. For a second neither moved. The room felt smaller, hotter, the low lamp casting shadows that danced across his face, across the hard line of his shoulders.Then she smiled.Slow. Wicked. A little drunk on tequila and adrenaline and the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world worth wrecking everything for.She pushed up on her knees, dress riding higher on her thighs, and reached for his belt.Patrick’s hand caught her wrist—not stopping, just holding. His thumb brushed over her pulse point, feeling how fast it raced.“You sure?” he asked, voice gravel-rough, eyes searching hers.Joyce leaned in until her lips brushed his ear. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”That was all he needed.He let go of her wrist and she went to work—fingers quick on his belt
LINES CROSSED
CHAPTER 173 — LINES CROSSEDPatrick’s words hung in the dim room like smoke.“Go back to sleep, Joyce.”He turned away too fast, hand already on the door to pull it shut. His pulse hammered in his throat—hard, stupid, loud. He needed distance. Needed cold air. Needed to remember every reason this was a bad idea.He made it three steps down the hall before he stopped.The quiet pressed in. The low crackle of the fireplace somewhere far off. The city humming beyond the windows. And underneath it all, the memory of her voice—sleepy, teasing, dangerous.You know looking at someone sleeping is creepy.She hadn’t sounded mad. Hadn’t sounded scared.She’d sounded like she was playing.And Patrick Tillman didn’t lose games he started.He dragged a hand over his face, muttered a low curse under his breath.He should keep walking.He should pour a drink, lock his door, pretend tomorrow never happened.Instead, he turned around.The guest room door was still cracked, soft light spilling out. He
GUEST ROOM, MIDNIGHT
CHAPTER 172 — GUEST ROOM, MIDNIGHTThe drive was quiet in a way Joyce hadn’t expected.No radio. No pointless conversation. Just the low hum of the engine and the soft sweep of windshield wipers as a light drizzle began to fall sometime after they left the bar. City lights blurred past the tinted windows, stretching into streaks of red and white that melted together the longer she stared.Joyce leaned her head against the cool glass, coat pulled tight around her body. The tequila had settled into a warm, heavy haze—enough to dull the sharp edges of the night, not enough to knock her out. Her thoughts felt slower now, less jagged. Less painful.Patrick sat beside her, not too close. One arm rested against the door, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, like he was deliberately giving her space. Not filling the silence. Not pushing.She glanced at him once, quietly.His profile was sharp in the passing lights—jaw set, brows drawn just enough to suggest he wasn’t as relaxed as he pretended t
WRONG TURNS AND RIGHT CARS
CHAPTER 171 — WRONG TURNS AND RIGHT CARSJoyce’s head snapped sideways so fast her loose hair whipped across her cheek.Patrick Tillman.Of course it was him.Leaning against the bar like he owned the place, one elbow propped casually on the counter, the other hand wrapped around a half-empty whiskey glass. His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loosened just enough to look effortlessly undone. Those green eyes locked on her—sharp, unreadable, carrying that familiar glint that always made her want to either punch him or walk away.Usually both.She groaned, loud enough for him to hear. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just tilted his head a fraction. “Small city.”“Not small enough,” she muttered, turning back to her drink. She downed what was left in one burning swallow, then tapped the empty glass against the bar. “Another.”The bartender hesitated, flicked a glance at Patrick, then poured anyway.Patrick slid onto the stool beside h
THE BAR ON 5TH
CHAPTER 170 — THE BAR ON 5THA Brief Flashback — Joyce, All This WhileJoyce didn’t remember grabbing her coat.One minute she was sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, palms pressed hard to her eyes like she could physically shove the tears back where they came from. The room still smelled faintly of her perfume and the vanilla candle Lola had once borrowed without asking. Everything felt too personal. Too loud, even in silence.Then something in her snapped—not loudly, not dramatically. Just a quiet click. Like a switch being flipped.She stood.Her body moved before her thoughts could argue. Closet door open. Black trench pulled from the hanger. Not the elegant one meant for galas—the practical one. Heavy. Anonymous. She shoved her feet into flat boots instead of the heels still abandoned by the door, grabbed her purse, her phone, keys. No checking the mirror. No fixing the loose pins in her hair. The girl staring back at her would only slow her down.She needed out.
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