for a high intelligence, private security company, I’ve seen my fair share of
death, betrayal, and pain.
only my brothers, and my best friend.
like that. Everything changed the day my parents died and my nation was
comes first. Work is my mistress.
into my life.
tanned legs, and honey eyes that make me weak.
to walk away from her?
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compared to Harrison Everhart wearing a suit. His tall, broad, body wrapped in
a dark gray is a site I want to photograph, frame and stare at it forever. He’s
the type of man who behaves differently depending on the place and time. For
the past five hours, we chatted pleasantly about our families. Nothing too
superficial but nothing too intimate, either. If I had time to date, he’d be
the kind of man I’d choose. Easy to talk to, funny, and a gentleman.
with my friends. Which lately it’s been never. Maybe I have time, but I don’t
want to waste it by doing the same thing over and over again. Meeting a guy who
has little social skills, only talks about himself, and by the end of the date
is the only one who is satisfied isn’t great. I have my little friendly toys
that to do a better job and I don’t have to listen to nonsense.
my psychology degree, go into anthropology or sociology. I would enjoy doing
that more than having to jump through hoops to show that I’m capable of more
things than my superiors like to acknowledge. If anything, I can write a book
with Mom’s letters and notes.
touch me. Your deep voice makes me shiver, and dancing in your arms was a bit
torturous because everything inside me wanted you to touch more than my bare
shoulders and my waist. But yeah, I’m cool.
I’d like to find out how my fake future boyfriend kisses. “Gia wasn’t there
together.’” He grins, his blue-crystal eyes shining with the post light.
little fun on the side, some sexy times. Sex. I haven’t had that in a long
time. So long that I can only remember what my toys can do for me. But I care.
He’s a distraction. Each time he smirks, touches me or talks with the
low-bedroom voice I want to jump him. That’s not only unprofessional but also
leans forward, kissing my cheek. His lips lingering close to my ear for one too
many seconds. His musk-wood scent making my stomach flutter.
discuss our next move tomorrow.”
mine. His eyes darken, the intensity of that gaze makes me feel vulnerable, bare. I imagine my skin searing with the touch of his big hands. As the doors close, my phone rings. An incoming message. Unknown number reads the screen.
caffeine-injected soap opera.
She lives in Colorado working for a small IT company, managing her household
filled with three confused dogs, her geek husband, two daughters wrought with
fandoms and a son who thinks he’s the boss of the house. To survive she works
continually to find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she
consumes high quantities of chocolate to keep the last threads of sanity