FAZER LOGINEmma woke to the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped heavy across her waist and warm breath tickling the back of her neck. Sunlight cut through the blinds in thin stripes across her purple sheets. Blake was still there—naked, one leg tangled with hers, his morning wood pressed thick and insistent against the curve of her ass like it had a mind of its own.She shifted, and he stirred, pulling her closer without opening his eyes. “Don’t move yet,” he mumbled, voice gravel-rough from sleep. “Feels too good.”Her heart did a stupid little flip. Last night’s threat from his dad still sat in her chest like a rock, but waking up like this—Blake in her bed, no rush to leave, no hiding—made the rock feel smaller. She reached back, wrapped her fingers around his cock, and stroked slow, base to tip, feeling him thicken even more.Blake groaned, hips rocking forward into her fist. “Your mum is going kill me.”Emma twisted in his arms, pushed him onto his back, and straddled him. Her heavy breas
Emma’s phone stayed dark after Blake’s last message, but her stomach didn’t settle. She paced her small bedroom, the one with the faded purple walls and the desk buried under half-finished history notes. Her mom was pulling a double at the hospital—again—so the house was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge downstairs. Sarah had already called twice, demanding details on the text from Blake Caldwell. Emma had sent her a screenshot and a quick “Blake’s coming over, I’ll update later” before muting her notifications.At 9:47 her doorbell rang. She froze at the top of the stairs, heart slamming. Blake stood on the porch in a black hoodie and jeans, hair damp from a quick shower after practice, looking less like the untouchable rich kid and more like a guy who’d driven across town because he had to.She opened the door without turning on the porch light. “You didn’t have to come tonight.”“Yeah, I did.” He stepped inside, kicked his shoes off like he’d done it a hundred times b
Thursday morning felt like walking a tightrope. Emma stood in front of her mirror again, this time in a plain black tank top and her favorite high-waisted jeans—the ones that made her ass look round and her waist soft without trying too hard. No hiding today. Blake had said lunch table, no hiding. Her stomach was in knots anyway.Sarah picked her up, took one look at the outfit, and nodded. “You look hot. Like, ‘I dare you to say shit’ hot. If he chickens out at lunch, I’m spilling his protein shake on his lap.”Emma laughed, but it came out nervous. “He won’t. He kissed my neck in the hall yesterday like he meant it. Small stuff, but… it’s new.”School buzzed the second they walked in. Madison had clearly been busy—fresh Instagram story this morning: a screenshot of Blake’s Rover in the lot with the caption “Some people forget who their real friends are.” Comments were a mess of fire emojis and whale jokes aimed at Emma. She scrolled once, then shoved her phone in her bag.Blake c
Wednesday started with Emma staring at the green sweater in her closet like it was a loaded gun. It was soft, clingy, the kind that dipped low between her breasts and stretched tight across her stomach and hips. Blake had asked for it. She hated how much that made her want to wear it anyway.She pulled it on, paired it with dark jeans that actually fit her ass without pinching, and stood in front of the mirror. The fabric hugged every curve—her full tits, the soft roll at her waist, the wide flare of her hips. Normally she’d layer a jacket to hide. Today she left it off. If he wanted to stare, let him stare.Sarah picked her up at 7:20, took one look, and groaned. “You’re testing him. Either way, I brought backup concealer and my pepper spray keychain. Use both if needed.”Emma laughed, but it felt shaky. “He promised one week.”" Girl, I thought this was a short time hate-pay-back thing? Why are you testing yourself?”" I'm not.”“Girl…” Sarah said, squeezing her knee. “But if he
Tuesday morning poured rain like the sky was pissed at everyone. Emma sat in Sarah’s passenger seat, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, staring at the wipers slapping back and forth. Her thighs still carried faint fingerprint bruises from the equipment shed; every shift in the seat made her remember Blake’s grip.Sarah didn’t even wait for the engine to warm up. “I’m not playing this game anymore, Em. You’re glowing like you got railed again and I know it’s him. Madison’s telling everyone you blew some senior in the shed yesterday. She’s got a blurry pic of someone’s back that could be anybody, but she’s tagging you in the comments.”Emma’s stomach dropped. “It’s not even clear. And I didn’t blow anyone—I got fucked, there’s a difference.”Sarah slammed the brakes at a red light harder than necessary. “Listen to yourself. You’re defending the guy who treats you like a booty call between cheerleader warm-ups. You’re plus-size, yeah, and hot as hell, but he’s still the billionaire’
Monday hit like a hangover. Emma’s alarm screamed at 6:45 and she dragged herself out of bed with thighs that still ached in the best-worst way. The bite mark on her shoulder had turned a deep purple overnight so she covered it with a hoodie and extra concealer, but the second she walked into Ridgeview’s front doors she felt eyes on her. Whispers. A couple football guys smirked behind their hands.Sarah was waiting at the locker, purple backpack slung low. “Okay, spill. You vanished Friday night, my texts went to read, and now you look like you got mauled by a bear. Was it him?”Emma shoved her trig book in, slammed the metal door. “Basement. Quick, dirty, and he still made me leave first. Then Madison called me a whale in front of thirty people. I clapped back. Blake watched the whole thing and said nothing.”Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck, you went back for more? Em, this isn’t hate anymore. This is self-harm with a six-pack.”“I know.” Emma’s voice cracked just a little. “I hate
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Elena's world had transformed into a haze of secret thrills and calculated moves since confirming her pregnancy. The tiny life growing inside her—Victor's child, not Marcus's—was the ultimate weapon in her arsenal of revenge. She cradled her still-flat belly in the mirror each morning, a sly smil
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