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홈 / Romance / Mummies and their Badboys / The Wedding Crasher: 3

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The Wedding Crasher: 3

작가: Liah🥰
last update 게시일: 2026-07-31 18:10:18

Vows and the Connecting Door💦🫦😜

“Victoria…?”

My fiancé’s fingers stayed between my legs, touching the wetness Roman had left. His eyes searched my face. The sheet had slipped. I was naked underneath it. The diamond on my hand felt heavier than it ever had.

I opened my mouth. Nothing useful came out.

The connecting door opened.

Roman stepped through like he belonged there. Leather jacket gone. Shirt half-unbuttoned. He looked at his father’s hand still resting on my thigh and smiled without a
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  • Mummies and their Badboys   Control Room After Midnight: 1

    Muted and On Your Knees🫦💧“On your knees under the console.”Ash dropped without a word. Twenty-five. Dark hair still damp from the late session. The black hoodie hung open over a faded band shirt. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. He had a record for boosting gear and a reputation for hands that could fix a board or break a jaw depending on the night. I hired him anyway. People with his ears were useful when the mix needed to stay clean and the clients needed to stay out of the control room after midnight.I leaned back in the producer’s chair, the hem of my skirt already lifted. The only light came from the soft blue of the monitor screens and the red glow of the recording light that I had left on for the atmosphere. Outside the double glass, the live room was dark and empty. The last of the session players had left an hour ago. The building’s night system hummed through the walls.“Mouth only,” I said. “You do not touch yourself. You do not rush. You make it last until I

  • Mummies and their Badboys   On-Call After Midnight: 4

    Morning Handoff🫦💦The leave of absence became permanent on a Tuesday.I read the board memo in the attending lounge between cases, coffee gone cold in my hand. Daniel Voss had resigned his seat effective immediately, citing personal reasons. Counsel’s investigation was marked closed with no further action recommended against the hospital. The voluntary security notice had satisfied the medical staff office. No names beyond the investigator’s had appeared in any external communication. The attendings who still nodded to me in the hallway did so with the same distracted professionalism as before. Nothing in the air had changed except the quiet knowledge that the cameras above the sink and in Room 412 would never come back online without my signature.Cole found me in the on-call room at 12:50 a.m. three nights later. He locked the door without being told, set his badge on the metal side table, and waited.“Board’s clean,” he said. “No pending reads. Charge nurse is on the far wing for

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    Three A.M. Stairwell💦💧Cole covered the distance in four silent steps.He locked an arm around the man’s throat and dragged him backward into the blind behind the linen carts before a shout could form. The camera bag hit the linoleum with a soft thud. I stepped out, picked it up, and opened it under the low service light. Another recorder. A spare lens. A folded printout of stills from the on-call room, my hand in Cole’s hair, his mouth between my thighs, the timestamp from the night before.Marcus Hale. Medium height. Dark jacket. The same careful face that had walked the hospital once last spring under the pretext of advising on after-hours security audits. He had stayed until the last trauma bay went quiet. He had always been polite.Cole eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.“You’re done,” I said. “The on-site units are gone. The SIMs are gone. You will delete every off-site copy while we watch. Then you will sign a statement that you conducted illegal surveillance

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    Eleven P.M. Studio💦💧Jax covered the distance in four silent steps.He locked an arm around the man’s throat and dragged him backward into the blind behind the instrument cabinets before a shout could form. The camera bag hit the carpet with a soft thud. I stepped out, picked it up, and opened it under the low hallway light. Another recorder. A spare lens. A folded printout of stills from the practice room, my hand in Jax’s hair, his mouth between my thighs, the timestamp from the night before.Marcus Hale. Medium height. Dark jacket. The same careful face that had walked the conservatory once last spring under the pretext of advising on acoustic monitoring. He had stayed until the last practice room went dark. He had always been polite.Jax eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.“You’re done,” I said. “The on-site units are gone. The SIMs are gone. You will delete every off-site copy while we watch. Then you will sign a statement that you conducted illegal surveillance

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