LOGINIsabella pushed open the door to the private studio at the back of the arts building, the one professors used when they didn’t want anybody barging in. It was almost midnight. The rest of the campus had gone dark and quiet except for a couple of security lights outside. She’d gotten the text from Professor Voss two hours ago: *Critique on your figure series. Tonight. Bring the new pieces.* Rafaels was already there, sleeves rolled up on his black button-down, paint stains on his jeans like he’d been working on something personal. Mid-thirties, intense dark eyes, messy hair that always looked like he’d run his hands through it too many times. He had this way of looking at your work, and at you, that made it feel like he was peeling back layers whether you wanted him to or not. “You’re late,” he said, not looking up from the canvas he was studying under the track lights. “Had to finish the last sketch.” Isabella set her portfolio down and started pulling out the big charcoal d
Claire’s wipers were doing shit-all against the sleet coming down sideways as she pulled up to the address Professor Sawyer had texted her. His house sat back from the road, lights glowing warm in the windows like it was trying to pretend everything was normal. She killed the engine and sat there a second, gripping the steering wheel. Emergency tutorial on her ethics paper at his place. At 9:30 at night. This was already a bad idea, but her grade was tanking and the deadline was breathing down her neck. She grabbed her bag and dashed up the porch steps. Reid Sawyer opened the door before she could knock. Tall, broad in a gray sweater and jeans, sleeves pushed up like always. The scar on his forearm caught the porch light. He looked tired but still wired(as usual) “Get in before you drown,” he said, stepping aside. His voice had that low rumble that always made the lecture hall go quiet. Inside smelled like woodsmoke and coffee. Books everywhere;shelves lining the walls, stacks
Sofia Reyes killed the engine of her rented Jeep outside the dusty warehouse on the edge of the port city, notebook crammed in her back pocket, camera slung across her chest. Six months chasing this story had taken her from quiet mountain roads to flashy nightclubs to lonely beach towns. Women vanishing. No bodies. No clear pattern at first. But the deeper she dug, the clearer it got and all of them had been restless, bored, aching for something sharper than their safe little lives. Elena from the parking garage. Harper from the trails. Valentina from the club. Camila from the diner. Leila from that resort cove. All gone. All... changed, according to the few whispers she’d caught. She slipped inside the side door, heart hammering. The place smelled like salt and rust and old machinery. A single bulb swung overhead. “You shouldn’t be here.” The voice came from the shadows. Deep calm 'n very much dangerous. Sofia spun around and there he was —lean muscles under a black shirt, tall
The chemistry building was a ghost town after 10 p.m. Sophie’s sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as she pushed open the heavy lab door. The overhead lights were off, just the glow of a few emergency strips and the green exit signs. Dr. Elena Voss had emailed her at 8:47: *Lab 312. Bring your notes on reaction kinetics. Don’t be late.* Elena stood at the central bench in a white lab coat over a fitted black blouse and pencil skirt, hair twisted up in a messy knot with a pencil stuck through it. Late thirties, sharp cheekbones, full mouth that rarely smiled in lectures. She was the department’s hardest grader and the one everyone whispered about, was brilliant, cold, and off-limits. “Lock the door behind you,” Elena said without turning around. Her voice was crisp and authoritative. “Security sweeps at midnight. We don’t need interruptions.” Sophie clicked the deadbolt. The sound felt loud“Thanks for doing this, Professor Voss. My kinetics scores are tanking and finals are—” “
Tess wiped down the scarred oak bar with a rag that had seen better days, the jukebox humming low with some old Johnny Cash song. The Last Stop sat right where the county road met the state highway—half bar, half truck stop, all dust and neon. Neon beer signs buzzed in the windows, and the parking lot was half-full with pickups, big rigs, and a couple of beat-up motorcycles. Friday night meant the usual crowd: locals blowing off steam, truckers passing through, and the occasional drifter looking for trouble or a cold one. She owned the place with her uncle, but he mostly played cards in the back these days. Tess ran it. Short denim cutoffs, black tank top, scuffed boots, and a no-bullshit attitude that kept hands from wandering too far. Until tonight. He walked in around ten, ducking under the low doorframe. Tall, broad, dusty black cowboy hat pulled low. Dark stubble, sharp green eyes, a faded denim shirt stretched across shoulders that looked like they hauled fence posts and
Claire slammed the door of the rented Jeep harder than necessary, mud splattering her boots. The logging camp sat deep in the national forest edge—half a dozen bunkhouses, heavy equipment parked in rows like sleeping beasts, and the constant whine of chainsaws echoing through the pines. She was here to negotiate. The company wanted to clear-cut another two hundred acres. Her environmental group wanted them to fuck off. Reid Sawyer was waiting by the main office shack, arms crossed over a chest that strained his faded Carhartt shirt. Foreman. Late thirties. Tall, rangy, with a scruffy jaw and eyes the color of worn denim. Sawdust clung to his sleeves and the brim of his hard hat. “You the tree-hugger lawyer?” he asked, voice low and edged. “Environmental negotiator,” Claire corrected, lifting her chin. “Claire Mercer. We have a meeting.” Reid’s mouth twitched. “Meeting’s in the woods. Come on. I’ll show you what we actually do out here.” He didn’t wait for her to follow. Ju
Trisha barely slept the next day. She kept waking up thinking about Bruno’s hands on her, and the way he’d slammed against the mesh and his thick cock pushing into her. The extreme wrongness of it making her wetter. Every time she closed her eyes she got wet again. By the time her next night shif
******WARNING: THIS CONTENT MAY APPEAR DISTURBING TO SOME VIEWERS - YOU'VE BEEN WARNED 😈 - CONTINUE IF YOU DARE.****** ******** Trisha wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and glanced at her watch. 11:47 p.m. The zoo had been closed for hours, and the only sounds left we
The vampire lord’s mansion sat heavy in the hills outside the city, all black stone and iron gates that kept screams inside. Tonight the velvet curtains were drawn tight, candles dripping wax onto the floor, and the air stank with the scent of blood. Elara the witch lounged in a high-backed cha
Serena knew she’d fucked up the second she crossed the pack border. She was a rogue wolf, banished from her own clan three months ago after she killed the mate of a high-ranking enforcer in a blind rage. Word traveled fast in their world. Now every pack in the region had her scent marked as tr







