All Chapters of Mummies and their Badboys: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Press Line and Private Victory💧💦😜“There you are. I was looking for that tablet. Ready to go celebrate, baby?”My husband smiled at me in the concrete hallway under the bleachers, headset still looped around his neck, the championship glow still bright on his face. Sweat and grass stains marked his polo. I held the tablet against my chest like a shield. Roman’s cum was already sliding down my inner thigh under the skirt in a warm, slow trail. My legs felt unsteady. The equipment room door stayed closed behind me, Roman still on the other side of it counting the sixty seconds he had promised.“Got it,” I said. My voice sounded almost normal, almost like the woman who had stood on the sidelines all season with a polite smile. “It was on the shelf like always. Behind the spare cones.”He kissed my cheek, quick and public, the way he always did when staff or players might be watching. “Media’s wrapping up. Roman still missing? They want the quarterback for one last quote.”“Haven’t see

Engine Failure, Open Road💦🫦😜The engine died with a cough and a long, defeated sigh.I steered the car onto the gravel shoulder while it still had enough momentum, headlights cutting weak yellow cones through the dark. Rain tapped the windshield in uneven rhythms. The dashboard lights flickered once and went black—no cell service. The last bar had disappeared ten miles back. Route 9 at 11:40 p.m. was nothing but blacktop, pine trees, and the kind of quiet that made you hear your own pulse.I tried the key three times. Nothing. Not even a click.“Perfect,” I muttered to the empty passenger seat. “Just perfect.”A pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, slow and deliberate. They pulled in behind me. I locked the doors on instinct. The rain thickened. A figure stepped out of the other vehicle, tall, hooded, flashlight beam swinging low. He walked up to my window and tapped twice with a knuckle.I cracked it two inches. Rain slipped in.“You all right, ma’am?”Young voice.

Red and Blue on Route 9💧💦🫦“Whatever happens next, you don’t know me. You never saw me before tonight. Understand?”Cole’s voice was low and steady, but his hands had gone tight on the steering wheel. Red and blue light washed across the wet asphalt and through the windshield of the truck in slow, rotating sweeps. The state trooper cruiser rolled under the gas-station canopy and stopped ten yards behind us, engine idling, spotlight sweeping once over both vehicles before settling on Cole’s license plate.I buttoned my jeans with fingers that still trembled and smoothed my hair. Cum was still slick between my thighs. The cab smelled like sex and rain and motor oil. I locked it down behind my face the way I used to lock things down in a marriage that had stopped feeling like home years ago.The trooper stepped out, tall, raincoat shiny under the canopy light, hand resting near his belt. He approached Cole’s window first. Cole rolled it down. Rain misted in.“Evening,” the trooper sai

Spare Key and Stolen Minutes💦🫦The key turned in the lock with a soft, metallic click.I yanked my sweater down over my bare breasts and shoved my panties into the pocket of my skirt just as the front door swung open. Rain blew in with the man under the black umbrella. Ash had already stepped back behind the tall poetry shelf, out of the direct line of sight from the entrance. The counter still smelled like us. A faint wet spot darkened the wood where he had left me.“Nora.” Richard shook the umbrella out onto the mat, then closed the door behind him. “I saw the lights. Figured you were still finishing up. I brought the last box of partnership files from the storage unit. Thought we could sort them tonight and finally close the account.”He set a cardboard box on the nearest display table. Water dripped from his coat onto the hardwood. He was fifty-four, neat, the same careful man who had helped my husband build the side business that never quite took off. He still had the spare key

Caught in the Act💧🫦💦“On your knees. Now.”I stood in the doorway of my own living room with the baseball bat resting against my shoulder. The alarm was still shrieking upstairs. The sliding glass door to the patio hung open, rain blowing in across the hardwood. And the boy who had just tried to rob me was frozen halfway to the exit, black hoodie pulled up, a laptop bag that wasn’t his clutched in one gloved hand.He turned slowly, early twenties, sharp face and dark eyes that flicked from the bat to my face and stayed there. I recognized him. The same kid the neighborhood watch group chat had posted about twice, stolen catalytic converters, a broken garage window two streets over. The one the police never quite caught.“Mrs. Langford,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t know anyone was home.”“Clearly.” I didn’t lower the bat. “Drop the bag. Hands where I can see them.”He hesitated, then set the laptop bag on the floor and raised both hands. The gloves were cheap black leather, a thin s