31 Minutos Juanin Novels & Stories

Disturbed by the slight raising of the voice, many people on the dance floor slightly moved closer to the two, hoping to sound some news they could talk about in the office tomorrow. “I’ll make this clear to you, I am not married or divorced and especially not a widower Ms. Sy. Clearly, you acted unethically and I am deeply offended” Juanjo stopped dancing and looked at her one last time before leaving. Theresa looked at him in the eyes and observed his every behavior. He seemed shaken and quite triggered after asking him consecutively with her baloney questions. Before he could even reach the door of the venue, the music coincidentally stopped and a seductive voice echoed in the whole place

Wynn said emotionally, “Yes, it has been three years. Yet, we can still sit and eat together like this.” Women were emotional creatures; what Wynn said was very true indeed. Philip was indifferent. He sat beside Wynn and crossed his arms calmly, watching Juan’s performance. Philip did not know what Juan had planned. Nevertheless, he did know that Juan was not the type of person who gave up easily. “Wynn, Philip, here, let’s have a toast.” Juan held his glass up. Seeing Philip’s hesitance, Juan smiled and said, “Why, Philip, you can’t still be angry at me, right?”

“We just installed mini bars in them four months ago. Help yourself and . . . look in the nightstands just in case you two are in the mood for something . . . savory.” “Will do,” Williamson slurred. He guided his date to the elevators. “You ready?” Juan asked his lady for the evening. She nodded. “Okay. We need to make a quick pit stop to the supply room then I’m all yours.” I gotta grab a couple of rubbers. ------- Mindy entered Juan’s room. It was a basic hotel room with a queen size bed, a table, two chairs, a mini fringe, and a bathroom. She cleared her throat as he closed the door.

Six weeks. Juan’s smile spread slowly across his face. “Perfect.” I pressed a hand to my stomach, instinctively protecting the tiny life inside me. Juan’s eyes followed the movement, darkening with something possessive and terrifying. “Now,” he said softly, “we can begin.”

Juan thought it was best for us to do everything downstairs because the noise in the entertainment room was loud as the guys watched soccer, so they came one by one to take measurements, descriptions, and everything everyone wanted their outfits to look like. Finally, I had to take Juan’s measurements. He kept biting his lower lip while I was busy taking measures on his body. All I could do was swallow hard and be professional because I am here to work, not flirt with the shirtless Mayor’s son. “Are you sure that you will be able to deliver on time on such short notice, Ms. Alonso?” I glare at him, then back at my iPad. “Don’t you trust us, Mr. Juan Martinez?” I ask.

I want to curl into myself and disappear. When I finally force my eyes open, they sting from dryness and sleep. I blink slowly and notice a warm hand gently wrapped around mine. Juan is sitting next to me, his eyes red, his face worn with exhaustion, but somehow still soft. He’s been crying—I can see it in the rawness of his gaze. And yet, he smiles when he sees me awake, his thumb lightly brushing over the back of my hand as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. “Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “You’re awake.”

"Mr. Juan, I heard that Ms. Via's wedding will carry on next week. Do you need extra men to hunt? Ritian and I will be glad if you'd consider bringing us along." Chief Juan is a nimble old man at the age of fifty. The white hairs on his eyebrows wasn't lesser than those on his chin and upper lip. Ritian stood three inches above him, and his back had an evident curve normal to the elderly. Albeit the overripe age, Chief Juan stealthily works at the field without drenching himself in perspiration.

He waited for eleven minutes. He knew it was eleven minutes because he checked the time when he sat down and checked it once more because he was who he was, and the interval between the two checks was eleven minutes, which was the length of a board call that wasn't going well and also the length of his shortest recent morning briefing and also, it turned out, the length of time it took him to drink a third of a very good Malbec.

His eyes were fixed on his dead wife on the floor. Juan walked slowly to him and squatted to his level. A cocky smile danced on his lips, and he drank in the pleasure he found from Mark's pain. "You don't dare the Don" Juan said darkly. "I'll make your pain and longing disappear,so you don't miss her too much" Juan stood up and turned to walk out. Bit after taking four steps,he spun around and shut Mark thrice, twice in the head and once in the chest. "Noooooooo" Amaya screamed, with her whole body shaking violently.

"Why don't we play a game to take your mind off things for a bit?” The game they haven’t played in so long—seven minutes in heaven, is now the only bud of hope that could cradle both their anxiety and longing to feel each other close. A sin so sweet that not even Reigna herself could say no or worry about tomorrow. "Fine," she huffed, averting her gaze as she played with the hem of his shirt. "But we're sticking to the rules this time, Carlisle. Just seven minutes, no funny business." Ah. But that clearly is a form of denial, isn’t it?