Heather Tdi Novels & Stories

Before she could see more clearly, he turned and walked away. He had resisted. Heather couldn't believe it. Disappointment flooded through her. As she left, she defiantly removed her bra and stuffed it into the crack of his sofa. After returning home, Heather took a shower and then lay down on the bed, holding a small mirror in her hand. She spread her legs, gazing down at the reflection in the mirror. It was clean, soft, and pink, with a small berry tattoo on one side that carried a mix of sensuality and innocence.

I'd buried him in the sand six years back, and fuck if he didn't try to poke his ugly head up from time to time. "Kendal, this is Heather Turner. She's from UCLA and has been highly recommended for this new spot with us. You'll be her mentor until she gets her feet wet." He moved back, and I nearly choked. Not only was she ten steps past gorgeous, but I didn't need an introduction at all. Heather was the vice president of the sister-sorority that partied right alongside the Kappa's back in college. The number of times Damon and I had taken turns fucking the woman was embarrassing. My luck couldn't have gotten any worse.

She turned swiftly and narrowed her brows when her eyes settled on my face. "I know this face. Terra. Right?" Thank God, atleast we can start from somewhere. I thought to myself. "Actually it's Tiara Mir, but you can call me Tee." "Okay. So, what can I do for you, Tee?" She leaned on her car as her keys dangled noisly. She was a very attentive person, not too stingy with her time. I was ululating deep down because trust me, after what I saw inside the clubhouse, I never imagined she'd be this soft towards me. I put my words together.

By the third loop, I was rock hard and could feel the pre-cum dampening my boxers, mind racing with how it'd feel to have her like that, live, pressed against me, her heat soaking through that flimsy skirt as she moved to my music. “What’s her name?” I asked, voice quieter than I meant. “Adele Langford,” Heather didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-four. New face, small résumé. But she knows how to hold a camera.” I nodded slowly, still staring at the screen. “Yeah,” I muttered. “I can see that.” Heather studied me for a moment, her arms crossed. “She’s trouble, Nate. Stay away.” A corner of my mouth lifted. “You hired her because she’s trouble.”

Heather probably just took a shower not long ago. She was wearing a large nightrobe, and the belt around her waist revealed her slender waist. Her exposed calf was not slim but rather muscular due to her practicing kickboxing all year. The well-proportioned lines and fair skin made him drool. Heather walked toward the desk before stopping. She picked up a large towel from the chair and used it to dry her hair. It was uncomfortable feeling the water dripping from her hair after washing, but she hated using a hair dryer. She could only wipe hard with a dry towel.

“I am preventing escalation. Silverveil harbors what is ours. Silverveil has interfered with our internal structure. Silverveil—” “Silverveil protected a hunted wolf and an injured woman who were bleeding on our porch when you left them to rot,” Heather said, bright and vicious. Eyes snapped to her. Heather smiled sweetly, like she wasn’t holding a blade behind that smile. She tilted her head, braid slipping over her shoulder. “Hi,” she chirped. “Heather of Silverveil. You might remember me from such performances as ‘try that again and I’ll make you swallow your teeth.’ Just wanted to introduce myself, since we’re all being so polite.”

She then read the words again. “Hea…Heather?...” He brows creased. Out of the blue, a scene passed by her view, rendering her to flinch. It was her memory of the time she jumped down the building. She remembered it vividly when a guy called her Heather before everything went black. But, what is the correlation between Heather and her? Why was this name is etched on a flesh and why is she inside this almost destroyed space? The ground shook, premoniting the coming of a fall. Elaine had no time to ponder more about it, yet she need more time to guess. Before the rubble of flesh again fell on her for the third time, she loudly announced a random sentence on a flesh.

Cadence watched as they hugged, and cried, and turned away from the kissing part since that was her little sister after all, though they were a bit more modest than Tara and Dax who could’ve used a whole different kind of private room. Heather made a gagging sound and moved away from Dax and Tara, and Cadence couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction as she stepped toward her. “You must be Heather.” She offered her hand and a broad smile, and though the blonde looked skeptical, she shook it. “It’s very nice to finally meet you. Thanks for helping the team out during the attack. Your shield was invaluable.” “Your husband said you was perty, but I think he was underestimatin’ you,” she replied,

I didn’t test that. She walked out of the bathroom, finger combing her wet hair. The length made it look like a pain in the ass, as most of her outfit also seemed to be. She had on a dress at six in the morning. It seemed unnecessarily frilly for this hour, but what did I know about being an heiress? “I absolutely love how you just don’t say a single word,” Ellie said, having sat on her bed and pulled the tray onto her lap. “Not weird at all.”

JACK Gavin’s voice breaks through the speaker on my desk. “Conference room in five. Heather wants to go over damage control.” “I’m handling it.” “You sure? Because my mother already texted me three times and it’s not even nine.” Of course she did. Vivian Thatcher might not technically run VT Global anymore, but she’s got her fingers in every polished glass surface we own. And her best friend Heather—the CHRO—is her eyes and ears. Always watching. Always judging. Always waiting to yank the reins if things get too messy.