THE ART OF SINS
Emma had begged me to stay over for our usual end-of-year sleepover, complete with junk food, bad movies, and way too much cheap wine her dad pretended not to notice.
Except this time, everything felt different.
Jake was in the kitchen when I walked in, his broad back to me as he flipped burgers on the indoor grill. Six-foot-four of pure, disciplined muscle earned from fifteen years in the military before he retired to raise Emma alone. His dark hair was cropped short, silver just starting to thread through at the temples, and the tight black T-shirt he wore stretched across shoulders that looked strong enough to carry the weight of the world. Or me. God, the thought alone made my thighs pre
Sikat na Kabanata