Joelle Jordan is just trying to survive university and her life at home. Bryce Valentine is trying to survive everyone else. Projected first-round NFL draft pick. Campus celebrity. The most watched college athlete in the country. When the two strike a deal to trade study sessions for Bryce and personal training sessions for Joelle's little brother, everything seems simple enough. Then Bryce crosses the line. Now Joelle is trying to navigate a boy who is emotionally repressed, touch-starved, obsessively devoted, and surrounded by more pressure than any twenty-year-old should have to carry. Add the coaches, media attention, NIL deals, scouts, photo shoots, and Bryce's oppressive father. The pressure that comes with being attached to Bryce Valentine is something Joelle is not equipped for. Especially when she starts getting a little too comfortable with the fact that Bryce can't seem to leave her alone. [[Disclaimer: This story has not been edited yet!]]

State of Affairs ⚖︎ "You missed a talking point on page four, Governor," I said, sliding the briefing file across his heavy mahogany desk. Tennyson didn't look at the file. His dark eyes stayed locked on my mouth, completely devoid of the golden-man charm he'd just fed to a crowd of thousands. "Lock the door, Milan," he murmured, his voice low and exhausted. "You have a press briefing in ten minutes, sir. And your wife is waiting in the lobby." He stepped around the desk, invading my space until the scent of cedar and expensive bourbon swallowed me whole. His hand brushed my waist, his thumb pressing possessively against my hip. "I don't care," he breathed, his facade finally shattering. "Lock the damn door." 🏛️ To the world, 𝐆𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬 is untouchable. He is the state's golden man, a devoted husband, and a man with a spotless reputation. Everyone worships the ground he walks on. Everyone except his executive assistant, 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐚. Milan has a strict two-year plan: survive the Governor's temper, secure her recommendation letter, and catch a one-way flight to Washington, D.C. Her job description: hand him his black coffee, fix his crooked ties, and treat the most powerful man in the state like a normal human being. But her immunity is exactly what breaks him. Behind the heavy oak doors of his office, Tennyson sheds his perfect mask. He is cynical, ruthless, and spiraling into a dark, desperate obsession with the only woman who doesn't want anything from him. He becomes addicted to her warmth and slowly to her. As late nights at the office blur into a secret arrangement, Milan thinks she has the situation under control. But she doesn't know that Tennyson's public life is a PR lie. She doesn't know that the Governor has absolutely no intention of letting her go. 'Cause what the Governor needs, the Governor gets.

"Will it kill you to back the fuck up?" I snapped. "Yes, princess," he whispered sweetly against my ear, voice full of that sick affection. "It would. I would drop dead right here if I couldn't be next to you." "My lucky day," I muttered sarcastically.

I cupped her face, planting a soft kiss on her beautiful lips. "Don't ever run from me, baby," I said softly, letting my thumb trace her jaw. "I love the chase." Her jaw tightened, her hands coming up to try and move mine. "Stop calling me baby, Ezra," she snapped, eyes flashing. I couldn't help but grin, dropping my voice to something low and dark. "Ohhh, now my baby has a problem with me calling her baby?" She shot me a glare, but I just tucked her hair behind her ear, pressing another kiss to her lips-gentler this time, lingering. "You don't get to tell me what to call you, baby." I leaned in closer, brushing my nose against hers. "You're whatever the fuck I call you."

She just looked up at me, breath catching in her throat, eyes wide and wet beneath the streetlight. The pink of her dress shimmered under the glow, her skin gleaming like bronze polished by heat and defiance. "You want to dance drunk in some stranger's hands?" I demanded, jaw tight. "Fine. Just say it." She stared at me. Furious. Flushed. Shaking. Then she whispered, "Why does it matter so much?" I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the truth would've ripped open everything. So it came out before I could stop it-low, guttural, the sound of something breaking free. "Because you're not theirs." She froze. And then... she stepped closer. Just a breath. Just a whisper of space left between us. "Then kiss me," she said, voice soft but certain. "You always stop. You always pull away. You tell me you notice me. That you protect me. But you never kiss me." She looked up at me, trembling. "So kiss me. Or let me go." I didn't move. Not for a heartbeat. Not for five. Because I knew what would happen once I did. There would be no turning back. Not for her. Not for me. She looked like sin and sweetness wrapped in fire and I'd already gone too long pretending I didn't want to burn. So I moved. One hand slid to her waist, dragging her closer. The other tangled in the back of her curls, angling her mouth to mine. And then I kissed her. God, I kissed her. Like she was the only source of oxygen left in the world. Like her lips were something I could consume. Like kissing her could fix every cracked, corrupted thing inside me. It wasn't gentle. It was possession. Teeth, tongue, breathless heat and broken restraint. Her mouth opened under mine. I took advantage tasting rum, rebellion and something so soft I nearly lost my balance. Her fingers gripped my jacket like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go.She moaned into me. That sound soft, desperate, mine shot straight to the center of my chest. I deepened the kiss, groaning as her body arched into mine,

|EDITED| I should've left. I knew I should've turned the hell around. Shut the door. Pretended I didn't see a damn thing. But I didn't. I stood there, frozen. Mesmerized. Cursed. She let the towel fall away. My breath caught when her breasts spilled free-round, medium-sized, her nipples already stiff. She palmed them, moaning low in her throat, her hips shifting against her fingers. Her waist was so damn small, and those thighs... Fuck. Those thick thighs spread wide, holding nothing back. Her clit swollen, her moans growing louder, filling every inch of space in the house. And all I could think was I want to be the one making her sound like that. I wanted to drop to my knees. Slide my mouth up her thighs. Bury my face in that sweet pussy until she screamed my name. God, she was so beautiful, so uninhibited. So fucking close. Amina and Mason have been friends forever. But not even forever prepares them for this. They've shared everything-secrets, laughs, and late-night talks-but never touched the spark simmering just beneath the surface. So when they decide to explore their sexual chemistry under a strict set of rules, it's supposed to be simple. No drama. No emotions. Just heat. But rules don't stand a chance when the lines blur between friendship and something far more dangerous. Because once they cross that line... there's no going back This book was inspired by the song. (That Way by Tate McRae ) !!WARNING!! THIS BOOK CONTAINS A LOT OF DETAILED SEXUAL CONTENT|

★★★ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 Imani was only working there for necessary means, only for Kazimir to come and change it all. Forced to face reality with her past, discoveries, and open fresh wounds, A developing partnership with Kazimir. What could go wrong? The Ex-Queenpin of the Sinaloa Cartel and The Russian Mob. Possibly everything. ★★★ Once you're in you can't get out, that's how it is when you're involved with crime. There is no easy way to get out, but I did get out or so I thought.

A spontaneous Friday night outing led Nova to a surprise destination: Ramiro's bed, the one person her brother can't stand- and the one who ignited a fire she can't seem to ignore. "𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙛𝙛, 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪?" 𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙, 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙚𝙖𝙧. "𝘽𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙄 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨, 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩?" 𝘼 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙘𝙠, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙝 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙮 𝙧𝙖𝙣 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙩. 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜. "𝙍𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙧𝙤," 𝙄 𝙢𝙤𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙨. "𝙍𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙧𝙤?" 𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙙. "𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙈𝙞𝙧𝙤, 𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙧?"