𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐚 I downed a shot of tequila, allowing the burning liquid to slide down my throat and settle in my stomach. I deserved to have some fun without boundaries. I poured a second glass and it disappeared as quickly as the first. Then came the third, fourth and fifth. Still I wasn't satisfied. My landlady was a bitch, I was fired and my boyfriend cheated on me. My nerves were shot to hell! My eyes lazily scanned the nightclub as I consecutively downed my sixth shot for the evening. Life's a bitch. 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨 𝐆𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐨 I sat in the VIP section of the club, a glass of vodka in my hand as I watched the woman several yards away drowning herself in tequila. My lips curled in amusement. The red dress she wore showed a generous amount of cleavage, her ass was ripe and full, begging to be groped. She looked to be eighteen. I wondered what a pretty thing like her was doing in a place like this, drinking like there was no tomorrow. Not that it was any of my business. Women came, got laid and wasted in this nightclub every night. Nothing special to see here. "Muori figlio di puttana." I pulled the trigger on my gun and shot the Mexican in the head after he was caught stealing coke from my warehouse. Blood splattered everywhere, staining the walls and my designer suit. I tucked my gun back in my pocket and left the ally. "He killed a guy!" I shrieked as I turned to run away from there as fast as possible. Just as I was about to run back inside, a large hand clamped around my neck and I was pressed up against a rock solid chest. My jaw was caressed by - a gun!? "Going somewhere piccola?" a deep voice whispered in my ear. "Let me go, you sick twisted bastard!" I growled. "Feisty and a foul mouth. I like it," he chuckled. "You killed someone! I'm calling the cops!" I shouted. "Princess I own the cops," he said stroking my face. "and now I own you. Say goodbye to your old lif

"She came at the right time....a walking miracle."

Reentry Case 007: Male, 37, assault with intent to kill, parole conditions strict. Not to be left alone with female staff.

Marc'Qwuan Reid is a 23 year hopeless romantic with a crush on his roommate, a woman named Jasmine. Their friendship was perfect until she took her first steps into getting over her ex. Now they notice new things about each other that puts their friendship to the test.

He entered her life, not invasively but actually at just the right time. There was no denying that they were made for one another. He's in her life; she's in his. He's part of her group, and she's part of his. He's real dark, but she's his missing light. He's in her mind, and she's in his.

"Solè, why'd you stay?" "Because, Zaire... you the first thing that ever felt worth staying for." ❀ 🝳 ❀ Harlem held the noise. Solè gave Zaire the quiet. Zaire Knox, Harlem's quiet storm, known for his ties to the streets and a gaze that read people faster than they could lie to him. Respected. Feared. Loved. With scars buried deeper than his tattoos, he never planned to love soft. Until a Harlem vinyl shop left behind by his late grandfather forces him to slow down, to breathe, to find his real purpose in the world beyond the streets. Solè Sinclair, soft but unbreakable, raised by her father after loss. By day, she serves warmth behind the counter of a café. By night, she disappears into her art, trying to paint the parts of herself no one ever sees. When their worlds cross, the city shifts. What starts off tense and unexpected turns tender. Together, they learn love can hold you just as fierce as the streets ever did, and softer, too. But love in Harlem always asks one question: what are you willing to risk when the heart wants more than the streets ever offered? A Harlem story. A hood love. A soft place to land. ❀ 🝳 ❀

Majestic Memori. Diablã. The Widow. All interceded by the misfortune of one. Three women. Three different lifestyles. Three independent motives. One respective desire, and they're all willing to go to whatever extreme measures necessary for their... 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙴𝚈. 𝙿𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁. 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃.

An autistic girl sheltered her whole life gets a taste of danger once she meets a thug named Santiago Perez. ​Santiago "Ghost" Perez set his eyes on Zari one time and has never left her alone since "Checkin' your location, I'm wishin' I was close to you I left my heart on the West End, I can't wait to get home to you"

"Please Jesus, free me of the spirit of lust." "I know that relationships built under your word can last forever. So free me of the thought, free me of the feeling and free me from my flesh trying to cloud my judgement." "I don't worship lust, sex or desire. I worship you Jesus, please don't allow me to lose sight of that." "In Jesus name, I pray." "Amen." I spoke desperately as I stood up from my knees.

"Damn. Hasn't even been that long and you got a whole rock on your finger now, huh?" "...What are you doing here?" She unthinkingly rubbed her swollen belly, the tight knots forming in her stomach at the same time. "What you mean? I came for the art." His tone was sarcastic as he gestured at the paintings on the walls. She watched his eyes drift down her body, before he tightly clenched his jaw. "But I see I have more than one thing to congratulate you on." He said, bitterly. • • • • • • 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛? ❤️‍🩹👻 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝟸 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 (𝚜𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕)