megcorbyn
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She's wiping at her face with her hands. It's futile. He pulls up outside her building, and she's already reaching for the door handle with her dripping hand. She leaves behind a shiny wet spot. He turns off the car and reaches for his door as well.
Emma stares at him as he rounds the hood of his car toward her. “I'm—”
He doesn't know what she planned to say. Just pulls her close. Use my fucking shirt, he thinks, cupping the back of her head. Christ, he's lost it. But he's already here. So he presses her face to his chest so her tears soak into cotton. He'll wash it when he gets home. They were his tears anyway. He caused them, and he always cleans up his own messes.
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Brendon Park adds a new routine to his day.
Bookmarked by megcorbyn
25 Mar 2026
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Emma just wants to feel some semblance of control in her life.
Bookmarked by megcorbyn
24 Mar 2026
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- Words:
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Bookmarked by megcorbyn
21 Mar 2026
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Samira is nothing if not a realist. She can accept, without rancor, that her feelings are hers alone, that they are not reciprocated and never will be. He’s her attending, he’s eleven years older than her – and, most importantly, she is nowhere near the caliber of woman that he deserves.
So she shouldn’t feel anything when he comes in one day, Al-Hashimi beside him, her hand resting on his back.
Bookmarked by megcorbyn
21 Mar 2026
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Emma watched his broad shoulders. The thick muscle of his arm gave delicate twitches as he moved.
The piece of skin he had clamped into began to tear under his grip.
She wondered if the stool she had been sitting on had been warm.
If he had felt the heat of her thighs.
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Emma has a crush.
Bookmarked by megcorbyn
19 Mar 2026