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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Road Trip

Author: M.E. Roselli
last update Last Updated: 2024-12-17 00:31:33

Evan

Helaine almost dropped the brown paper bag of takeout from The Night Shift when I opened the garage door to reveal what was once my pride and joy, a shiny red 1959 el camino I bought with my paycheck from the band’s first big American tour.

The damn thing brought back memories—fond memories I didn’t deserve after what I’d done all those years ago. That was why I kept it in here. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it, but I also couldn’t stomach looking at it.

Even seeing it now, I could almost hear the laughter of my old friends—could almost feel the sun on my skin as we raised hell from Vegas to Reno . . . it was a whole other life.

A life I didn’t deserve to daydream about.

Now though, the el camino had a new purpose, and the look on Helaine’s face made all the discomfort I was feeling about seeing it again worth it.

Her lips parted in a quiet gasp as she looked back at me. “Is this . . . ?”

“The very same.” I nodded, the corner of my lips tugging into a smirk in spite of my
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    HelaineEvan’s fingers curled against that sweet spot inside of me again, and tears rolled down my cheeks as I tried so hard not to come undone.“That’s a good girl,” he purred as he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips with a hum of approval before that sinful tongue of his lapped up my juices. “There, it’s just up ahead.”My eyes watered as I squirmed in my seat, left frustrated by the ruined orgasm.But I knew Evan. Whatever he had in store for us would more than make up for it.“What is?” I asked, squinting to try and get a better look at the unassuming building on the side of the road, nothing around it for miles. “A motel?”“The Rose Garden,” he explained, and sure enough when we pulled into the parking lot, an old neon rose glowed above the entryway. “This place has catered to kink since it opened back in the seventies. It’s where I had some of my first real experiences with BDSM, back when I was . . . ”Back when he was alive.“Do we have time?” I looked up at the m

  • Sanguine Inclinations   Chapter Twenty-Eight: Road Trip

    EvanHelaine almost dropped the brown paper bag of takeout from The Night Shift when I opened the garage door to reveal what was once my pride and joy, a shiny red 1959 el camino I bought with my paycheck from the band’s first big American tour.The damn thing brought back memories—fond memories I didn’t deserve after what I’d done all those years ago. That was why I kept it in here. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it, but I also couldn’t stomach looking at it.Even seeing it now, I could almost hear the laughter of my old friends—could almost feel the sun on my skin as we raised hell from Vegas to Reno . . . it was a whole other life.A life I didn’t deserve to daydream about.Now though, the el camino had a new purpose, and the look on Helaine’s face made all the discomfort I was feeling about seeing it again worth it.Her lips parted in a quiet gasp as she looked back at me. “Is this . . . ?”“The very same.” I nodded, the corner of my lips tugging into a smirk in spite of my

  • Sanguine Inclinations   Chapter Twenty-Seven: Days Gone By

    Helaine“Just wanted to know if you were planning on coming by for Thanksgiving. I love you.”Sucking in a hissing breath, I whipped my phone across Evan’s apartment, where its fall was luckily broken by his plush red couch before clattering to the floor. Evan looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but I was beyond caring.If the fact that I was the anti-christ wasn’t enough to scare him off, I highly doubted that pacing around his apartment like a caged tiger was going to be the final straw.“How fucking dare he,” I snarled through gritted teeth. “What right does he have to sound so god damned normal after everything that’s happened?”Evan only watched me, having the curtesy to give me my space when I needed it. If he tried to hold me right now, I’d probably combust. I couldn’t stay still, not when I had this much furious energy burning through my veins like acid. “I take it he doesn’t call often.”“He calls on the same day every year.” I grimaced, looking at the phone in his grasp as t

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