บททั้งหมดของ Grooming Our Love: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Fanning myself, I tried to take a deep breath after reading the most recent article that involved me... with my deliciously handsome man who could make me crumble and cry—Michael Montero. A story really was released. And now we’re in the middle of criticism… or just me. Michael took all the trophies and compliments while I’m drowning in slut-shaming and every dirty finger pointed straight at me. Oh, my poor self. Was it my fault that Michael was so horny he had to have me in that restaurant's restroom? Well, Mr. Potty-the-never-soft really does have a skanky side. Not just skanky—pervy. I’m pretty sure my mother’s already read all about it, and in no time, the news will spread among every single one of her socialite friends. Knowing her, she’ll brag about everything—even when it's not entirely true—just to prove that I’m her "luck." And my father? He cares, I guess. But sometimes, I just don’t feel it. But I don’t care anymore. At least I’ve got a Michael Montero on my side.

How come he's still spitting darkness into this world after he cheated on me? Dean Oakes. I cursed him to hell after he hurt me big time. And he's still roaming free? He's supposed to be in Hades’ prison. But... I’m just a girl. And I won’t deny he actually got more... "fuckable". Tall, tan, and freaking handsome. And he knows how to smile. Just like how he charmed me the first time. But nah-uh-uh... I shouldn't compliment him. I’m with my fiancé. The one and only Michael Montero—basically his total opposite. “Ex-fiancé, huh?” Michael suddenly muttered, breaking the thick glass of silence between us as he sat across me. “You never told me anything about having a fiancé.” I shifted in my chair like my ass was itchy. Michael had been sautéing me with that heat ever since our butts hit these chairs, and I swear I was close to burning. “Well, technically, he was never my fiancé. Like... it was complicated,” I replied, looking anywhere but him. I think I’ve seen every damn detail o

Ten days... I thought that my life had never been so peaceful. It never was. The flashing cameras blinded me, hectic schedules gave me no rest, and I felt like a melting candle. Until today—my rest day, my day off. And I still feel tired, bored, and completely not satisfied enough. Laura was busy. Soda, too. And I was left alone, trying my best to make my life less miserable. And Michael? He just suddenly disappeared after his little outburst and spilling a little bean on me. I didn’t even hear a single thing about him. No texts. No calls. He made me feel like I was someone in his life for that brief, fleeting moment, then—poof—it turns out it was just a false alarm. False hope. Why does he always make me feel like that? One minute he's the best damn human on earth, and the next, he's the biggest scumbag in the world. I can't understand him. He makes me want to show a part of me nobody else knows, and then he just... ignores my efforts. This is making me bleed. He didn’t

Nibbling my lower lip, I shifted in my seat, squirming in discomfort. It’s sticky between my thighs, and the ache from being denied release is still throbbing. And I’m going through emotional warfare right now, because there’s a man beside me—his hand wrapped around my bare thigh, lazily drawing circles on my knee like we didn’t just do sinful things before he opened the damn door. Gulping once, I straightened my back the second I met my mother’s gaze. One look, and I already know that she’s mentally rewriting everything about me. My posture. My expression. My existence. “I didn’t know my son would be here with you. We should’ve called first,” Thalia apologeticallysaid with a tight, polite smile, setting her tea down as she slid onto the couch beside my mom. I was still reeling. Throwing whatever dress K could find in a panic while Michael opened the damn door half-naked, nearly killing my mother with a heart attack. “It’s okay, Auntie. We were just… catching up,” I managed, flash

"This is not a good idea," he muttered as he adjusted his cap, eyes scanning the crowd behind his aviators. I looped the last strand of my braid and grinned at him like a gorgeous pervert. "Relax, Mr. Potty. No one’s gonna recognize us. We’re in full stealth mode. In disguise, can't you see?" He raised a brow. "We look like ourselves going to a baseball game." I bumped my hip into his and hooked my arm around his. "You’re such a party pooper," I teased, flicking his nose. He clicked his tongue. “You threw up your breakfast, inhaled lunch like it was your last meal, and now you want to get on these ridiculous rides?” Now he sounded like a chiding grumpy father. “If you were that desperate for adrenaline, I could’ve just strapped you to the chopper blades. You’re welcome to scream up there all you like.” He’s worried. Cute. But if he wants to hear me scream, all he has to do is to make me. "This is going to be fun!" I squealed, dragging him toward the gates, ignoring his c