Todos os capítulos de Grooming Our Love: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

"Stop wailing like you broke your fingernails, Natty. I know you're a woman, just like me. And I understand that being emotional is part of being gorgeous, but I think you're overdoing it," Soda winced as he handed me a box of tissue. "Agree, even if Soda isn't really a woman," Laura seconded, which earned her a crumpled tissue landing on her shiny forehead from Soda, which she just ignored. "Look, it was just his ex, Nat. If he really loves you, then he won't let her eat him like her best dinner." From what Laura said, my head began to picture them in bed, together... eating each other, driving each other to high. No, no, no! I cried louder, grabbing a handful of tissue and violently unclogging my nose. "Why did you have to put it that way? Look at what happened!" Soda slapped Laura with his closed fan and she immediately held the spot, protruding her lower lip in protest. "What? It's just a simple metaphor. She should be laughing. It's her kind of humor. Right, Nat?" Laura sear

I let out a forced giggle as Dean made a joke about something I couldn’t even follow, and tucked my hair behind my ear with a flick that looked more flirty than I intended. We were seated near the large windows of the dimly lit, overpriced restaurant. The clink of crystal glasses and low hum of other people’s conversations surrounded us, but all I could focus on was my mission that I need to smoothly execute tomorrow. There’s a paparazzo in his car across the street, taking pictures of us to publish tomorrow. How did I know? Because Soda made it happen. Per my damn request. And the reason I’m being a rebel tonight, is the man who’s been throwing daggers with his eyes for nearly an hour now. Michael. I assume he’s in some kind of dinner meeting, judging by the boring energy at his table. He’s surrounded by a few older gentlemen who either don’t know what a gym is, or whose hairlines had simply thrown in the towel years ago. Meanwhile, my legs are crossed, my wine’s untouched, a

"Why am I even doing this?" I grumbled under my breath, tucking him into a blanket. "I’m playing gorgeous maid for you. What am I, Cinderella? Do I get paid for this? No. Just heartbreak. Thanks a lot to you." I sat on the edge of the couch, carefully sliding a throw pillow under his head. "Am I your mother? You're a grown-ass man with a massive dangle between your legs—you're not a baby," I rabed quietly, making a face. "Just 'my' Mikey baby. But seriously, you should be grateful you’re hot. You keep breaking me, and this pretty face is still second place for you?" I scoffed and jabbed a finger at his sleeping face. Sucking on my inner cheek, I gave a sassy little hum. "Do you even know how much space you take up in my life? No, you don’t. Because you're too busy obsessing over your past." I rolled my eyes. "And mind you—she’s married. Forcing yourself into someone else’s life was the last thing I ever expected from you." I placed my palm on his chest that was hidden by the blan

I begged to be punished, but instead, I was given heaven. My lips were swollen and red, still tasting the sweetness of his kiss, mixed with the bitterness of coffee from his tongue, even after he left my mouth and trailed wet kisses down my neck. That’s where he left his mark. I didn’t care how long it would take to fade. I didn’t care if I had to cover it with makeup. All I could think about was his lips on mine—not the ones I’d been biting from pleasure, but the lips between my thighs. My hands braced behind me, keeping me upright while my head fell back, drowning in pleasure as he devoured me. His strong hands kept my legs spread. He sat in the chair, eating me like I was his last meal. “Ooh… Michael,” I whimpered, my stomach twisting from the release building inside me, making me want to collapse on the table. The placemats had fallen to the floor. I might have broken a glass. But the important thing? He's worshipping me like a goddess. A gasp escaped me when he sucked on

Michael's chivalry was a false alarm. He said he'd be one call away. Joke’s on me. It was more like thirty missed calls away. As far as I remembered, he insisted on fetching me from the salon and swore we’d make a grand entrance at the venue "together". But nah-ah. One cold, surgical text later: "Got stuck on a problem. Might not make it on time." How gorgeous was that? And would I let that ruin my makeup? Absolutely not. "You look like a problematic mother," Soda croaked beside me. I was trapped inside the car, stuck in traffic, stuck listening to the rapid tap-tap-tap of his nails hitting his iPad as he scrolled for “juicy infos” like the world’s nosiest pigeon. I bet he's in incognito mode. "If you’re about to make a magnificent entrance, you can’t lose your glow," he scolded, flipping his wig to the back like royalty and straighten his spine. "That frown spreads negative aura, and I can’t let it rot mine!" I groaned, rubbing at the itch on my neck. "He abandoned me, Soda