niceysmusings

[niceysmusings]

I wanted a mermaid story that had nothing to do with humans so badly that I wrote one.

I love mankind but I'm tired of seeing them in everything 😂. I wrote a mermaid story set completely in the sea.

I'm going to start posting it in bits by next week because I'm a slightly better writer this year than I was in 2019 when I wrote it, so I need to edit it and take out the cringy parts.

If you'd like to gift me an art work of a pale-skinned mermaid with white hair, a dark-skinned mermaid with black hair and a rudy merman, my inbox is wide open. 😹😸🤭

[niceysmusings]

Does anyone else get inspired during stormy weather?

[niceysmusings]

The characters in our stories are all alive in another universe and they choose us to tell their stories. So we have to write what they want us to write not what we want to write.

Inspo_ @sam-gw

[niceysmusings]

Me to my characters: I want you to do so and so.

My characters: You don't own me!

They never do as they're told. 🤦🏾‍♀️😩

[niceysmusings]

Just dropped a one-shot fic about spending your engagement night stuck watching a movie with your family and fiancé, and then you decide to get creative. 😉💕😘

Read Movie Night with Stoney here

[niceysmusings]

Everyone meet my muse...

Every single thing I've written since I knew this man was inspired by him.

Check here for master list.

[niceysmusings]

Last week on Leticia's Cat.

I'm so in love with these characters I feel like abandoning everything else to focus on them. But I have to post a new chapter of The Jaguar and Compulsion and I have to attend to a few requests for sequels.

Leticia's New Cat

Chapter Three

Leticia was just clearing her table when a man who looked to be in his early forties walked into her office. He wore a bespoke three-piece suit, the charcoal fabric subtly shimmering under the light, exuding wealth and affluence. He had small tinted shades over his eyes, but the rest of his face was strikingly handsome. Leticia’s body reacted to him instantly, and she cursed her busy lifestyle and lack of a date in a couple of years. Reining in her body’s physical reaction, she fixed a professional smile on her face and greeted him.

“Hello, you’re welcome to Leticia Barma Events. How may I be of service?”

“Hello. I take it you’re Leticia then?”

His voice was smooth and rich. Leticia liked the way he said her name, as though savoring each syllable. She allowed her smile to widen just a tad more.

“Yes, I am. How can I help you?”

“The anniversary of my wife’s death is coming up one month from now. I’d like you to plan it.” He took off his glasses, and Leticia’s heart broke at what she saw. His brown, soulful eyes were red, like he’d just finished crying. He looked lost. Leticia made a fist to keep herself from reaching out to touch him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr…?”

“Gerald. Gerald Hayes.” He extended his hand, and Leticia shook it, noting how firm his grip was.

“Don’t be,” he continued, his voice steady but distant. “I’ll see her again.”

“Of course. We’ll see our dead loved ones again eventually,” she said as she withdrew her hand.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“This is closing hours already. Would you like to book a consultation so we can go over the details together? One month is not a lot of time. We have to speed things up to be able to deliver exactly what you want.”

Gerald inclined his head as if considering her words. “Why don’t we discuss this over dinner? I’d like to start planning as soon as possible. Please, pick a place that suits you.”

Leticia mulled this over. She’d had business brunches and dinners before, but for some reason, she hesitated this time. She blamed it on the unmistakable attraction she felt for him. She wasn’t a shy person, but his gaze was so intent that it left her self-conscious, a rare feeling that made her itch to glance at her reflection in the nearest mirror.

Her thoughts flickered to her cats. She’d fed them generously that morning—Pierre, in particular, had enjoyed a fat slab of medium-rare meat. They’d be fine for the night, especially with the window left open for him.

She grabbed the last of her things, picking up her notebook and purse. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

The restaurant she chose was packed but not noisy. Leticia knew the importance of picking an open place with plenty of people for a business dinner, even if Gerald appeared genuine. She reminded herself of this practicality as she sat across from him, her gaze briefly drifting to the steady hum of activity around them. It’s safe, she thought, though she couldn’t ignore the small voice chiding her for riding in his car to get there.

After the waiter took their orders, Leticia retrieved her notebook and stylus. Turning the device on, she tapped a few quick notes as she prepared to start the consultation.

“Tell me about your wife, Mr. Hayes,” she began, her tone professional yet softened by genuine curiosity.

“Call me Gerald,” he replied, his smooth voice coaxing her to drop formality.

She nodded with a polite smile. “Okay, Gerald. Tell me about your wife. What kind of person was she? And what do you want this event to be? Should it be mournful, or would you prefer a celebration of life?”

Gerald leaned back slightly, his expression pensive. “Oh, I want it to be a celebration of life,” he said, his tone carrying an odd mix of sadness and determination. “I’m close to seeing her again, and I want this event to show her as if she’s still here with us.”

Leticia’s stylus paused above her notebook as her brow furrowed. This is the second time he’s mentioned seeing his wife again, she thought, her concern deepening.

Looking at him carefully, she asked, “Mr… Gerald, are you sick?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “No. Why? Do I look sick?”

“Not at all,” she replied, her tone measured. “But this is the second time you’ve talked about seeing your wife again, like you know exactly when it’s going to happen. You’re not…” She hesitated, setting her notebook down. “You’re not planning to take your life after this, are you? Because if you are”—her voice firmed as she straightened in her seat—“I won’t do it. I won’t help you plan a suicide note.”

For a moment, Gerald stared at her, utterly baffled. Then, he threw his head back and laughed—a deep, resonant laugh that filled the space between them. Leticia remained calm, her posture rigid and her expression unyielding as she watched him.

When his laughter finally subsided, Gerald wiped a tear from his eye and said, “My, my, Leticia. You’re a straightforward, no-nonsense woman, aren’t you? No, I’m not planning to kill myself. This is not a suicide note.” His tone softened as he continued, “It’s just a celebration of life. I hold my wife so close to my heart that I speak of her as if she’ll be returning soon. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

Leticia studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied with his explanation. Picking up her notebook once more, she resumed her questions.

“When did your wife pass away?” Leticia asked, her tone softening.

“Five years ago,” Gerald replied quietly. “I lost her to cancer.”

Before she could think twice, Leticia reached out and rested her hand on his where it lay on the table. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Gerald,” she said, her voice warm with sincerity.

Gerald’s hand twitched under her touch, and when she began to pull away, he gently caught her fingers. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” he murmured, holding her hand lightly as his gaze met hers. His brown eyes were earnest, almost pleading. “I haven’t felt a woman’s touch since I lost my wife.”

Leticia’s lips curved into a gentle smile as she gave his hand a brief, reassuring squeeze before withdrawing it. “Tell me about your wife, Gerald,” she encouraged softly, redirecting the conversation.

When Leticia unlocked the door and stepped inside, Pierre was pacing restlessly in the living room. The moment he saw her, his piercing yellow eyes pinned her in place. A low growl rumbled from his chest, sending a chill down her spine.

“Pierre?” she called hesitantly, instinctively raising her hand to the pendant around her neck, readying herself for defense.

The jaguar’s sharp gaze flicked to her hand, and then he turned away, padding back to his corner with a quiet huff. Curling up on the floor, he lay still, his body language signaling he meant no harm. Leticia exhaled, her tension easing as she realized he was simply agitated, not aggressive.

She closed the door behind her but left it unlocked, her movements deliberate.

“Lock your door, Lettie. I’m not going to eat you,” came the lazy drawl in her mind.

“That’s not what it looked like a moment ago,” she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. “What got into you?”

“Where have you been?” Pierre countered, his voice low and simmering with irritation. “It’s way past your closing time.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a curfew,” Leticia retorted, arching a brow.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, his tone hard enough to send her anger spiking.

Her brows rose higher, her temper now bubbling to the surface. “First of all, watch your tone with me, Jaguar. Secondly, I am a grown woman who runs her own business, and I alone decide how I spend my time.”

“That’s pretty irresponsible for a multiple pet owner, don’t you think?” he drawled, his yellow eyes narrowing. “I wonder what animal rights activists would say about someone who abandons their pets all day. Where were you, anyway?”

Leticia froze for a moment, disbelief etched across her face. “I can’t believe this,” she finally said, her voice calm but laced with venom. “I don’t know what you think you are, Pierre, but let me make one thing very clear: I do not answer to you. So, unless you’re prepared to adjust your attitude and talk to me with respect, this conversation is over.”

Pierre went silent, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with his thoughts. Leticia, unimpressed by his lack of response, let out a quiet “hmph” before heading into the kitchen. She busied herself dishing out food for the pumas, her movements deliberate and pointed. Returning to the living room, she began stripping off her work attire without sparing him a glance. Pierre averted his gaze, his internal battle raging over how to warn her she’d been targeted without revealing too much about himself.

When she finally settled onto her favorite couch with a book in hand, he turned toward her, the tension in the room palpable.

“I’m only worried about your safety,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity.

Leticia didn’t look up from her book. “I wonder how I managed to survive thirty whole years without you to worry about me,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes.

Pierre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know I’m being annoying—”

“Understatement of the century,” she quipped, not missing a beat.

His golden eyes narrowed as frustration bubbled beneath the surface. He closed them momentarily, taking slow, deep breaths to push down his rising anger. If he wanted to make her see reason, snapping at her wasn’t the way. He needed a different approach—one that wouldn’t drive her further away.

“What are your powers as guardian?” Pierre asked, his tone even but curious.

Leticia glanced up from her novel, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not going to tell you that, but I have a feeling you’re going to find out soon if you ever pull a stunt like tonight again.”

Pierre blinked at her pointed words, momentarily taken aback. A low chuckle rumbled in her mind, smooth as velvet. The unexpected sound made her lips twitch, and she hid a smile behind her book.

“I’m sorry for my behavior tonight, Lettie,” Pierre said, his voice softer now. “I was worried about you.”

Leticia set her book down, her expression softening. She reached out to scratch his head, her fingers brushing against the coarse fur. Pierre’s ears twitched, and his cat-like features morphed into what looked suspiciously close to a frown. She couldn’t help it—she laughed, her earlier annoyance melting away.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I had a client today,” she began, leaning back into the couch. “A man who wants me to plan the anniversary of his wife’s death.”

“Shouldn’t that be done by family? Why hire an event planner?” Pierre queried, his tone tinged with skepticism.

Leticia threw him a sharp look. “Because he has the money and wants to make it special. It’s the fifth anniversary of her death. Why is it that poor people always think everything is a waste of money?”

“Poor people?” Pierre arched a brow. “You don’t strike me as the materialistic type.”

“I’m not,” Leticia shot back, her irritation clear. “But I just told you about a new client, and that’s the first thing you say?”

Pierre hesitated before replying, his tone softening. “Congratulations on your new job. When is the event?”

“One month from now,” she said, her voice lowering with doubt. “It’s too soon. I don’t know if I can pull it off.”

“Of course, you can.” Pierre’s voice was steady and reassuring. “You’re very efficient when you want to be.”

“Thank...you?” Leticia tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘when I want to be’?”

“You turn this house upside down when you’re in a hurry,” he said with a faint grin. “But you always put it back together just as quickly—and beautifully, I might add. That’s efficiency. That’s how I know you’ll pull this off.”

Leticia smiled grudgingly. He was right, and she couldn’t argue with that. Shaking her head, she began outlining the details she had gathered about the event. As their conversation deepened, she noticed Pierre was making surprisingly insightful comments. Intrigued, she pulled out her tablet, tapping away as they brainstormed ideas together.

The hours slipped by unnoticed, and Leticia eventually dozed off on the couch, her tablet slipping from her grasp.

Pierre watched her for a moment, his feline features softening. With a quiet sigh, he shifted forms, his human silhouette glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. Catching the tablet before it could hit the floor, he placed it gently on the table. Then, with practiced ease, he scooped her up in his arms, careful not to disturb her sleep.

As he carried her to the bedroom, a tender smile ghosted across his lips. Tucking her into the bed, he smoothed the blanket over her and paused, unable to resist brushing his fingers across her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft under his touch, and his wistful expression deepened as his gaze lingered on her peaceful face.

Leticia’s eyes fluttered open, groggy but alert, and locked onto his. For a moment, the air between them was charged with something unspoken, fragile, and potent. Pierre froze, his hand still resting lightly against her cheek.

Previous

[niceysmusings]

Being unhappy is terrible for me as a human but great for me as a writer. My best work were written when my life was in shambles.

To be truly alive only when you're asleep or in your head because your reality is hell.

Same as when I've been high in lust or infatuation over another human.

There's no in-between for writers. You're either euphoric or depressed. Anything less and you're hit with writers block.

[niceysmusings]

One of my recent sequels hit a little bit close to home for me. Nurses are over sexualized and made out to be big promiscuous people who have affairs with doctors and all that. I'm not going to go into how true or false that is but if Nurses have affairs with doctors, why are the nurses called out far more than the doctors they're sleeping with?

Read the fic here

[niceysmusings]

My favorite east asian mythological creature is the nine-tailed fox. I loved the way Teen Wolf incorporated so many myths and legends and told their stories so beautifully. We need more fantasy crossovers like that.

I'm thinking my Jaguar might meet a fox soon. Stay tuned for the next chapter of Leticia's New Cat.

[niceysmusings]

New chapter of Leticia's Cat just dropped!

Leticia has a new client who wants her to plan the anniversary of his wife's death. His intensity stirs dormant feelings in her.

Pierre's growing frustration results in his first fight with Leticia.

Read it here.

[niceysmusings]

This is an appreciation post!

So a little while ago, I almost gave up writing because I felt like my work wasn't resonating with people. I was able to find the strength again because some wonderful people found my page and showered my work with so much love.

This is to say to you @23jammy you give me the strength I need to keep writing. Thank you.

[niceysmusings]

Currently brainstorming for the next chapter of my paranormal romance story.

What kind of powers would a Werejaguar have? He's full man, full Jaguar. He already reads minds and can tap into his animal side while being human and vice versa.

What other unique powers can I give him a side inhuman strength and agility?

Please let me know your thoughts and I promise to credit you whenever I include your suggestions in my story.

Read the story here.

[niceysmusings]

I enjoyed writing this piece. Might work on a part two soon.

Seducing The Priest

Summary: A beautiful sex worker is fiercely attracted to a man at first sight. The only problem: He belongs to the church and has sworn to celibacy.

Pairing: Aaron Pierre as Father Aaron and Jayme Lawson as Trina.

Trina uncrossed and crossed her legs again as she licked the corners of her lips. The young priest preached to the church from the pulpit, his deep baritone amplified by the microphone he gripped so tightly. His body was completely covered by the robe he wore, but Trina didn’t need to see him naked to know his body was that of an African god.

She giggled and crossed herself. These were blasphemous, unholy thoughts she was thinking right in church. She crossed herself again and made prayers for the further sins she knew she was about to commit.

Father Aaron glanced at the door briefly when he heard a knock.

“Come in.” He said.

A young woman waltzed in, shutting the door and turning the key in the lock.

Father Aaron looked up at her with a small smile in greeting. “Hello sister Trina.”

The first time Trina had seen Father Aaron, she had just given a bum a quick head in a corner for a few bucks. She was shoving the crinkled notes into her bra after wiping cum off the corners of her mouth when she saw him – a tall glass of creamy delicious hot chocolate. He was dressed in regular casual clothes, his hands gripping a bag of groceries as he walked past her.

That vision fueled Trina over the next few days. Every time she went to work she imagined he was her client, and she responded accordingly, riding till her knees ached. . .  sucking and slobbering over the lucky fools who thought she being extra nice because she found them attractive.

It was never enough though. Not when she put his face over other men, not when she conjured him in the darkness of her room while she used her rose on herself till she came. After a week of torture, Trina had enough. There was only one way to restore her sanity; she was gonna get the real thing. So she asked around and found out he was the new priest posted to the local parish.

At first, Trina was downcast—priests were meant to be celibate. But as she walked into a clothing store to pick out hats and “church clothes,” she felt her inner demon unfold its wings— Let’s see how long he could resist her.

Trina’s first day in church was uneventful. She got a few odd looks and whispers from the self-righteous women who thought she was some kind of annoying stain. During the sermon, all she heard was that voice that sent vibrations to her sensitive parts.

He was talking with another priest when she brushed past him for the first time. She was fully covered, like a nun, with minimal makeup, and was unassuming. When he turned to apologize, she quickly cut him short, apologizing instead and making her exit. She knew he wouldn’t spare her a second glance, but that was okay. This was not a sprint; it was a marathon.

The second time Trina went to church, her cute little hat sat on her curly natural hair, her skirt stopped mid-calf, and the top button on her button-down shirt was undone. Her makeup was still minimal; just sunscreen and lip gloss over her full, double-toned lips. She sat closer to the front row, doing her best to hear some of the words he said. At the end of the sermon, she approached him, apologizing again for stumbling into him the other day (which he had no recollection of as she expected) and pointing out a part of his sermon she found interesting. He thanked her for her kind words, and they parted.

Over the next weeks, Trina subtly increased how much skin she showed. Not so much to expose her profession but enough to make his eyes dart down when she cooed about how much she enjoyed his sermons. Each time, she made sure to be specific in her praise so it came off as genuine admiration instead of flattery. Each time, she spent just a little more time with him, cracked a light joke to make him laugh, and gifted him a smile of her own.

On the fourth week, as Father Aaron preached on the pulpit, his eyes scanned the crowd. When he saw her, he held her eyes for a beat before continuing on. That silent acknowledgement sent a thrill through Trina – it was time.

Over the next few days, she didn’t take clients or use her rose. Carefully concocting a story, she drove over to the church for a midweek service and requested to see him after.

Trina adjusted her milk-maid sun dress as she walked towards his desk. The thigh high slit wasn’t too visible when she walked or stood… but when she sat – let’s just say he was in for treat.

“Hello, Trina.” He said. She forced herself to smile back at him and nod in response to his greeting. Taking deep breaths, she tried to compose herself. Being alone in his office was doing something feral to her body, but she had to take it slow so as not to alarm him and scare him off.

She sat in front of him and went straight to the point. Talking about how she wanted to confess her sins. She told him about her profession, the depraved things she let men do to her for pay, taking care to mention specific details and the way she responded to them. Tears flowed down her face as she spoke, but her voice got lower and breathier as time passed till she was moaning her words, interjecting with a few sniffles here and there and accepting the tissues the priest passed to her.

From between her lowered lashes, she watched his face for tell-tale signs of arousal or leering and got none. Aaron’s face was an unreadable mask of concern and kindness. She wiped her face and nose as her story ended.

The priest smiled at her sadly and began the long speech of forgiveness and grace. Trina barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes; the only grace she needed right now was to see the tent in his shorts. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, her dress parting to reveal smooth brown skin, then she saw it; the crack she had been waiting for – his eyes flicked down the length of her legs as a raw animalistic hunger entered his eyes. He looked back up and lingered just a second at the point where her legs crossed before flicking his lids up to stare her directly in the eyes, and then his priest mask carefully slipped back on as his long-suffering smile returned to his lips.

Trina’s throat ran dry. It all happened very fast. For a moment, she felt her hunger was making her see things – that she had imagined the entire change in him from man to beast. The way he had looked at her said, “Stop playing with me before I fuck you silly.” But looking at his fatherly face right now, there was no way this man could have those kinds of thoughts.

She concluded her discussion with him and bade him goodbye, her mind already working on her next plan.

Aaron stood inside his small bathroom. The force of the water from the cold shower hit his body like a thousand tiny needles. This was penance for his sinful thoughts against the Lord's sheep. Trina had come to him as a father, hurt and in need of help. Yet the whole time she sat in his office, all he wanted to do was wrap those shapely legs around his waist as he buried himself balls deep in her over and over again. His flaccid cock jumped at that thought and he groaned, shutting his eyes. Terrible mistake, his brain whispered, as he was immediately flooded with images of the top of her soft breasts peeking out of the low neckline of her dress and her full lips. He imagined those lips around his dick milking him as his dick got harder. His muscles tensed with the effort it took to hold himself back from grabbing his throbbing erection and jerking it to the perverse images in his mind.

He shut the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He was going to pray till his mind was freed from these lecherous thoughts.

The next Sunday, Trina skipped church, and the next, and then the next.

That evening, she was reclining at home in a short flare dress with a deep V neckline and tiny straps. Seeing as the weather was hot, she had refrained from wearing a bra choosing a small black thong as the only underwear under her light cotton dress.

She was about to turn on her stereo when she heard a short rap at her door.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“It’s Father Aaron.”

Finally! Trina did a little dance before going to open the door. Father Aaron walked in dressed in his full priestly garb. He smiled at her politely, sitting down when she offered him a seat.

He started to talk about how she’s been missing at church and if she was well.  But Trina’s head wasn’t in it at all. The whole time he spoke, she watched his full lips move, thinking about what she could get those lips to do to her. Would he lick and nibble at her nipples or suck in the entire areola? Would he suck her clit, laving her sensitive nub with his tongue as he pumped his fingers into her hole?

She felt a small gush of liquid and unsuccessfully tried to stifle a moan, earning her a lift of his eyebrows. She smiled and quickly got up.

"What would you like to drink?" She asked.

"Some coffee would be nice, thank you?" He replied warmly.

She brewed a small pot, putting her thoughts together as she mixed in some sugar, choosing Irish cream over regular cream in a split moment of inspiration.

She set down the coffee in front of him, aware of the front of her dress sagging to reveal her perky boobs. She took her time, allowing him to get an eyeful before stepping back.

Aaron's dick jumped at the sight in front of him. He took a large gulp of his coffee, suddenly feeling parched. Trina quickly spoke up at the slight furrow of his brow.

"I used Irish cream. I found out I had run out of regular cream. I hope you don't mind."

Aaron set down his mug. "I don't drink."

"Oh! Uhm, let me get you black coffee then." She hopped off to his side to grab the coffee, "accidentally" spilling it on him.

They both jumped at the same time, Trina apologizing profusely as she ran off to grab towels.

She returned and started dabbing off the spilled coffee from him, insisting when he tried to take the towel from her. Her body was pushed up against his, leaning over as she frantically worked on the stain.

Aaron tried to hold his breath. She smelled so good. She smelled like cocoa butter, vanilla, and chocolate. It didn't help that he could see her brown areolas from the dip in her dress. Her hand was dangerously close to his crotch, and he had refrained from wearing trousers under his robe due to the heat. The flimsy pair of boxer briefs he had on could barely contain him at full mast. He took her shoulders and lifted her off him.

"It's fine, I can manage." He said to her.

Her face fell... Then lit up. "Why don't you wash up in my bathroom? I have something you can wear while I dry clean that for you." She put on her best pouty face, "Please? It's the least I can do for being so clumsy."

Everything in Aaron screamed that this was a bad idea. His years of training and his inner voice told him to pick up his Bible and leave. He opened his mouth to say goodbye, " Alright. Let's do that." He heard himself say. Her wide smile as she turned to lead the way made him silence the last voice of reason in his head.

Aaron secured the robe Trina had given him. Opening the door he stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom to see Trina standing there in nothing but her little black thong.

[niceysmusings]

@23jammy, posted your story. Just realized my tag from my main account won't appear in your notifications for some reason. 🤦🏾‍♀️

By special Request: @23jammy, this one's for you.

Dr Pierre 2

Andrea stood by the curb, her coffee scalding her tongue. The sharp sting was a welcome distraction from the deeper ache gnawing at her chest. She stared blankly into the distance, replaying the conversation that had turned her life upside down.

She had been expecting a summons to her director’s office ever since she noticed the red light on the transmitter at Pierre’s desk—the one he hadn’t bothered to switch off while he was buried inside her. At the time, she had laughed to herself, half-joking that their indiscretion might draw an audience. She hadn’t realized just how prophetic that thought would be.

“So, you’re apparently the new hospital slut,” were the director’s first words as she stepped into his office.

Andrea blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I heard the whole thing. Pierre was rutting into you like an animal, and you—well, you seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.”

Her stomach twisted. This couldn’t be real. She had heard rumors about harassment at the hospital but had never been on the receiving end of it. Her relationship with Dr. Pierre was mutual, consensual, and—she now realized—recklessly unprofessional. Still, nothing prepared her for this degradation.

“Yes, it was a poor choice to do it in his office,” she admitted silently to herself. “But does that justify this?”

The director leaned back in his chair, his disdain cutting deeper than any reprimand. “I expected more discretion, Andrea. But I suppose screwing your way up the ladder is what you do best.”

His words blurred into background noise as Andrea’s mind spiraled. She felt like a stranger in her own body, trapped in a slow-motion nightmare.

“What?” she murmured, her voice hollow.

He sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Pierre’s reputation for being ‘gifted’ doesn’t seem to extend to your intelligence. Get on your knees, Andrea. Show me your worth.”

Her breath caught as the words hit her like a slap. “If you impress me,” he added with a shrug, “I might consider letting you keep your job.”

Andrea’s anger surged, wild and uncontrollable, like a fire consuming dry brush. She opened her mouth to unleash the torrent of curses building inside her, but then she froze. Her entire life flashed before her eyes. He was a weasel, no doubt about it—but a powerful one. He could destroy her career, blackball her in the medical community, and make it nearly impossible for her to ever practice again.

Tears stung her eyes, but she bit them back, determined not to show weakness. Instead, she spat on the pristine, expensive carpet and spun on her heels, storming out of his office without a backward glance.

Now, as she stood on the curb, jobless and with bills piling up, despair weighed on her chest like a stone. She had no idea what to do next.

Returning from her evening jog, Andrea’s heart sank when she saw Pierre’s Chrysler parked outside her apartment. For a moment, she considered turning around and running, but where would she go? This was her home, her sanctuary—she wouldn’t be driven out of it too.

When she stepped inside, she found Pierre leaning casually against the wall. His crisp white button-down shirt, with the top buttons undone, revealed a hint of his chest and the inked lines of a tattoo peeking out beneath the rolled-up sleeves. He wore tailored black trousers and no shoes, exuding a disarming mix of casual intimacy and calculated elegance. He looked entirely at ease, as though he belonged there.

His gold-framed bifocal glasses caught the light as he watched her with an amused glint. She caught herself staring and turned away quickly, heat rising to her cheeks. Grabbing a glass, she filled it with water, trying to steady her nerves.

“I’d offer you a drink,” she said, her tone laced with sarcasm, “but it looks like you’ve already helped yourself to the spaghetti in my kitchen.”

Pierre smiled faintly, but his expression softened. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice unusually gentle.

That single question shattered the dam she had been holding up for days. Hot tears spilled down her face as a sob wrenched from her chest.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Pierre?!” she shouted, her voice raw with anguish. “I was fine before you started chasing me! I told you I didn’t want trouble! I have people who rely on me—bills to pay! I didn’t scrape and starve my way through nursing school just to lose it all over some fucking man! I hate you! I hate you, and I hate that old wretch who told me to suck his cock to keep my job!”

Her words hung in the air, sharp and heavy. Pierre’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. For the first time, she noticed the subtle tension in his jaw.

“What old wretch?” His voice was low, deadly calm, the kind of calm that sent a shiver down her spine.

Andrea stepped back, shaking her head. She hadn’t meant to tell him—hadn’t meant to drag him into this nightmare. “I don’t want trouble,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Pierre stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob against his chest. Her tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t care. The truth was, he didn’t need her to say the name. There was only one man in the entire hospital audacious—and stupid—enough to pull such a stunt. And Pierre was going to make him pay.

But first...

Without a word, he scooped Andrea into his arms. She didn’t resist, her arms draping around his neck as the weight of the past few days drained from her. Her body was limp, deflated after unburdening herself to him. Pierre carried her into the bathroom, setting her gently on the edge of the tub before turning on the shower.

He undressed them both with careful precision, his touch firm yet unassuming. The cascade of warm water enveloped them, washing away the day’s sweat and her lingering tears. Andrea sagged against him as he worked shampoo into her hair, his strong, deft fingers massaging her scalp.

Those fingers, she thought wistfully. The same ones that made him the head surgeon at only 31. Her breath hitched as she remembered the countless hours spent in the operating room, standing at his side, watching him perform what could only be described as miracles. She would never experience that again, never feel the electric rush of being part of something so life-changing.

A fresh sob wracked her body, and Pierre’s chest tightened. He rinsed the suds from her hair with steady hands, his movements deliberate, as though anchoring her to the present. When they were both clean, he wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the bedroom.

Sitting her on the bed, he dried her off with a gentleness that belied his towering frame. He laid her down and perched beside her, his fingers brushing through her damp hair. His gaze locked with hers, warm and unwavering.

“Do you trust me, Andrea?” His voice was low, filled with a quiet intensity that made her heart ache. “I promised I would take care of you, and I will. This is all my fault, and I’m going to make it right. I don’t care how many noses I have to break or how many joints I have to dislocate—I’ll set things straight. You hear me?”

A soft, watery laugh escaped her lips at his words. She knew he meant them. Pierre wasn’t just a world-class surgeon; he was a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu and a veteran boxer. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he could make good on his threat. The director had gone after her because Pierre was untouchable—both physically and professionally.

Warmth spread through her chest as she realized just how far he was willing to go for her. The tension eased from her body, replaced by a quiet sense of relief. She lifted a hand to cup his face, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw.

“I trust you,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions still churning inside her.

Pierre exhaled a quiet breath of relief as he leaned down, capturing her lips with his. His kiss was possessive yet tender, his tongue slipping past her lips to stake his claim.

His hands roamed her body with an intimate familiarity, mapping every curve and contour as Andrea’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. She deepened the kiss, her legs parting instinctively to welcome him. He settled between her thighs, the hard length of him grinding against her soft, growing warmth.

When he pulled away from her lips, it was only to trail kisses down her body. Each touch, each kiss, seemed to erase another fragment of her lingering doubts. He promised he’d make things right, and she believed him.

His mouth found her most sensitive place, and a soft, breathy moan escaped her lips. Her hands tangled in his hair as he kissed and tasted her with a fervent hunger, his tongue and lips moving in rhythm that unraveled her completely. He devoured her, licking, sucking, and nibbling until her moans turned into cries and she was nothing but a quivering mess beneath him.

By the time he thrust into her, Andrea had lost count of the waves of pleasure that had already claimed her. Pierre moved with a purpose, his every motion filled with unspoken apologies and promises. Each thrust said, I’m sorry. Each grind, I’ll set things straight.

The intensity of his movements brought tears to her eyes. He kissed them away, his lips brushing her cheeks as they fell freely.

His breath, hot and ragged, ghosted against her ear. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his hips rolling into her to underscore his words.

Andrea clung to him, her arms and legs wrapping around him as he increased his pace, chasing his own release after ensuring her pleasure again and again. His lips found hers once more, locking them in a reverent kiss as his hands cradled her head, holding her as though she might break.

When he finally let go, his release came with a quiet groan, his body pressing flush against hers as he spilled deep inside her. His lips hovered near hers, his breath mingling with hers as he whispered solemnly, “I’ll make it right. I swear.”

And in that moment, as she gazed into his unwavering eyes, Andrea knew with every fiber of her being that he meant it.

[niceysmusings]

My main page is limited for some reason so I'll be reblogging and engaging from this one. If you're new here check out my page for my literary work.

[niceysmusings]

Sometimes I get hit with a bout of inspiration in a coffee shop or in the market, and I have all these ideas for my ongoing fiction. But the moment I sit at my table and open my laptop, I get so discouraged that I'm unable to put a word down.