Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

Quintessa couldn't deny it-Tyrone was drop-dead gorgeous. Among all the men she knew, none could hold a candle to him. And she certainly didn't mind his kisses.

Even as Tyrone's lips met hers, Quintessa felt a shiver of desire ripple through her body.

But this was just a game of adult attraction, a dance of hormones. Quintessa's mind was sharper than anyone's rationality.

She wasn't about to let Tyrone claim her body so hastily. She knew he probably wouldn't cherish her if things went down this way. Quintessa hadn't expected to walk away from their encounters unscathed every time, but she certainly didn't want it to happen in such a reckless manner.

She had her own plans. If she were to give in, it would be on her terms.

If she were to surrender, she wanted to be unforgettable to Tyrone, and to be the only woman he'd ever think of again, not just another notch on his bedpost.

Tyrone had rolled up her tee to her neck, but Quintessa didn't struggle. Instead, she watched him coolly; in her mind, she was racing for a way out, but it seemed every escape was blocked.

With his hands moving to her back, ready to unclasp her bra, she felt despair creep in, but just then, the door burst open.

"Quinn, honey, I heard Mr. York was here to-oh!"

Violet, with her imposing figure, stood frozen at the doorway, her words stuck in her throat like a fishbone. As she witnessed the scene before her, her face was a mix of shock and regret; she wished someone would come and flatten her out right there.

James stood behind Violet, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to stop her. She had barged in without knocking.

The next second, James turned his back, "Uh. Mr. York, my apologies, I couldn't stop her."

He wished he could vanish on the spot.

Violet felt like crying. Who would've thought these two would dare to get frisky in broad daylight, in the dressing room of all places? Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Remembering Tyrone was her big boss, Violet felt her heart sink. She had just interrupted the man's private affairs. She was in for it now.

She wanted to run, but meeting Quintessa's gaze, Violet found herself rooted to the spot.

After all, Quintessa was her girl.

Clearing her throat, Violet mustered her courage and stammered, "I'm sorry, I-I just heard Mr. York was here and I wanted to see you for a moment. I didn't expect to see you with Quinn." Compared to Tyrone's icy, murderous glare, Quintessa almost whistled. Violet was indeed her angel, she thought.

Quintessa slowly pulled her tee back down, "Tsk, what a pity. You missed out on a lot of juicy moments."

Tyrone wrapped his arms around Quintessa, trying to keep her from getting up. "No pity needed. Let them get out, and we'll continue."

Quintessa glanced at the clock, "Time's up, ten minutes are over. I need to get back to work. Otherwise, who's going to tip you next time? Sweetheart, don't hold up my hustle."

Tyrone gazed at her deeply. Blood still stained her lip where he had bitten it, and her smile was that of a siren who had just devoured a sailor.

As their eyes locked, silence lingered; it was a silent battle of wills.

It was as if a silent agreement had been reached, and Tyrone let go of Quintessa.

She stood up and straightened her clothes and hair.

Tyrone stood behind her, watching her reflection in the mirror, with a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "Quintessa, I've given you plenty of time."