HateMates Read Online J.D. Hollyfield

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense, Taboo Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)

From the USA Today Bestselling author J.D. Hollyfield comes a devilishly spicy, enemies-to-lovers romance about overcoming the past, undeniable attraction, and finding love in the untimeliest of ways.

A best friend, a stalker, and a bodyguard walk into a bar…

Current status: Living my best life. *Flips hair* What more could a girl want?

Just kidding.

My life has gone to shit. All the fun, late nights, and single life come to a screeching halt when I find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, thanks to my overbearing best friend, I’ve adopted a guard dog to keep me safe until they find the guy who attacked me.

Insert Tate Deveraux, my newest inconvenience. He’s brawny, not bad on the eyes, and a pain in my ass. Not only am I stuck with him until I’m out of danger, but he’s moving in with me.

He’s become a nuisance in my life and needs to go—stalker be damned. So do the urges to strip him naked and see if the rumors about hand size hold true. I blame my crush on booze and the kiss that should have never happened.

The simmering attraction between us is undeniable, but he’s made it clear I’m just a job. With lines being crossed and my life at stake, I guess I’ll find out if he’s better at keeping me safe or sated.

***THIS IS A STANDALONE NOVEL that interconnects with POWER by J.D. Hollyfield. You do not need to read POWER to enjoy Hatemates, but it is always preferred to get the full experience! Enjoy! ***

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter one


“That’s a wrap!”

I inwardly groan and slide off the bed to grab my robe. Chad comes up behind me, clasping his hand around my arm. “You were great today, babe. Wanna get a drink after—?”

“Not a chance.” I snatch my arm away. “And if you try that shit again, I’ll cut your dick off.” I turn on my heel and walk off the set. Once upon a time, this job made sense. I was young and wild, so why not make extra cash working on low-level movie sets? At least, that’s what I told myself they were. It sounded way better than porn. Ugh. Even I wince at that fact. But for the record, I don’t do full-on filth. There’s no begging Big Daddy to give it to me in nasty places while moaning until he fills me up. I’m not that desperate for cash.

I work in soft porn—because throwing “soft” in front makes it less sleazy. For the most part, I just have to pet and be petted. Simple as that.

“Oh, come on. You were feelin’ it.”

I flick him off over my shoulder. Chad has been pushing the envelope lately, and I’ve had enough. My contract states no penetration unless I say so—and I never plan to say so. But my contract is up in a couple months, and Russell, my boss, wants me to up my game. The problem is, I want out. Unfortunately, my bills tell me to stay the fuck where I am. There’s no way the income I bring in at my other job as a bartender is going to cut it when I’m drowning in debt with both jobs.

I tighten my robe as I walk past another set. Clarissa, who has no limits in her contract, is being twisted like a pretzel and pummeled from all angles. I cringe, picking up my pace.

I hit the shared dressing room and bump into Gretchen as she walks out. “Hey, girl. In a hurry?”

“Just need a shower to wash off Chad’s disgusting hands.”

“Ew. Is he being a creep again?”

“Again? He never stopped. And anytime I complain to Russell, he blows me off and brings up my contract.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“No. Not yet.” But I have. I’m going to walk away. I have to. Who I was when I started this journey and the woman I am now are not the same. My life is different. I want things. Real things. A stable job. Someone in my life. And no man wants to date a woman who spends her days naked in front of a camera. I want a steady relationship. A cuddle buddy. Someone I can make stupid lasagna recipes I cut out from a corny Marie Claire magazine. I want to be domesticated.

God! My younger self would keel over in shock at hearing me admit that.

“You’ll figure it out. I have to go, though. I’m running late. Russell has me with a new guy and wants us to get familiar before we shoot.”

“Yep. Later.” I jump in the shower and stand under the stream, letting the steaming water scorch the feeling of Chad’s wandering hands from my skin, then wrap a towel around myself and walk back to the dressing room. My feet stall, and I almost drop my things when I see a large vase filled with red roses on my vanity. Chills spread up my arms. My eyes shift to the other women in the room. “Did anyone see who put these here?” The girls shake their heads. “Seriously? No one?”

“We’re not here to monitor your admirers,” Mary says snidely, returning to over applying her lipstick. Bitch. I look back at the bouquet. My stomach churns, and I wrap my arms tighter around myself as I walk to my dressing table, set my things down, and reach for the card, unfolding it.

I want you to spread for me. Soon, you will.

I toss the paper to the ground as if the words burn me. Uneasiness settles in my core. This is the third delivery of roses this month. Same creepy note. No signature.

Getting fan-mail isn’t entirely out of the ordinary, but this…

Snatching up the card, I crumple it in my fist and toss it in the trash with the roses. Grabbing my things, I rush to dress and head out, gazing down at my phone. It’s almost two in the morning. I exit out the side of the studio, tugging my jacket tighter around me, and hurry down the alley, starting the four-block trek to my car. I walk through the now deserted parking lot, and a gust of wind rushes through me, forcing me to grab at my purse strap.

I’ve done this walk numerous times, but tonight, an eeriness lingers in the air. Picking up my pace, I slide between two cars and take a shortcut through an apartment alley. A loud bang sounds, and I jerk, looking behind me. A cat jumps off a trashcan and scurries between the dumpsters. My hand flies to my chest, and I release a deep breath. “Relax, Parks,” I console myself. I’m not a scaredy cat or someone afraid to be alone. The studio isn’t in the best part of town, but there’s never been any reason to worry.