A POUND OF FLESH TWILIGHT FANFICTION PDF

Watch her update her facebook status and fall in love. Also props to DoUTrustme for the pre-read. Did you know all Canadians are born with horns? We have them removed at birth. What the fuck am I supposed to tell your mother?

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The impatient fumbling of his fingers started it back up again as he ran his thumb along the loopy, black cursive that bound us. I knew he had me then. He knew he had me from the start. Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. In the Flesh The sounding bell charmed overhead as I swung open the tinted, glass door, stepping into the air-conditioned parlor and out of the unbearable Miami heat.

How may I help you? Straightening as I approached, he brushed the bright red bangs out of his brown eyes, barely looking up from his Instinct magazine.

Its walls were a swirl of teals and browns; aimless waves of ocean and sand. Artwork was spaced out sporadically; canvases of everything from menacing skeletons to crumbling, ancient churches.

Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the brilliant lights sparkling high above my head, illuminating the elegant mirrors as they threw my nervous reflection back at me. I waited for him to pause before calling his name. His body was long and lean, his saunter lithe and purposeful, as though he never second-guessed himself or his direction in life.

His eyes were hard, yet soft, roaming over my body; bosky green, all coral and seaweed, full of mischief and mirth. His hair was an aesthetic mess; unruly and windswept, the long strands were the color of melted butterscotch. He watched me for a moment as I stood there, studying the tattoos creeping along the lean muscles of his arms and crawling up his neck. There was a battle waging inside of me, an almost uncontrollable desire to reach out and touch the creatures bursting from his skin.

I wanted to see if they were real, to see if the pads of my fingers skimming across his flesh could capture the feel of feathers and fur, of beaks and talons and words. I wondered how the words would feel if that were even possible at all - to feel words. I wondered if they would flow from his flesh to my fingertips, surge around me, and rush through my body like the blood pumping in my veins. Of course, I was there for a tattoo. It was a fucking tattoo parlor.

I looked over at Jake, almost embarrassed to say it out loud. Jake was hired three months ago. How in the hell had he worked somewhere for three months and never, not once mentioned my name? I knew exactly who he was. Everyone with a T. Thinking I was leaving him hanging, he began to withdraw, but I stopped him, quickly slipping my cool, small hand into his large, warm one. He gripped it tightly, his skin slightly calloused, yet soft, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of my hand.

I glanced up at him through my lashes both surprised, and utterly captivated, only to meet his similar expression. Glancing over my shoulder, I found Jake thoroughly absorbed in his work, uncaring that any man other than him, was about to put his mark on me.

I followed him into a private room; a room as enthralling as the man himself. The only mirror in the room was a full length, French antique. Its soaring songbirds tucked neatly between the golden scrolls along the frame seemed to mock me as I gazed nervously around the room.

My eyes landed on the soft, leather table in front of me and I envisioned myself lounging on my back, my clothing peeled open and pulled down as Masen marked me. And it got me wondering.

Was I sure? I had convinced myself that somehow the action would right so many wrongs. He smiled. His chair rolled back slightly, drawing me in as my chest sunk, tightening like a vice. The burn in my cheeks was just about as unbearable as the stunned look on his face. Easily popping it open, he lowered the zipper, peeling the flaps back.

I barely avoided making an approving sound as his finger traced the skin along the waistband of my panties. I wanted it there. Tugging on the sides of my shorts, he pulled them down, helping me step out, before kicking them aside. Rubbing warmed shaving cream on my belly, he watched his fingers slide over my skin. Wiping the excess away, he washed his hands with a squirt of antiseptic, doused a few cotton balls with alcohol, and slipped on a pair of gloves, before turning back to me.

Leaving his hand on my thigh, he tossed the cotton balls aside, letting the cold liquid dry, before picking up his gun, the needle hovering right above where he was getting ready to mark me. You trust me? His touch was meant to be a soothing, clever distraction from the torment he was inflicting. But instead of calming my rattled nerves, it set me on fire, leaving my skin burning and tingling as his thumb dipped below my panty line. I should have told him to stop.

I should have grabbed his hand and prevented it from making lazy dips below my panties, sinking lower and lower I drew in my bottom lip, my blush returning as I felt myself growing wetter. No need to scratch. The more he wrote, the better it felt, and the wetter the crotch of my panties became. I gripped the edge of the table, my breath quick and shallow as he neared the center of my stomach, his arm moving closer towards my aching mound, and my throbbing clit.

I tried not to squirm as his forearm inched closer, his eyes drifting down to see the growing, wet spot he was currently causing. Masen just snickered at my frustration, tugging my wet panties a bit lower. Are you one of those people, Kitty? Does it turn you on? Making your kitty wet? Is that what you want? Do you want Jake to finish what I started? Do you want me to stop? Masen leaned back, placing his hands on the edge of the counter at each side.

His eyes darted up and down my body, lingering on my heaving chest and wet panties. He stood there, unashamed of the way his erection stood at attention, tenting in his pants as he watched me.

Fuck him. Holy shit! What am I doing? A thrill shot through me, caused by the anticipation of him drawing nearer. After a firm pinch to my clit, I dipped two fingers inside, quietly crying out from the fullness. My hips bucked as I removed them from my body and slammed them back inside once more. Can I touch you? Can I help you come?

There was an unhappy grunt from behind the door, but neither one of us paid much attention as Masen moved my fingers for me, shoving them deeper inside my wet center the way he wanted them to. Would you like your asshole boyfriend walking in on us? But for now, I just wanna see you come. Let me hear her purr. Bucking my hips frantically, I clenched around my fingers as he urged them in and out of my slick center.

I moaned his name as I came down from my orgasm, my eyes fluttering open as I felt his warm hand lift from mine. Reality returned after the abandonment of his hand. I lay on the table, my chest heaving as I took deep, ragged breaths, sated and shamed. I bent over, hissing from the pain to my belly caused by the sudden movement.

Masen groaned behind me as I stepped into my shorts, stopping me before I wiggled the tight material over my ass and snapped the buttons into place. His erection pressed firmly into my lower back. Nodding, I let him lead me back to the table, lying still long enough for him to tape the thin bandage to my stomach.

Buttoning my shorts for me, he skimmed his nose up the curve of my neck, his warm breath washing over my flesh, causing my treacherous body to tingle once more. Masen glanced up, meeting my eyes in the reflection of the glass, his dark and serious. They bored into mine before relaxing, his lips tugging into a grin. And what a fun conversation that was. What the fuck? What does that even mean? The truth teetered on the tip of my tongue as his brow furrowed in honest-to-God, genuine confusion, and I almost told him.

I almost told him out of sheer frustration over his own, blind stupidity. I thought about Masen every day; where he was, what he was doing, who he was doing. Feeling a fool, I confided in my bestie, leaving out the self-penetration, but it only made things worse, because, as it turned out, I was a fool. His confidence exceeded himself from the sordid snippets Angie had told me.

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The impatient fumbling of his fingers started it back up again as he ran his thumb along the loopy, black cursive that bound us. I knew he had me then. He knew he had me from the start. Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein.

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Instead, he pushes Touka. Notes: See the end of the chapter for notes. Chapter Text In one world, Nagachika Hideyoshi waits and waits and waits for his best friend to tell the truth. Hide wants so desperately to be wrong, despite the mounting evidence before him, so he puts his hands over his eyes and waits.

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They have a brief, but intense encounter on Spring Break in Miami. Can they find true love through emails? There will be lemons and laughs. Thank you for your readership. Obsessed but unnoticed for over a year, she puts a plan in motion to catch the eye of the corner-office.

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