Bloody Fingers Book 소설 & 이야기

Clara sighed and decided that maybe she could fix its bindings before returning them. She picked up the loosened page, and unlike the burnt one which she had read last night, this one did really belong to the book. And there she found an almost faded sketch of a gilded hand with fingers that were slender and nails that looked more like claws. It seemed to be holding a heart, dripping blood collected into a pool beneath it.

From my position, I can't see the men anymore, and can't know what they're doing, but I can imagine them standing in front of the car and how they'd get even more excited. It didn't take long for me to start moving my fingers in and out, using force and speed. I hadn't started lightly and then increased, but what made it feel better was that I'd added another finger. My moans echoed through the garage, as did the sound of the movement of wet skin slapping against wet skin. And as my fluids oozed out, I could already feel the palm of my hand being honeyed. ************* Note: Don't forget to like, comment, and share the book! This really helps it grow on the platform.

* Trigger Warning, this book contains violence, dark fantasy, abuse, death, murder, and trauma* Prologue Blood was everywhere, on the ceiling, the floors, the bed. The coppery smell of the warm red liquid filled the air, making my nose wrinkle in disgust. I rubbed my blood-covered hands through my hair. The rage simmered as the adrenaline left my body. It was like I was stuck in a haze. Why was I covered in blood, and who did it belong to?

Watched the blood still seeping slow. Slid her fingers to the book’s spine. The blood was cold and thick, the muscle slippery, the ribs firm. She angled her hand, reached further, deeper, her fingers spreading, bending, searching. Her curiosity insistent and eager to loosen it from the bone as more remembered words urged her to do. Moving faster, she worked her hand deeper. The tips of her fingers dug into the muscle, moving aside coiled intestine, tearing through the thickness, poking between the ribs. Her wrist knocking between bone, giving her more room to move and hunt and find.

Fuck! This all reminded me of that day at the pool. The first time he touched me, when his fingers, just like now, thrust deep inside me, and he fucked me so well with his fingers that I came within minutes. He could read my body as if every detail was written in his own blood, and I could never take that away from him. Never. I whimpered as his fingers quickened, my hands flying to clutch his shoulders, clinging to him for balance even though he had only just begun.

I can’t see what they’re doing, but I’ve seen enough p**n to know that he is fingering the woman I came to declare my love for. She wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him. He towers over Ellie, so her face rests against his muscular chest, even though she’s standing on tiptoes. Her legs tremble. I see her face contorting with pleasure, mouth open, eyes half-closed. He withdraws his fingers. Ellie lowers herself again, standing on her feet now. She looks up at him. I can only imagine the expression on her face. He holds up his hand near her face. Two fingers are slick and shiny. I notice – my gut twisting in agony – that each of his fingers is thicker than two of mine. Ellie opens her mo

The question pipp out in my head while hesitatingly taking the book out. "Take out that white cloth and placed it against your right palm." Glancing around to see if I could see anything or exactly where the voice was coming from, I did as told anyway. With trembling hands, I grabbed the immaculate white cloth and pressed it against my palm, in less than a second, I felt a quick pain as of something poked my hand and so I took the cloth off, releasing the blood. "Isn't it just…" With wide eyes, I watched my blood trailing down to the book that seemed so old at the same time, new. "What the…"

I opened it and disappeared from site. As usual I went back to my best place. The place that I always feel at home. When I arrived there, the flowers had wonderfully bloomed and their scent was quite intoxicating. I squatted down to get the flower that was near. I couldn’t reach it, so I tried once again to reach it. This time, I saw a pair of shoes walk towards me as the hands plucked it and handled it to me. I gazed at the mam then at the flower in my hand.

He smoothed a hand up my arm, his fingers pulling the strand of hair from my face. I should have cared, but I didn't. He lowered himself toward me, the knife between our throats, his body covering mine with only our clothes between us. He regarded me, dark eyes peeling away layer over layer of protective walls that I tried to put up. He curled his hand around mine and the handle of the knife, then slowly pried my hands off it and took the knife from me. He dropped it on the bed beside us. I could feel every inch of his strong, muscled body against mine, but my eyes couldn't focus on anything but the blood on his skin, dripping from the cut I'd inflicted.

They wandered through the aisles, running their fingers along spines that held countless worlds within their pages. Emily's eyes sparkled with excitement as she plucked a weathered book from the shelf. "Liam, look at this," she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. "It's a collection of love letters from different eras. Each page holds the raw emotions of someone's heart."