Novel & Cerita Delicate C Section Scar Tattoo

He stroked that section again, looking up at her. "Is this our son's mark?" His voice was low. As soon as she opened her eyes, she peered down to see what he was saying. Her stretchmarks, which developed after she gave birth to Gazer, are what Sean's fingertips are touching. It's not very obvious if you don't look closely.

The sensation of her around me, combined with the sting of the tattoo, sends an overwhelming rush of pleasure through me. With each careful stroke of the needle, she traces a new design onto my chest. The symbol, unique and powerful, reflects the merging of our lives. Her concentration is intense, but I can see the love in her eyes, feel it in the way her body moves against mine. This mark isn’t just for the world to see; it’s a testament to us—our bond, our passion, our forever.

When they rode down from the shockwave sweet delirium of their pleasure, Aiden picked up the tattoo machine sitting idly in the table before them and waved it in front of Kate. Smiling she said. “I want it drawn here.” Aiden dragged his eyes down to what Kate was gesturing for him to see. Kate flipped her Tshirt up, baring her stomach for him to see. She knew other pornstars had their Brazzers emblem drawn on parts of their skin where people can easily spot them but she doesn’t want it. For the sake of her father and Tiffany and her son, Gabby.

I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, hand kneading the first one. My fingers fumbled with his belt. He helped me, shoving his pants down while I was now only in my black lace thong. He sat back on his heels for a second, eyes dark as they move over me. Then he leaned down again, lips brushing my stomach. He found the thin faded C-section scar there and kissed it softly, making my breath hitched.

As I work my way down her bruised back my fingers touch over puckered flesh that has been covered by an intricate tattoo of various flowers, none that I could identify other than a rose, with butterflies and hummingbirds. The tattoo was almost the complete width of her upper lower back. It sat too high up to be considered a tramp stamp. She was not the type to have a tramp stamp that’s for sure. This was definitely a work of art. I slowly ran my fingers across the scars. The tattoo did an amazing job of hiding them. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was rubbing my hands all over her body I probably wouldn’t have even noticed them. Now that I have, I’m curious.

Pristine and fragile, like a flower. Selena raised a shaky hand and stared at a scar. The tattoos disguised his scars and could only be seen when the person looking at them was paying careful attention. She carefully followed the outline of a scar on his shoulder. "Where does the scar end?" Observing that, it continued past his neck and vanished behind him toward his back. "Very far." He stated it plainly. "It must have hurt badly." "Yes, it did." "Do they still hurt?" She inquired. "Sometimes."

I prayed to the goddess to bless our union and make us strong. I managed to sneak out of bed. I went to the shower and tried to take a bath. Looking at my body in the mirror, I saw red marks all over my body. They were kisses and finger grips. Most have formed due to the pressure of the passion we shared. I giggled, remembering all that had happened. I could not believe it. They were mine. It was official. I was their Luna. Still washing in the shower, I caught the scent of Cinnamon, and I knew Clay had stepped in.

“Drive slowly.” Robert warned him. “Or face her wrath.” The driver smiled politely at the joke, probably not realizing how much truth there was in it and that it wasn’t a joke whatsoever. The baby and I were finally both cleared to go home, but that did not mean that I was feeling fine and dandy again. I had a big c-section scar on my lower stomach, one that would surely turn into an ugly scar later on. The doctors had encouraged walking and moving around far quicker than I really wanted to. I could walk out of the hospital myself, but at a slow pace.

What about the scar on my belly, the one I got from giving birth to her? I frenziedly yanked up my shirt and checked my abdomen. It was smooth and flat, devoid of the pink, ugly scar from my C-section. It disappeared.

The woman at his back lets out a whimper as Connor asks me the stupid question. “You brought me back to my father, the last fuckin’ place I want to be; get me out of here.” I snarl at him while pulling the tubes and wires from the back of my hand and my chest; it's only when I pull the sticky pad off my left pec that I notice a scar I don’t recognise. It's a long scar that looks a few years old; it's well past the healing stages and if I didn’t know my own body, I don't think I'd even notice it.