Novel & Cerita Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Kindle

Zane's brows furrowed, and he dropped the pictures on the passenger seat, taking out what felt like a book. In the low garage light seeping through the windows, Zane saw it really was a book when he took it out. A white leather book. The cover was browned at the edges, like someone had thrown it in a fire and yanked it out in just in time before he began to burn. Deep grooves appeared between his brows as he opened it, but the words scribbled on the first page just made his blood run cold. --Dear Diary, it's Victoria. Zane's knuckles whitened around the book, and he slammed it down hard against the steering wheel, as fire surged inside him.

Jackson uttered, stepping closer towards me. “Yes but I know when to give up trying to fight and believe it or not, I have,” I muttered, walking away as my heart raced. If Jackson could easily see through my act, it was only a matter of time till Kaelion found out. Without looking back, I hurried into my room and locked the door behind me. I then brought out a small old diary that I had earlier taken from the library in one of the boxes before Kaelion woke up. “The history of the Obsidian fang pack,” The cover of the diary read, further sparking my curiosity.

I said,my voice firm. She nods, her hands on her thighs for balance. I watch her face tighten with effort. A second passes, Then I hear the first trickle. Warm golden piss hits my chest, Splashing against my skin. It's hot, like liquid heat spreading out. The stream is stronger, hitting me right in the center of my chest. running down in rivulets over my nipples and stomach. The smell hits me—sharp, musky, all her. I love it. My chest gets soaked fast.

“Oh, you guys are not going to believe this. Our little spy is a massive freak.” I adjusted my posture, holding the diary up to the ambient light of the limo. “‘If he pushed me against the bookshelves, I wouldn’t even fight back,’” I read, my voice dripping with dark amusement. “‘I want him to take control. I want him to rip this stupid sweater off me. I can practically feel his hands gripping my thighs, bruising my skin, pushing his huge dick inside my tight and wet aching pussy while he whispers my name…’”

Naomi’s. My gut tightened. If it was here, she wasn’t. That meant trouble. I grabbed it, shoved it into my pocket, eyes already scanning the room for anything else useful. Then I spotted a leather-bound diary tossed on the bed. Maria’s handwriting carved across the cover in firm strokes. I flipped it open without thinking. Pages crammed with her thoughts, sharp and unfiltered: Pages filled with her thoughts. Words about me. "Darian’s eyes cut through me, making me feel alive."

As she gathered the jewelry, something caught her eye—a small leather-bound book that had fallen from a hidden compartment in the bottom of the box. “What’s this?” Deja picked it up, turning it over in her hands. The cover was soft, well-worn, with the initials “D.M.” embossed in gold on the front. “A diary? Original Deja kept a diary?” She blinked, slowly absorbing the chaotic possibilities. “Oh. Oh no. Or maybe... oh yes.” Curiosity overwhelmed any sense of privacy. After all, technically it was her diary now, right? Deja settled back onto the bed and opened it to a random page.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, Oliver crouched beside me with a small notebook in hand and solemnly read aloud his thought report from the night before. "...In summary, when my owner blasted weird, loud, and annoying noises on the outdoor dancer speaker yesterday, she profoundly expressed her unique insight into postmodern deconstructive art. Her uniquely independent spirit deeply captivated me. "I love her so much that I'm drawn to her like a moth to a flame." He finished reading and looked at me expectantly. "My owner, did I use that phrase correctly?" "Half correct," I said, mixing paint without looking up. "You're definitely the moth, but I'm not the flame; I'm an electric bug zap

“What mai—” The words died as I followed her gaze. A plain brown envelope lay beside her boot. My brows snapped together. “Who the hell dropped this?” I muttered, crouching to snatch it up. We never got mail. Not bills, not flyers, nothing. Wrong house, I almost decided until I flipped it over and saw the two words scrawled in precise black ink across the front: To Little Thief. My heart did a sickening flip. Little Thief. Only one person had ever called me that.

She saw me standing in the doorway and dismissed the class immediately. "Aurora," she said. Her eyes went to the leather journal in my hands. "What's that?" I walked toward her slowly. "It's Ayda's diary," I said. "I found it hidden in the old house. In the basement." Sloane went very still. Her face lost all colour. "May I?" she asked quietly. I handed it to her. Sloane opened it carefully. Her hands were shaking slightly. She read the first page. Then the second. Her eyes moved faster and faster across the words.

He wants to find happiness, and focusing on those kinds of situations will cause nothing but terrible grief in his heart. However, things continue to happen, and both continue to notice the presence of that strange stalker who watches over them. That afternoon Diane is drinking water looking out the window at the panorama that is presented to her. Still, things got out of control when she sees Sarah looking at her in the distance. She was jogging calmly while their eyes crossed. Diane drops the glass of water in surprise, and when one of the pieces breaks on her foot, she gets hurt.