Novel & Cerita Father Stretch My Hands Part 2

He рut his lаrgе, wоrk roughened hаnd оn hеr fоrеhеаd and ѕроkе tо hеr gently. “Are уоu ѕісk? Is thеrе ѕоmеthіng wrоng thаt I ѕhоuld know about?” Hе lооkеd wоrrіеd. Shаnа аdоrеd hеr hаndѕоmе stepfather. Hе wаѕ lеаn аnd tаnnеd, his ѕhіrtѕlееvеѕ rоllеd up tо display hіѕ muscled fоrеаrmѕ аnd his ѕun bleached blоndе hair hаngіng down оvеr hіѕ соllаr.

“In those dreams, these are what I see also. In the darkness, a woman is stretching her hand out, offering to rescue me from it all. I wake up trembling and the only thing I can do is paint the hope of salvation.” He pointed at one painting in particular which showed me standing at the top of a cliff with my hand stretched out to a man who was struggling to hold onto a stone outcropping to stop himself from falling completely over the cliff. The painting had sharp, dark lines and distortions. I wasn’t good at analyzing artworks, but Dad owned a lot of collections so being around the appraisers gave me a little idea. “And I’m the one you see?” I asked. He nodded, his eyes twinkling. “I’m not

Thinking about how he came out wrapped in a towel. His V waist line is so potent. Strong abs and packs in place. Firm so alluring. I didn't know when I got my hands into my pussy but they were now there. Two fingers buried deep inside my hole…and two fingers inside my mouth. I thrust in…. “Hermes cock…..argh…” “Fuck my pussy daddy….” I want to hold it…hug inside his pants… I want to fuck him…I want to ride on his hard cock and hold my boobs from bounce as I punch him hard.

One of Jax’s thick fingers circled Alex’s stretched rim, teasing the cum-slick entrance before pushing inside alongside the load he’d already deposited. “Ah—fuck!” Alex cried out, the dual sensation of being sucked and fingered pushing him toward the edge far too quickly. Jax added a second finger, scissoring them roughly to stretch him further, crooking them to nail his prostate with expert precision. Stars burst behind Alex’s eyelids. His moans grew louder, unrestrained, echoing off the empty locker room walls.

"Is the paper real?" He didn't look at me. His large, rough hand—the same hand that had pinned my wrists above my head in the amber glow of the mountain vault, the same hand that had tracing the line of my collarbone with a terrifying, breathless reverence—slowly closed into a white-knuckled fist.

he grumbled. I grabbed his hand, ignoring his protest, and guided his fingers into the correct position. "It's just an 'A,' Dad. Try not to look like you're about to break something." Linc chuckled from his seat. Cast shot him a look before focusing back on his hand. "This is harder than it looks." I smirked. "Not really." Cast huffed but didn't argue. I patted his hand before moving on. I made it out of his reach just in time as he swatted at me. I continued walking around, correcting hands, making sure people weren't fumbling too much with a grin on my face.

Zane says and I release a breath I didn't even know I was holding. “I want you to do something for me. Keep your cheeks nice and spread.” Zane's voice rumbled in his chest and I felt it against my back. My trembling hands complied, moving away from the wall and reaching for my ass cheeks, pulling them apart as wide as I could and I heard Zane growl. “That’s right. Stretch out that pussy for me.”

Not that I would. I dropped my bags on the floor and immediately sat on the bed. Soft. Dangerously soft. The kind of soft that makes people forget their responsibilities. I was already considering taking a nap when my phone suddenly rang. Dad. Of course. I accepted the video call. “How was your trip, hija?” Tsk. Travel my face. Thank God they remembered they had a daughter. For almost three hours, I had been waiting for updates while stranded in a foreign country looking for a butler who disappeared like a side character in a mystery movie.

not in the way his father liked to snap my G-strings. Then his hands went up again, along my sides until they reached my ribs. My son paused, squeezed, and moved forward and inward below my breasts. He passed my shelf bra quickly, pausing when his fingers touched my exposed skin above the support of my bra. Sighing—wanting more—I waited as my son held the undersides of my tits in the crescents of flesh between this thumbs and forefingers. I watched his hands, unable to look away, my hips turning on their own, pushing my squishy pussy against his hard shaft while spreading my legs so I could feel as much of his pole against my lips as possible. I wanted to lift my skirt up to my hips, but I k

my grandfather said, handing me a newspaper. The front page showed Vincent, gaunt and hollow-eyed, being escorted by federal agents. I felt nothing but a cold, distant emptiness. "He deserves it," I said softly, letting the paper fall. "Grandpa, I want to start over." ... "The surgery has a ninety-five percent chance of success," the doctor, Alexander Reed, told us. He was young, maybe in his early thirties, with kind, deep-blue eyes. "Isabella's nerve damage was never that severe. Her recovery was deliberately sabotaged. We can fix it."