Heat Ink Sans Sin の小説・ストーリー

“Wanna taste you first.” He moved down, spreading my legs wider. Then his mouth was on my pμ$sy, slow at first, then faster, his tongue was working me down there until I was shaking. “Fuck, you taste like sin,” he groaned, sucking my cl!t. “Kyle, I can’t–” I moaned, gripping the sheets. “It’s too much…” He just laughed, and the vibration made me jolt. “You’re gonna take it all, angel.”

Then another. Heavy. But mine.

Or Sinclair. Holy shit.

He stared at me deeply, but not with disgust, rather concern. He pulled me in for a hug without saying anything. After a while, he pulled out. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked, holding my hands. “I guess.” I managed. I never thought I would tell anyone about this, but with Arson? I felt safe. “He said it’s the only way for me to stay away from sin. He said We must destroy sin and every sinful engagement. I get whipped each time I disobey him. He is the major reason why I am alive.” I waited for him to say something, but he just kept on looking at me, waiting for me to finish.

Verity pulled up to the grand Sinclair family home at Marpleton Drive in Bel Air just after sunset. The sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion glowed warmly under landscaped lights, but tonight it felt more like a battlefield than a sanctuary. She sat in the car for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady her breathing. She had barely stepped out when Kingsley appeared from nowhere, near the entrance. He looked disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, hair messy like he had been running his hands through it for hours.

Just perfect as she thought. “Nice meeting you, sir. You can notify Lora if you have removed that part and we’ll arrange some time for that,” said she. Author's Note: Hello, I hope you enjoyed the story. Trace of Ink is about to end and I would love to hear your insights and critics. Please drop a comment, that would be much appreciated. Thank you :)

It’s a beautiful sight, but one that elicits shivers across my skin, knowing that the vibrant colours and distracting views are to conceal the darkness of Ira. "If this is a trap, I will kill you. Slowly,” I growl at Sinful, who pauses before we can make it to the front gate, painted a bright yellow. He turns, lavender eyes assessing me, a cool expression gliding across his face. "Don't let the power get to your head, pretty mortal."

Random letters typed themselves across my tits in real time, the smudged ink ribbon dragging black streaks over pale flesh, marking my nipples, my cleavage, my collarbone with gibberish that looked like ecstatic code. He fucked me harder. Faster. The mechanical clacking grew frantic matching the wet slap of his balls against my ass, the obscene squelch of my cunt clenching on nothing. Ink smeared everywhere: across my breasts, dripping down my sides, staining the desk. My body became the page.

She replied, "The red ink pen in the office." I started laughing harder. "You mean the indelible red ink pen in the office that will not come off." She looked horrified and then started laughing hysterically. "Just please fuck me good for my attempt to be creative." I did. Brittney's personality always kept me off balance. Most people have a business face and a personal face. Brittney's was more than that. One day I bought three yellow roses from a peddler at a stoplight. When Brittney came home the roses were in a small crystal vase on the kitchen table.