Intimate Ink นิยาย & เรื่องราว

he asks tenta- tively, and I am wide-eyed at his request. “Of course,” I whisper, quivering. I lean back on my palms and spread my thighs wide. He is intense as he makes the first mark. A long sweeping scroll from knee to groin. I shudder as he stops short of my thickening pussy lips. I hold my breath and indulge in the sensation of the ink drying. That’s it. That’s the nirvana I’m after. It’s such a subtle, tiny triumph; you have to be in a very special place to perceive it. It’s like being licked by a tiny angel. He does the same on the other leg, slower this time so it dries while he’s still applying it, raising goose bumps in its wake and shooting a nerve tentacle of plea-

he orders, and then the tip drags across my skin, the pressure just shy of painful. The ink smells bitter, stinging slightly as he presses harder, etching something permanent onto me. I whimper, my fingers digging into the tile behind me, but I don’t pull away. I can’t. Not when the way his eyes darken as he works sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between my legs.

I frown, “It’s weird.” “He is a professional, Heaven.” She laughs like I’m being dramatic but seriously, Uncle Jax is even more strict than my stepdad is. His kids—my cousins live a very secretive and controlled life, thanks to the man she wants to ink me. “Jaxy has been inking people since before you were born and he is excellent at it, You’ve been talking about that little back tattoo for months so get it done, you’re practically in front of his shop.” She’s right, I will be in front of his shop. The tattoo parlour I was originally going to is across the street from his, they're professionals too, but like mom said, Inked by Jax is the best in the city.

Amanda said sipping her coconut water. “Oh… that’s good” kaila said looking at Celine who immediately understand that Amanda might have forgotten the memory of the activity. “So bad” Celine whisper as she stare at Amanda. In side the secret gallery, Aaron open the files and the ink as he deep a feather into the ink, he put it on the paper and the invisible write up came to view. “Yes” he said excitedly as he began to spread the ink on each papers which write up was coming alive.

I lean back on my palms and spread my thighs wide. He is intense as he makes the first mark. A long sweeping scroll from knee to groin. I shudder as he stops short of my thickening pussy lips. I hold my breath and indulge in the sensation of the ink drying. That’s it. That’s the nirvana I’m after. It’s such a subtle, tiny triumph; you have to be in a very special place to perceive it. It’s like being licked by a tiny angel. He does the same on the other leg, slower this time so it dries while he’s still applying it, raising goose bumps in its wake and shooting a nerve tentacle of pleasure to the peak of my clitoris.

a girl beckoned as she held him by the arm and kissed him passionately. "Yes indeed..." He moaned and licked his lips. "Sir'e the rooms are ready" a skeleton dressed as a waitress called from the stairs. She was shivering with fear also, as the troops marched towards the stairs. Anastasia wrapped her head with a towel. It was wet. She placed her phone on a template, she was back to her daily update on the internet of using someone's profile as hers. She glanced at her followers it was now a million. She chuckled at her mischievous act.

Here in the upstate sanctuary ink touched paper with a clear impact. Elena stood over the assembly table. She was checking the printed pages of a new book written by one of the collective's youngest members. The black ink looked good on the cream-colored paper. There were no hidden tracking devices in these pages. There were no data-mining cookies. It was a book built to last. Julian entered the print room. He carried a box of letters. He wore his work shirt with sleeves rolled up. His simple gold wedding band shone in the light. He put the box down. Looked over Elena's shoulder at the freshly printed page.

“You’re doing good.” I worked slowly, deliberately, focusing on the delicate lines. But it was impossible to stay purely clinical. Every small gasp or hiss that escaped her lips went straight to my core. The needle danced across that intimate hollow again and again, tiny drops of ink blooming against her perfect skin. I wiped excess ink away periodically, my gloved fingers lingering just a fraction longer each time on the warm, sensitive crease. Her stomach fluttered. Her hips shifted once, almost imperceptibly, and I caught the faint scent of her—something soft, feminine, and addictive beneath the sharp smell of antiseptic.

A cloth, a reel of condoms, and a card dropped on the desk. I hooked my finger under my nose. Odessa stepped back. I grabbed a pen and lifted what seemed to be an underwear in the air. The soiled boxers swung on the pen. “What in the world!” Odessa examined the garment. “Is that semen?” For fuck sake! I groaned and dropped the pen and boxers in the nearby bin. Odessa snatched up the package, reading. “There is no returning address.” I turned my head to read the card. No handwriting. Some fucker thought it was funny to piece cut out letters from magazines on a white card. ‘A gift to my precious omega’. Wow! What was this world coming to?