S M O O T H Unscramble Novels & Stories

He pointed at me, lips trembling, unable to finish. “Uncle Sean.” I smiled. It was the same kind of smile he once wore when he stood at our door all those years ago. “Do you have anything to say?”

The middle aged man pushed Brian out of his car. Brian’s hands were tied but his mouth was not. Brian was cussing and swearing his abductor whereas the abductor was whistling and enjoying himself, he was not paying any attention to Brian. Brian was being ignored and that was making him more grumpy and annoyed.

Baby, cry for me When I put my lips on you (when I, when I, when I) When I put my lips on you (when I, when I, when I) Just turn off the lights and you can be my private dancer When we close the curtains You and me can forget all our manners, oh The neighbors must think that we're crazy, baby 'Cause look how easily we keep coming undone You wanna be reckless, restless, right until tomorrow Wait When I put my lips on you You feel the shivers go up and down your spine for me Make you cry for me When I put my lips on you I hear your voice echoing all through the night for me Baby, cry for me When I put my lips on you (when I, when I, when I) When I put my lips on you (when I, when I, when I) Wh

Primotivo's POV "Engr!" I smiled at the person who called me, as I stepped closer to them. "How did you know it was me?" I asked them when I reached the table they were occupying. "Damn it, Primo! Of course we can recognize you easily by counting from 1 to 10. Who wouldn’t know it was you if you just wear a mask that only half of your face is covered." I just smiled at Zanjo's response.

Many times She did it to a bag containing three bodies that could not be separated. “Mom, I apologize for being disobedient to you. I often disobey your orders. I often stubborn when you ask me to do something. I'm sorry, Mom. Dad, Syamsa is sorry too. Syamsa is a child who has never made Daddy happy. Syamsa is a spoiled child who always makes Daddy angry. "

Slim I leaned against my car in the parking lot, waiting for the familiar sound of the bell to signal the end of the school day. Feeling restless, I absentmindedly touched the cut on my cheek, then reached for the cigarette I had tucked behind my ear. I lit it up and took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. As the bell rang, I dropped the cigarette on the ground and extinguished it with my shoe. The doors swung open, and students spilled out, eager to escape the building. People approached me, much to my displeasure. Being popular seemed to make sense to others, but it held no appeal for me. I disliked social interactions of any kind, but I tolerated them.

The message was straightforward, leaving no room for ambiguity. Nysaa's plea appeared to have fallen on deaf ears. Mace Sinclair remained the same cold, unrelenting man he had always been. The sparks of animosity still smoldered between them. Nysaa couldn't help but burst into uncontrollable laughter at Mace's cold and dismissive words. Her laughter was hysterical, almost maniacal, as if the absurdity of the situation had finally dawned on her. It was an abrupt shift in her drunken demeanor, and she pouted like a child who had been denied a toy. In her inebriated state, she reached out, as if attempting to touch Mace's cheeks, but the ice-cold glare from him made her retract her hand. She co