Skin In Cursive Novels & Stories

“I guess.” He reached for a pen on the side table and uncapped it. He wiped the sweat from her body with the sheet and drew a straight line across her chest. He then added a series of dots on, above, and below the line. Scribbled letters appeared here and there. E. C. C#. She just watched him, too surprised to protest. The line of musical notes continued across her breasts, under her breasts, several lines along her belly.

Then at her. “Can I look at the arm directly?” She rolled up her sleeve. He looked at it the way she’d wanted someone to look at it for five years. Not the clinical assessment and not the overcompensating not staring. Just looking. His eyes moved over the scarring slowly, taking in the way the tissue had healed, the raised edges and the flat planes and the places where the texture changed. “The texture variance here,” he said, touching the air above one section without making contact, “is going to catch light differently than the surrounding skin. If I use stipple work in the right density, it’ll look intentional. Like the plant is growing from different terrain.”

“Not to drown in our worst stories.” Her mouth ghosts a humorless curve. “You chose the book to read.” “And you pointed to it,” I counter. I angle the page as I take her forefinger, and guide it to the title. Her skin is warm, calloused faintly from work. I trace with her, slow and deliberate. “S,” I say. “Curve to spine, then a tail. ‘Ssss.’ Like a hiss.” “S,” she echoes, breath feathering my wrist.

He just said gratefully, "Thanks! I think I can solve them a little better now. I'll let my brother see if I've got them right now!" Corinne hummed indifferently as an acknowledgment. Then, while busy working, she said, "Mister Sunny, I have a friendly suggestion for you. You'd better make time to work on your handwriting. Even an elementary school student could write better than you!" Sunny's face flushed in embarrassment. "Hmph! I'm just writing in cursive. What do you know about it?" Corinne raised her eyebrows and shrugged. She did not care if he listened or not. She just truly could not stand his handwriting, so she had to say something.

On the page. In my head, I scrawled the word in big, ugly handwriting, underlining it twice. UP. The ink hated that. It lurched around us, trying to swirl the other way, trying to drag us down, down, down. But the words didn’t care. They twisted. Lifted. Rearranged themselves into something new. Around me and Corvin, lines of text rose in spirals, sentences linking end to beginning, forming rungs. Paragraphs bent at right angles. Question marks hooked onto commas. Em dashes stretched, stiffening into rails.

I reached and traced the intricate pattern on his skin, the sliver of moonlight peeking through the balcony gave me a glimpse of his ink. “This is new,” I rested my fingers on top of the surfboard ink on his chest. It was about two inches long with little letters in cursive writing under it. I couldn’t make out the words because of the darkness though. “You like surfing now?” “No,” he nuzzled his nose on my neck, his tongue licking my skin ever so sexily. “I got it when you left.”

She says. Lucus is perfectly still as Zia repeats the motions she used on Emma, cleansing and preparing. She doesn't trace an outline first, because unlike Emma, she is perfectly sure of what she is doing and far more comfortable with the idea. "Ready?" She asks, and Lucus nods immediately. The tattoo gun comes to life. Zia glides it across Lucus golden-brown skin with practiced and skilled ease. He bites his bottom lip gently, the pain an unusual and unfamiliar sensation—not entirely uncomfortable, but more something he isn't used to.

“I mean, come on. Not having to find a toothpick, or chopstick to write commands? I think that’s pretty damned cool.” “Yeah, if you want to increase the influx of power and hasten the possibility of seeing your own death,” Noah replied, turning his brown gaze to her. In the early morning light, the sun lit his irises to a warm burned caramel. “Skin Writers are supposed to use an instrument. Most used a whittled branch, akin to a wand of sorts. Some used the sharpened bones of an animal familiar. Either way, using something to write on the skin, is a more acceptable way.” “Acceptable? I thought the Horde would want a Skin Writer who was powerful.”

However, because she was too focused on the mission, she immediately crawled up and grabbed the documents in the middle of the table. "Oh? What is this?" Sky tilted her head, examining the letters carved into the center of the desk. "It's like a winding road, perfect for the adventurous me. That means, it's the letter S for Sky." She traced the letter with her finger. "Then, this is the letter K for koala. And this is the letter Y for yeay!" Sky raised both hands, imitating how someone would cheer. A second later, she returned to focusing on the letters.

I could feel a trail of goosebumps all over her arm as my hand was touching her skin. Moving further I slid my hand under her kurta through the side slit and applied color to her stomach exactly where my child is growing. Her skin felt so soft against my harsh skin that I want to stay like this forever. Her skin is so soft and pliable that my hand dips whenever I apply even minimal pressure to her skin. Sliding my hand from her stomach to her side waist to the back I colored all of her body parts that were in my reach. I turned her around without moving my hands from her bareback.