Skin In Cursive Novels & Stories

his eyes lingered, “…I’d like them bigger. I prefer a full grip.” My chest burned. My hands strangled the cuffs until my nails dug crescents into my palms. “But your skin… your skin is your greatest asset. It doesn’t look like it has seen sunlight.” His fingers trailed, and goosebumps betrayed me. “You’re insane.” “Am I?” His tone mocked, his hand sliding lower. He brushed my thigh, then lifted his finger to show me the shine of liquid on his skin. He held it up to my face, smirking. “I’m not the one begging to be released, but itching for more.”

Only for a few seconds before it gave way to the madness in her head. She turned Melonie's head left and right as the vines loosened slightly. "Yes, she will do nicely." The searing pain from earlier appeared again. She gazed down at her arm where she had carved into her skin, and the eerie glow of the brand continued to mark her. She watched on as a crescent moon formed on her skin with the tips nearly connected with a circle between and three dots on each side of that circle. Karmina raised her arm into the air to admire her new marking. With a smile, she commanded the vines to set Melonie in the shack and went to work.

He held me firm – annoyingly solid for someone his age. So, I changed tactics. Stretching one clawed finger, I began etching upside-down letters into his skin. “Stop that!” he growled. Of course, I didn’t stop. My nail scratched fresh insults across his back – A-S-S, P-R-I-C-K, and B-R-A-T. The shallow cuts healed instantly, but the red traces were enough for my satisfaction. The giggles of a few children watching from the side made it all the better. Good, let them see. At least someone will remember apart from me.

With my left hand, I struck the heavy, jagged cursive of the southern wild: “I raised my eyes to follow the white moon,” Simultaneously, my right hand carved the sharp, biting lines of the northern ridge laws: “Yet the silver light only exposes the filth of the gutter.” The quills didn't scratch; they flowed across the parchment with the weight of an Alpha’s daughter. The lines were thick, steady, and flawless. The silence that followed was absolute. The senior masters stepped forward, their eyes wide as they stared at the dual scripts, each written in a completely different tribal dialect with perfect pressure.

“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.

She doesn't know that my body has been honed into a slender, razor-sharp weapon. I reach into my discarded, mud-caked survival kit and pull out a bone-handled skinning needle. With rapid, flawless movements, I slice the side seams of the silver tunic, restructuring the shoulders and tightening the lower back panel until the metallic fabric clings to my torso like a second skin. The silver weave catches the torchlight, emphasizing the lean, powerful contours of my chest and the clean line of my collarbones, sharp as hunting blades.

she purred shedding off her shirt, the pale fabric clinging to her body like a second skin. Her sticky fingers danced over her shoulders, leaving glistening streaks of cum on them. Her lips curled into a playful smile, "It seems you're not done watching me yet," she teased, Her sticky finger danced across his face, her tongue followed the trail left by her fingers, lapping at his skin with need, "You're going to get hard again," "Amora..." "What?" She snapped softly encircling her arms around his neck, "Lick me, just like I did to you. I want to feel your tongue on my skin, I want to scream your name," she whispered,

From change. Kael stands near the window, shirtless, facing the ash-lit horizon. His back is lined with sigils, black-red, carved not by knife, not by spell, but grown from beneath the skin. Living script, coiling like veins or vines. Symbols that hum in resonance with something far, far below. His hair is streaked silver at the temples. His shoulders are heavier. His presence larger. Like he’s part of the stone now. Part of the mountain. He turns at her footsteps.

Now, there were two very persuasive reasons that made every dawn feel like a new beginning. Cassian, the little gentleman, sat to his left with a miniature tablet. His brows were furrowed in intense focus as he flipped through an educational game involving world capitals. Celeste, meanwhile, perched beside her twin, swinging her legs in rhythm while practicing cursive letters with a pink glitter pen, every now and then showing her doodles to Cedric.

Slowly he pushes down a bit dragging the knife towards him and cutting open the material with one of my own knives, and the cool air prickles my skin as I’m left exposed, due to the fact that because the dress was off the shoulder it had padding in it so I wasn’t wearing a bra. He looks down at me smiling while trailing the knife over my skin watching goosebumps travel along in its wake and he watches pleased looking at me vulnerable and I look at him, his chest, the way scars imbed into his skin. “You would look so good with my name carved into your skin” he whispered trailing the knife in the shape of an R on my inner right thigh and I let out a shaky breath “you’d like that wouldn’t you”