Strip Me Bare Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

Bare yourself for judgment. I peeled off the chemise, exposing my small breasts, nipples pebbling in the cool air. Then the shift, sliding it down my hips until I stood naked, vulnerable, my shaved pussy already glistening with anticipation. He circled me like a predator, his hand trailing over my ass, squeezing the flesh before delivering a firm slap that made me yelp. The sound cracked through the room, my skin blooming red under his palm. 'On the desk,' he ordered, his voice rough. 'Spread your legs and show me how wet your confession makes you.'

Of course it would be him. Memory settles into place piece by piece. The balcony, the whiskey glass, the faint shift of air behind me, his presence arriving like inevitability rather than surprise. The strike had been efficient. I appreciated that. The sedative, however, had been excessive. My head throbs as I inhale carefully. The air smells sterile, dry, stripped of personality. Concrete and steel. Underground, most likely. No sea salt. No wind. Greece is gone. I open my eyes.

To put behind bars the person who did this. I was wearing nothing underneath. The clothes slid right off my skin like a rag. Even a rag was too luxurious a name to call it. It was barely a dress. The cold air in the room hit my bare skin callously. Off my arms, legs, and head. I stripped them off. They were falling apart anyway. Wouldn't take much of an effort. Little by little and I was bare. An infinite distance from hiding my scars. I turned myself so I had my back to them. An emulsifier to the little pieces of evidence around my body.

It hit the floor between us with a soft thud. “Oh, sorry,” I said softly. I stood up, turned my back to him, and bent down slowly to pick it up. I kept my legs straight and my knees locked, so my short skirt rode all the way up. My bare ass and smooth, shaved pussy were completely exposed to him. I stayed like that for a long second, pretending to struggle with the book, letting him see everything — the pink lips of my pussy already glistening a little from how turned on I was.

Chapter 2: Finger fucking in class I walked into Professor Harlan’s lecture hall the next morning wearing my shortest skirt yet, my heart pounding with excitement. I had no panties underneath, it was just my smooth, bare skin that was already getting slick from the thrill of what I planned to do. After yesterday’s little show in Blake’s office, I knew I had his attention, and now I was going to push him further.

All I could do was shake my head because I couldn’t bear to let this end, not yet. "Say it.” I shook my head again, but my mouth betrayed me. “I do not.” “You what?” he murmured, tracing the edge of my ear with his tongue. Goosebumps ran down my arms. “I don't hate you,” I breathed. I’d always known it wouldn’t be that easy. A growl of satisfaction against the nape of my neck, and then a little nip. “strip.” I listened to the command without a single thought, I removed the buttons on my shirt and pulled my arms free from it. Leaving me on my bra. Suddenly I felt dirty, I hadn't bathed for over 24 hours and I was doing this.

“Strip.” The single word cracked across the room like a whip. Tears slid down my cheeks. My lips trembled. I shook my head slightly, silently begging. His eyes darkened, his voice took a darker tone, dangerous and cold. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” My stomach lurched. My fingers fumbled at the clasp of my bra, shaking so badly that it almost slipped. The lace slipped free, baring me to him. Shame burned across my skin. My panties came next, slipping down my thighs until I stood naked, every inch of me trembling.

Watch out for “Striking Blow.” (Strike Zone Book #2) This is Pearl and Antonio’s story. Filled with international intrigue and subterfuge. Striking Blow Colombo. Sri Lanka. Pearl needed directions—a map—a freaking GPS back to herself. Finding her worth again meant starting with a physical transformation. For starters, the blonde princess staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t real, and it was time to pack “socialite barbie” away in a dark drawer; time to step away from the two-hundred-dollar haircut and her designer lifestyle.

“Strip. Slow. Like you mean it.” My stomach flipped. Power and shame tangled hot in my chest. Kalvin was telling me this straight forwardly. Wonders! It amazed me. But surely, I wanted this. I needed it. I hooked my thumbs in my shorts, swaying just enough to make his jaw flex. The tee came off first, breasts bouncing free. His stare burned. I turned, bending slowly, sliding the shorts down my legs until I was bare, skin prickling, core throbbing. Naked and completely exposed.

It's very red, and I can see the marks of Strïth's teeth, but he hasn't hurt me. I take a few deep breaths to control myself and pull away, but I stand up so that I can take off the rest of my clothes. His eyes never left my body, watching my every move, even though I was longing and wanting to feel more of Strïth's touch, I calmly removed the rest of my clothes, leaving me naked. ************* Note: Don't forget to like, comment and share the book! This really helps it grow on the platform