Novel & Cerita Tastes Like War

"I'll make it up to you next time. I have to get going now. Go give my men some gifts so you can salvage your dignity a little." Before she could agree, he had already left. He didn't know why Stephanie was suddenly craving corn soup, but he did as she wished. He headed to the market to buy some groceries and washed the ingredients before putting them into the soup. A whole hour of simmering later, the room was filled with the aroma of corn soup. All William could think about was the image of Stephanie drinking it. The minutes ticked by, but Stephanie had not come back. At first, he was excited, but then he grew anxious and eventually restless.

I sight longingly, finally I can feel I'm alive and I've got something to get up to every night. I empty another tasteless bag and make a face. The horrid taste of plastic, I will never get used to it. So overpowering that even the bags with specially made blood filled with neurotransmitters just can't hide the taste. There would be bigger satisfaction in filling a goat with whiskey and sucking that empty, than drinking this fucking shit.

Jasper replied expressing his distaste of Matcha. “How do you know it tastes like grass? Have you eaten grass? Are you a goat or something?” Kenneth butted in as if he already had Matcha before which was unlikely for him. “I haven’t but it really does taste like that.” Jasper crowed. “Just say you hate Matcha.” I huffed. I do know and I kind of agree that Matcha tastes a bit like grass even though I haven’t had grass before but it’s still good. “Yes, I do hate Matcha …… and I am going to have Wintermelon.” Jasper trailed and stood up.

Calista's POV The sound of war was different than I imagined. Not the clean clash of swords from stories but something messier. Uglier. Screams mixed with metal grinding against metal. The wet thud of bodies hitting the ground. The acrid smell of blood and sweat and fear thick enough to choke on. This was real. This was happening. And I was standing in the middle of it.

– I blurted out with an air of skepticism, almost spitting out the coffee I had just sipped in my mouth. - Relax… we are not going to burn down the lab or anything. Since your project also depends on him now, well, we need to guarantee he's kept alive. - She winked. - Right? - You have to outsmart him. War tactics also include playing the role of the silent, peaceful, lovely enemy, who is always ready for any attack. Preparation is everything, darling. It's half the war won. - Okay? - I must confess that there were times when Susie surprised me, or scared me. And that was one of them, and I just could not decide which was it this time. It could easily be both.

“Victor, then.” I pour myself a whiskey and watch her move. She’s efficient, graceful in a way that makes my kitchen feel lived-in for the first time in years. The scent of something fresh — basil, lemon, a woman's cooking — cuts through the sterile air of the penthouse. My body reacts before my brain can shut it down: a low pull, heat gathering low in my gut. I take a long sip and force my eyes to the city skyline instead. “Dinner’s almost ready if you’re hungry,” she offers. “Nothing fancy. Just pasta.”

Malrec Pain has a taste. Most warriors think of it as heat or fire or the sharp edge of steel biting into flesh. They imagine screams and blood and the brutal simplicity of wounds earned in battle. They are wrong. Real pain has flavor. It tastes like iron and ash, like bitter smoke caught in the back of the throat. It sits in the lungs and refuses to leave, making every breath an act of will. It lingers in the bones long after the wound that birthed it has begun to close.

I leaned back against his chest, whispering over my shoulder, “Stepbrother shouldn’t know how I taste like…” The words sent a dirty thrill through both of us. He groaned softly, hips bucking up to meet my grinding ass. His cock was so hard it felt like steel. I shifted just enough to let the thick head nudge against my soaked pussy through the thin fabric. The pressure on my clit made me bite my lip to stay silent. “Please,” he begged in the lowest whisper, lips brushing my ear. “I’ve been jerking off to you for months. Let me taste it. I need it.”

Hendrix eggs me on. Maybe there really is a Goddess playing a practical joke on me by placing my personal holy grail right in front of me. The way she’s dressed to kill, the way her voice sounds seductively from a distance, the way her intoxicating scent of barbecue and grass tempts me. And oh, the way she tastes! My thoughts drift back to the feeling of my tongue against her wetness, the taste of paradise. Pleasure rushes south, and I decide that fuck it.

He turns back to me, taking the glass from my hand, filling it and taking a drink. Another drink arrived, and he handed it to me. "Try that one…" He challenged me. I grinned at him and downed the contents of the glass he handed me. My tongue suddenly tingled from the taste. I heard him chuckle and held something out to me. "Here.." He rubbed a small piece of lemon on my lips, and I sucked his thumb, staring at him. Was it just the alcohol that made me do that? Or was I physically attracted to him? For a moment, everything around us stopped. Even the loud music seemed to fade away, the smoke and dim lights blurring in my vision. Then suddenly, he slowly kissed me.