Novel & Cerita The Age Of Man

he said. " We aren't immortal but the moon goddess blessed us with many things and one of them was our age and beauty. Werewolves stop ageing after 23," he added. " That's old," I said softly, looking at him with my widened eyes. " I am going to show you what this old man can do, kitten," he said before standing up with me in his arms. I immediately wrapped my legs around his torso as he got us out of the bathtub and walked to sink. He made me sit on the cold marble sink top as he began to wipe me. After he was done with me. He wiped himself.

"Then what is your power?" "Uh, ice?" I said, uncertain. My power just awakened, and I don't know that much. I could only give them a vague answer. "Ice. It's so rare. When did your power awaken?" the older man asked. I can't tell his age at all. He seemed to be around fifty years old, but at the same time looked old. As far as I know, divine beasts never age faster. Some may look younger, but in fact, they were already a hundred years old.

“I’m 43 years old, okay?” “No way!” I mumbled, staggering as I stared at this mysterious man, refusing to believe I’d fucked a man twice my age. What the? “I don’t understand. You’re 43?” I asked, and he simply nodded. “But you don’t look it, Robert. You look 35 or….” “Yes, I look young, but I’ve told you my truth, Renee. I’m 43. Is there any other thing you’d like to know?”

I can build all of my fantasies over that image only. Jesus Nate, get back to yourself. So damn unprofessional. "Age?" I asked. "Thirty four." "Oh, great! " The words left my mouth without permission. The excitement in my tone alone gave me away. Confusion tightened his brow and I immediately cleared my throat, "You know, thirties are a good age I mean, great age even, you're not in your twenties, so not too young, neither in your forties and people look at you as too old," I started to ramble, trying to hide the fact that I am so excited that his age checks perfectly on my man-of-my-dreams list, "So, thirties. Great age. Yeah."

“Oh, it’s nothing serious, and it definitely isn’t going anywhere. I could never be a cougar.” She shuddered. “Though, I am happy that he’s taking you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Giving off the older man vibes but still young enough to have plenty of mileage left? Chef’s kiss, I say.” I blinked. “Mileage… What?” She laughed. “They say once a guy hits his forties or so, you have to worry about his back going out. Better start enjoying all the benefits of youth: great back, quick recovery time, eagerness, so much to learn, high sex drive—“

He runs a hand over his chair and leans back in his chair, and my smile falls as I glimpse the grief still creasing his their faces. I can see the wear the years have had on his body too, yet he still looks similar to the last time I’d seen him. Only a few more lines crease his handsome face. I need to remind myself that although we do age, we have an extended life as wolves. So since aging slows in our twenties these men might be much older than the fifty-odd years they look. I keep my annoyance off my face, wishing I’d put more work into noticing the subtle marks of the years on our kind while in the human world.

“How old are you, old man?” “Not a chance knowing.” “C’mon! You’re not a lady, old man. It’s not a problem if you divulge your age. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” “Eighty-six.” I choked on my peach. He laughed as I started hitting my chest. “Werewolves are sturdy. Forget everything about the human world.” I nodded, frowning. He was so old that he could be my grandpa. Was he? It didn’t seem like it. I’ve never heard of a grandpa before, only a grandpa that refused to meet me.

“Yes.” A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “How old are you?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. The man scoffed, his fingers effortlessly working open the buttons of his crisp white shirt. “I’m in my late thirties,” he said casually, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Isabella’s eyes widened as she sucked in a sharp breath. Late thirties? He looked far too young for that—she had pegged him at early thirties at most.

The sun made me blink. I pushed myself up on my elbows. It was no easy task and the pain that followed was alarming. The old white-haired man came to stand in front of him. "You okay, boy?" I smiled, a mean smile. "I'm just fineboy." The man froze, then held back a grin. But the many crow's-feet along his amber eyes deepened. "I'm kicking seventy-nine, boy, " he said. "And in a few more days, it'll be eighty."