Vegeta Gt Mustache の小説・ストーリー

Then she walks past me with tears in her eyes. The man is absolutely disgusting, and I know that no woman in her right mind would have sex with him, he has greasy hair pulled to the side covering his bald patch on the top of his head, his mustache has seen better days, and his enormous stomach flaps over his pants leaving a small gap between the buttons showing his skin.

The man never passes up on a chance to brand your ass with his signature then bottoming out, making sure you can't quite function for the next week. "Go upstairs and get ready. I'm going to clean up and then I'll be in the garage, okay?" He pushes loose strands of hair behind my ears, caressing my cheek with his thumb before letting me go and smacking me on the ass. There it is, I grin. Alex Dupont in the shape of a handprint. Sign, sealed, delivered. I walk out of the kitchen, hearing him yell out and add, "Oh, and put on a skirt!"

In a fit of rage, he grabbed a chair and hurled it at the glass table. However, the table was too thick and sturdy. The chair bounced back and hit Marcus squarely on the forehead. Dazed, Marcus lay on the floor, mentally cursing the table's entire lineage. Just then, Katrina emerged from the bathroom, wearing what could barely be called pajamas—it was more like something from a lingerie catalog. Seeing Marcus sprawled on the floor with the table overturned beside him, Katrina was startled.

“Oh my goodness…” He’s rock hard, a silvery head of pre glistening at the tip of his mushroom cap. He’s large…that’s without a doubt. Long, thick, and curved upward. My insides clench just from seeing his size alonne, and my mouth waters wanting to run my tongue over the veins. He’s also clean shaven, which I like. But none of these are what startle me. “That’s…that’s an adorable look on your face now. I wish I could take a picture.” Vincent breaks rhe silence, his voice sounding wrecked.

I turned my gaze back to the sports car. Suddenly, the door opened. Mustapha stepped out, looking ghastly. His all-black outfit made him appear as if he had just come from a funeral. His black obsidian hair was slicked back, save for a few bangs that hung over his forehead. His face was exceptionally pale, and heavy bags under his eyes made him look like a walking ghost. He was smoking a regular cigar while holding a gun and a knife. Truth be told, Mustapha was the most dangerously handsome among Martello's men, despite his bored demeanor. Although his average height made me look like a fragile man, he was a total freak. A fucking maniac that they called him.

Is he here to finally kill me off? He closes in on the bed with a warm smile—strange to be honest. Shit! I shouldn't look into his eyes, but I can't be blamed. He's immensely attractive, and his skin looks expensive. His entire facial hair coloured dark silver—his eyelashes and moustache included—leaves me breathless. However, Viatores detest such an act and they can do unspeakable things to you because of it. If I had paid attention in class, I would have recalled earlier.

And he's staring right back at me. He's seated, but even that is not enough to disguise his height. Unlike the rest of his pack who are on the paler side, he's tan. Even his hair is a darker blonde, a perfect honey shade with golden streaks that I've never seen before. He sports a trim stubble over a strong, square chin and I think his eyes are green at first till he blinks and they seem to shift color again. I'll conclude on hazel. He's dressed in a black dress shirt that's buttoned all the way up his chest. I've heard stories about Draaven Ventura the Valiant, 1st of his name and the great alpha of the Silver Glow pack. What I never heard was that he is the most beautiful man alive….and he

In this quiet night, I can hear my own heart beat. Slowly, I took off MK's mask. MK's jaw was clearly defined, his lips were sexy and thick, and his lip shape was very heroic. Suddenly, MK's eyes opened and his broad palm pressed down on the half-unmasked mask. The deep eyes under the mask burst out cold and fierce light, such as a preying eagle, eager to devour the eyes into the abdomen. With an icy sweep of his eye, he knocked the phone from my hand to the floor. The mobile phone fell to the ground with a crisp sound.

It led to many questioning gazes. Vincent ignored all of the stares and beelined his way to the mech. An advanced hover bot with zillions of safety features already waited for him near the feet of the mech. As he climbed in the air, he passed by the codpiece. The thick, stubby triangular piece of decoration was larger than his body. Proportionally, it looked hefty on the modified Marc Antony's frame, but it did not exaggerate its prowess too much.