Your Stuck On Me Like A Tattoo Mga Nobela at Kwento

I observed her as she took a sip and coughed, and before I could help her she managed to drink it and continued to take more sips. I took a few sips myself. “So, you wanna know why?” She said as we sat down. I looked at her as she smiled and kept the glass down, pouring herself more of it. “Now that we’ve got this on our hands…” She showed me the ‘tattoo’ on her hand and continued, “We’re stuck with each other. Obviously, I believe that this also means we can’t sleep with anyone else… isn’t that right?” “Yes.” I replied, trying to read her before she said anything.

He suddenly stopped and turned around to grab the sponge. I was stunned to see a black tattoo at his bare back. A tattooed name - Stela... What on earth is this?? When did he get such a tattoo???

This was way too awkward position and it was embarrassing me to the hell even when no one was around. What if someone gets inside and misunderstands us? I really needed to get out from his unwanted embrace. I wriggled out as much as I could. Oh! C'mon he must be at least 80 kgs. I am barely 55. This man would crush me to death even without bullets and knives. When I was doing that my eyes fell on his tattoo on his neck. I slowed down the pace and focused on his tattoo on his neck. “G…A…B…R…I…E…A…L…L…A,” It was written this.

I don’t even know what’s real anymore, but one thing’s for sure—if Mike sees this, it’s over for me. I knew I shouldn’t have stepped out last night. How the hell did I get a tattoo on my neck? Not even something small or subtle, but a fucking handprint—like someone choking me. It’s not a design; it’s a mark, black ink spread across my skin like a warning. My stomach drops. Fuck. I’m finished.

A wave of relief washed over me so potent it nearly made me dizzy. I used to be consumed by a petty jealousy over that tattoo, not because of what it was, but because it wasn't from me. It was from a man who had hurt him. "I used to ignore it, but now that he's back again... I want to tattoo something else. Turns out I do like tramp stamps. Do you have any suggestions?"

The spot was right above where he always grabbed me. I was dazed until the tattoo gun buzzed loud. Before I could protest, it was right on my skin and goddamnit did It hurt more than I thought. I kept feeling sharp little stings over and over. Damon sat next to me holding my hand. Every time I winced he rubbed his thumb on my palm. Almost gentle like a caring boyfriend he was definitely not cut out for. “Almost done,” he cooed softly. “Looks good.” When it was finished the artist covered it with some plastic. Damon paid and then we left. In the truck I lifted my shirt and looked. Small dark letters. “D.K.” was stuck right on my skin. Permanently. Forever.

Rizal laughs "Are you sure?" Risa looked at Rizal's face who was investigating "it's not just for imaging, right??" "No such thing? Yes, not like that either, as long as Risa knows I'm a good guy. So there is no need for imaging" Rizal said proudly "But in my opinion, there are no good guys playing at night clubs like this" Risa rolled her eyes lazily "Well, Sis Risa is also wrong you shouldn't be looking for a soul mate in a nightclub, where there are good men who deserve to be husbands except for me." Rizal again said proudly

The sensation of her around me, combined with the sting of the tattoo, sends an overwhelming rush of pleasure through me. With each careful stroke of the needle, she traces a new design onto my chest. The symbol, unique and powerful, reflects the merging of our lives. Her concentration is intense, but I can see the love in her eyes, feel it in the way her body moves against mine. This mark isn’t just for the world to see; it’s a testament to us—our bond, our passion, our forever.

He pulled a face, "Geez, I understand your position but you don't have to jump into conclusions. Like you said, we're family now. Wouldn't hurt to have a chit chat with my step sister, would it?" I slowly took a sip and stared at the city lights, hoping he would go away. "I just wanna be left alone." "Yeah me too," he said, joining me to lean on the rails. "It's so crowded in there it bores me sick." I didn't say anything. I was still cautious around this guy. I stared at his strong profile out of the corner of my eyes. His dark wavy hair, his rough features, his red lips, the colourful tattoos, the rings adorned on his fingers and ear, his million dollars wrists watch and the scent of his c

Like surrendering to something I’d tried so hard to resist. He worked slowly, methodically. Like an artist etching his name into his masterpiece. When he finally stopped, I was breathless. My skin throbbed where his initials were now etched into me—C.M., bold and permanent. He leaned over and pressed a kiss just above the tattoo, lips barely grazing my skin. “You’ll always come back now,” he said. And I knew he was right.