Cursed to Be Mine by Miranda Grant EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Miranda Grant
- Language: English
- Genre: Occult Horror
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I trail my knife over my girl’s flesh as she sleeps. My pulse beats heavily
in my cock at the thought of her waking, of her panicked blue gaze finding
me in the darkness of her room, of the flush of her cheeks as she opens her
mouth to scream. I will plunge my tongue in between her lips, lapping up
every yell until she learns to scream my name.
Not her fucking boyfriend’s.
She is my girl, was from the moment I laid eyes on her two years ago.
And now her beautiful thighs beckon me to cut the heart-dotted fabric
hiding her from view. Hiding what’s rightfully mine. I imagine spreading
her open and running my lips against her wet pussy, my hands heavy on her
thighs, pinning her down until I’m finished with her.
Finished eating her.
Turning her over to worship her ass.
And then fucking her hard in every beautiful hole.
A muffled groan pulls from my throat. I reach my free hand into my
pants and grip my cock. It jerks against my palm as I tower over her, crying
salty tears already, begging me to place it between her pussy lips and shove
The sleeping spell I’ve cast over her would let me do it, but despite my
desires, I know she’s not ready for me yet. Not primed.
And I want her awake for our first time. I want her looking into my eyes
and screaming my name until her throat is so fucking raw and her mouth is
so fucking used to being open that she takes my cock with ease.
Another groan leaves me as I squeeze my cock hard, imagining the
muscles of her throat working around me like a satin vice. She’s so
beautiful with her round cheeks of innocence, with her long brown locks
cascading over her face of purity. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts me to
look at her without touching. Without claiming. Without connecting our
souls in the oldest way known to man.
Unable to help myself, I press my knife in ever so slightly to her inner
thigh. Just a scratch. Just enough to draw a thin line of blood that could be
easily dismissed come morning as just one of those weird scratches and
bruises people never remember getting.
Pulling my knife back, I bring it to my lips and run my tongue across its
blade. My fingers tighten at the harsh cut of the steel, and the taste of her
fills me with an elation that nearly has me coming before I even fully stroke
I cut deeper, drawing my own blood. Irritation fills me when I wash away
her taste with my own. I want to savor every part of her, but the blood ritual
is necessary to stake my claim from my brothers. To mark her as one of us,
offering her protection under my gang in a war she has no knowledge of.
Lowering my knife back to her thigh, I slide my blood across her cut.
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