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For wicked princesses who feed themselves with knives instead of silver spoons.
Fate whispers to the warrior, “You cannot withstand the storm,” and the warrior whispers back, “I am the storm.”
Taceo reminds us silence isn’t a sign of weakness. It is a sign of rest, of certainty, of contentment. Silence is the best response to people who don’t deserve your words.
I had a habit of touching things that didn’t belong to me.
I like this already
Sisyphus.
Tf is this word
lived in the real world, where rich assholes fucked the little guy—in the ass, without lube—and expected to be thanked after.
Who mauled someone’s thigh while eating chilled fennel soup?
Nash Prescott was thrift-shop beauty, threadbare and jaded, the memory of something once beautiful lingering as he looked on the world with war-torn eyes.
I was not a forgiving person. I latched onto grudges and raised them like a favorite pet, never forgetting to feed them, entertain them, and keep them company.
Same girl
People assume strength is loud. In reality, strength is silent. It is resilience, the will to never surrender your dignity. And sometimes, the only person who knows strength exists inside you is you.
I love you more than poop.
“Atta girl.” He leaned back against his pillow as I placed each of my palms on his chest and took over. “Ride my cock.”
This is not Reed...
This wasn’t Reed Prescott. This was a six-foot-two, hazel-eyed Adonis with short black hair and bedroom eyes that made you picture him naked if you looked long enough. Only he was actually naked. And, I repeat, still. Inside. Me. Nash Prescott. Reed’s older brother. His nearly thirty-year-old brother.
“I figured it out a second before you came. I wouldn’t have fucked you if I’d known it was you. I don’t fuck teenyboppers.”
He was a Wonder Bread white, North Carolinian, Keith Mars wannabe,
She reminded me of Moaning Myrtle, and I couldn’t escape her on account of her being my boss.
You are the person who sees beauty in every situation. The one I turn to when I’m stressed and need someone to lift me up. Someone so strong, I marvel at your existence.
Durga: I almost don’t want to ever meet you. You’re too good to be true. Benkinersophobia: I’m not. I’m a full-time dick. Just not to you.
Bye, bye, human race. Adios to your pumpkin spice lattes, cookie butter ice cream, and charcoal toothpaste. Good fucking riddance.
“Fuck you, Nash.” “I’d rather eat a bag of dicks, thank you.”
She’d stopped trusting me the week we’d met when I fired a supplier without pay and suggested he take his shriveled-up dick and shove it into a pussy that didn’t belong to the now-ex-wife of one of my board members.
“And so the savior becomes the villain,”
Virginia, Chairwoman Eastridge Junior Society
Bitch
Your favorite daughter, Emery Demon Spawn - Sent from Beyond Virginia’s Uterus
Texting was for millennials and the Tide Pod generation.
I might have lost my family, my belongings, my future. But he’d helped me find something important. My smile.
I never wasted my time explaining myself to anyone. Ten out of ten times, people have already made up their minds about you. Time is too valuable to waste it on people devoted to misunderstanding you.
“You’re a good person, Nash. When I first met you, I wanted to quit, then I realized you are the best person I know.” “I’m not. Perhaps you should still quit.” “You didn’t see the resignation letter on your desk?” “That’s what that was? I shredded it along with your raise.”
Touching her once was a mistake. Touching her again would be sinful.
“I know I inspire your gag reflex. It takes time and experience for women to blow someone my size. I wouldn’t worry about it until you get your first period.”
Storms will always rage. Don’t run from them. Face them. Some things in life can only be learned in a storm.”
Ticked. Everything about me was ticked. My jaw. The vein in my neck. The vein on my temple. The vein on my fucking cock.
“Careful, Winthrop, you’re looking at me like you want to fuck me, and we both know the only way that will happen is if you pretend to be someone else.”
Pull out the vibrator I sent you, connect it to the app, lay on your back, and let me fuck you raw.
So perky, her tits begged me to slap them and watch them bounce. She’s twenty-two. Don’t give in, asswipe. I did.
Stop it, creep. You finished college and knew the ins and outs of anal while she still thought she pees and fucks from the same hole.
“Ruin me, Nash. Do your best.”
“In ten years, when you’re lying in bed next to your boring husband with the cookie-cutter day job, fingering yourself to the memory of how fucking hard I made you come, remember you begged for it.”
Nash was the sky moments before a storm. Daunting. Dark. Beautiful.
“Part your pussy lips and ask me if I like what I see.”
I knew immediately this was a bad idea. There was no purging Nash out of my system. I was an addict being given her next fix.
Would he really slide a cabinet knob up my ass?
Wtf!?
“Open your mouth, my devious liar.”
I didn’t choose my parents, but I could choose whether or not to bite my tongue, and I sure as hell would not.
The thing about revenge is, people feel entitled to it. Being wronged is an invitation to retaliate, but the cycle never stops.
had justified everything I did to her at the time with one sentence—Dad died. My morals didn’t exist, though I told myself I thrived on them.
For the first time in my life, I accepted the truth. I am the villain in this story.
Struggle changes people more than success.
Why do you keep trying to feed me, you confusing, fucked-up villain?
wanted to share my starless skies and steal his scorching sun.
