ELIXER
- Reads 93
- Votes 2
- Parts 10
Gun's heat emerge, the blood that boils, who's nerves burn with anger. The face from the coldest north, scars through his victims body, mind, and soul. A two-sided personality to where it had been her over in surviving.
Should this cold-blooded, heart heated and high tempered finds its balance from where it all began?
Does history have to repeat itself to lose the guilt, of what tragedy she witnessed 20 years ago.
Will revenge runs into what happy ending everyone wanted and hoped it to be? Will all bloods and sacrifices be wasted, or she then can finally accept the peace and accept life?
This is her legacy, this is where controlled her grief, her life. Mind over every matter is to what she believes in, her plays and downright in which she looks over the sunset. Her hopes that for the next day, everything she only wants was peace, the peace that haunted her back when she was complete. Shattered into pieces by tragic experiences.
We all have a story we will never tell.
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He swiped my sweat-soaked hair off my neck, resting his lips against my ear. His fiery breaths blew across my earlobe. My body shuddered once again, craving more of him. "You're not the first woman to think she could seduce me into bed because of who I am, what I write. And you won't be the last." He gave a small chuckle, pulling down my dress, so it covered me. "But," he said in a low growl, "so far...... you're my favorite." Breaths poured from my lips at those words. My heart fluttered inside my pounding chest. His favorite, my brain stuck to his words like glue. Clinging to the small hope we'd continue this somewhere else, more than once. We stayed in that position for a moment before his body heat disappeared from my back. He lit a cigarette in front of me, the flash of the lighter illuminating his flushed, sweat-soaked face. I leaned against the brick wall, finding comfort in the coolness against my heated skin. His eyes met mine again. I didn't think I could move from the spot, but he forced me to when he held up a red, lacy thong in between his fingers. My red lacy thong. Fucking panty thief! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Their worlds collided in a heated, passion-filled hook-up behind a bar, bringing their broken pieces together. And now? Mercy finds herself as C.J. Cole's intern. The very Mr. Cole who wrote the most romantic, erotic books she had ever laid eyes on. How could she manage to keep her panties on around him? Or control herself? Hint: she won't. Mature warning.
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