The Trouble with Fortune Cookies

The Trouble with Fortune Cookies

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing21m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Sep 6, 2015
The trouble with fortune cookies are that they are never sweet enough, nor thick enough and sometimes, blinded by the lust for pastry one might forget the paper inside and consume everything in a fit of munching rage. It has happened to the best of us, including myself, gratefully I have not died from the significant amount of paper I have ingested every Friday after a meal at the Wao-Tau Chinese all you can eat buffet but I'm still getting regular check-ups to make sure. The trouble with fortune cookies are that the messages inside are super cliché and oh so very tumblr. If I wanted someone to tell me when I would find true love, I would ask my poster child for insane of a bestfriend, Claire, to set me up with one out of her unique ensemble of celebrity heart throbs. Therefore, maybe it was a god, or the fact that the paper made the cookie way blander than it needed to be, but I decided that on some random Friday, in this damn random month, I would randomly open this random ass cookie. Only to find in crappy scribbles a 13 digit phone number entitled "trouble ;)", and henceforth, i've been dragged into the worst situation that i have ever come upon in all my 17 years of living. Like seriously, even worse than the time my parents caught me smoking pot in the bathroom.
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He fell in love with the girl he had a one-night stand with. When her true nature revealed, he hated himself for loving her and decided never to see her again. However, his fate took an unexpected turn and entangled him in a contract marriage with her, turning the girl he despised into his temporary wife. Will their love-hate relationship lead to a deeper connection, or will it keep them forever bound by the terms of their contract? *** As I spank her, Grace questions in a surprised tone, "What was that?" "That was for leaving your husband alone in the pool," I respond in a teasing tone, seizing her waist and pulling her towards me, stealing her breath. "But, my dear husband, you're pissing me off. Just move away." She tries to break free from my grasp. "Stop moving, Mrs Grey!" "No, I won't listen to you, Mr Grey. You told me you don't want me, so why are you here again?" "I didn't say that I don't want you," I whisper, closing the distance between us, my lips nearing my angry wife's. "It means the same!" She rolls her eyes. "I want you so damn much, okay? And I'm ready to regret it again and again for doing this. Today, I'll show you how much I desire you, my wife." I confess, my fingers playing with her wet hair, and my hand still firmly gripping her waist. "So tell me. Who is stopping you, husband?"

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