When a confession goes wrong, Sutton Olivers blackmails the right man to help her complete the one thing on her mind: revenge.
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When the spitfire, Sutton Olivers falls in love with her sexy roommate...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
ＳＩＬＡＳ 35. revelation
Thick droplets of the stark scarlet, that once flowed heavily in his veins, clamped in between his callused fingers, oozing down the tan of his skin and splattering onto the concrete ground below, blackening on impact in the July sun. Dried threads of brown marred the gold of his arms, forging winding paths to nowhere and everything. The stench of metallic reaches his nose but he ignored it— it wasn't important.
The sand begged for mercy as his nice well-made shoes pressed into its chest, creating a vast grating surge as he relives it of its last breath. He inspected as the loose granular substance staggered from the rear of his truck, seeping from the deflated cylindrical sack imprinted with patches of deep brown, drying the plundering fervor of bitterness. He knew the ancient fucker at the gym would be shriveling with fury once he realized the bag knocked off the hooks, but he didn't give a shit. A couple of bucks thrown his way and the ass-kisser will be on his knees, ready to suck it.
Patiently, almost in gratification, he waited for the suffocating sand to create a shallow pool before satisfaction shutters through him and he shuts the back of the truck bed. His attention jumped onto the numbing pulses of his arm to the crumbling heap of bricks ahead of him.
The spirit echoed around him of plague and undeniable demise. Wheezes of the earlier lived forced to reflect the morbid tolerances of their lifetime smoked in the air. Chimes of decoy smiles from bodies and souls too depleted to bask in the profundity of ones they cared for left the building crowded with noise.
His eyes read over the sickening green entrance sign beside him. Amidst the silver and rust of the phrases "Pleasantslope" and "Nursing Home"— each placed on top and bottom of the board— laid three golden flowers— trumpet-shaped petals in the foreground and star-shaped petals in the background— painted ahead of a luscious field placed delicately.
The sudden impulse to blacken his lungs with the thin white cylinder flushed over him in a second but he knew that if he started, he would never go into the establishment and instead drive away to another party in which he would find based off instinct and a sample of druggie companions who were mindful of the pleasure he carries. Instead, he took a step and another one until his skeptical feet carried him far enough to the entrance of the hellhole.
Stale, dull air conditioning droned around the room. Ancient bodies, most in wheelchairs, scampered around, bags of skin sagged from their complexion. Revulsion oozes over the man as he scans the space, his eyes latching onto the front desk where a warm welcome sits at the front desk, an uninterested manner on her face.
Her name had gotten lost in his memories. Kelsey or Bella, some shit like that. She looks up and watches as he walks upright to her desk, her posture straightening as he eyes her tits.
