Lucas Hood Quotes

After skin moisturizing, teeth brushing, and silently cursing Lucas in the mirror above my sink, I exited the bathroom dressed in a high-necked flannel nightgown that grazed the tops of my knees. At night I liked to crank up the air conditioning, snuggle beneath my comforter, and pretend I was trapped in a cozy cabin during a snowstorm. Simple desert pleasures. Lucas had one arm stretched across the back of my sofa. He slouched against the cushions, eyes hooded as he watched me walk past. "Filming an episode of Little House on the Prairie?

AT 45 DEGREES NORTH, the night comes early in November. They rolled out a few minutes after seven-thirty into the kind of autumn darkness that comes only with a thick cloud layer, no hint of starlight or moonlight, and no prospect of any. Lauren drove. She was already dressed in her black brushed-cotton suit. Her hood, and her equipment, were locked in a concealed box behind the second row of seats. They chitchatted on the way across town, through enough traffic to keep things slow; Jackson wasn’t mentioned.

Staring ahead at Syasku, his hand remains stretched toward me, patiently waiting… I lick my lips and take a small step forward. That was… easier than I thought it would be. Closing my eyes, I inhale and debate the stupidity of this decision one final time. Straightening, I walk over to him and accept his hand. He pulls me into him and I moan, allowing him to move me. Pushing my nose against him, I inhale again. Shivering and leaning into his warmth, his earthy musk, he leads me to his side of the room. Pulling me down on him while still facing him, I lie within the coil of his tail. With my cheek resting on his chest, my eyes hood, soothed by the sound of his wildly thumping heartbeat. My eyelids drift the rest of the way closed. He’ll never be able to hurt me more than I already am.

legs, Syasku’s lips part, and a low vibration fills the room. It turns into a soothing hum that sends prickles up my arms. Unlike anything I’ve heard before, it settles my anxiety. Like a lullaby, his hiss cascades over me in gentle waves, calming my frayed nerves and quieting my scattered thoughts. Easing into my chair, the tension seeps from my limbs, fading into the background. There’s a stillness around us like there’s no one else but him and me, no one else anywhere. “Please, let me help you,” I whisper. His humming deepens, growing richer, and thicker, and the rest of my guard drops, subduing me completely. As my eyes hood and my body melts into the chair, a slit opens in his tail and a long, thick appendage emerges. Like a sword being brandished from his pelvic region, his girth curves toward his chest, his cock’s tip lodged in the air, leaning into him. The underside of it bulges outward, faintly knotted into a ball that ripples downward to his base, the creases becoming more rigid the closer they get to his tail. The length and thickness larger than any human man’s.

Cronus, much like his mother Gaia, has survived in concept through the ages. He is pictured in various ways and interpreted in a variety of ways; from the benevolent Father Time, sometimes at certain festive times of the year referred to as Santa Claus, to the scythe-wielding, hooded specter of death we call the Grim Reaper, Cronus is, in some sense, the only remaining true master of his ancient domain.

I thought I gave you an order to stay in Wendlyn.” “I had my reasons, best spoken somewhere secure,” he said onto her hood. “Your friends at the fortress say hello, by the way. I think they miss having an extra scullery maid. Especially Luca—especially in the mornings.