Her breathing labors and hiccups as she starts mewling, grinding her hips against my face as I flick my tongue out and lick every inch of her sweet cunt. Bella buckles when I latch onto her sensitive nub.
My hands climb up her body to pull her dress down to her waist. Pinching her nipples, she moans into the sky.
Delicate fingers grip onto my hair, uselessly attempting to pull me away. I’ll comply with my terms. I plunge my tongue into her pussy, pummeling in and out until her moans quicken and echo through the forest, crying out my name as she shudders beneath me.
“Ten out of ten, would come back for seconds,” I tease, running kisses up and down her thighs.
She’s too delirious to respond, panting hard without noticing I’ve lined up my cock with her entrance. “Any last words?”
Blinking rapidly, she focuses on me, then on the space between us where I run my tip through the wet heat. “Jesus Christ,” she moans when I push against her sensitive skin.
“God won’t save you from me.” I move my hips forward, breaching her tight cunt, and I don’t stop.
Bella was made for me, and I was made for her. There isn’t a part of her that I don’t love. She’s the one who brought me out of the darkness and made it feel like life was still worth living, even if I were in a box.
Her moans dance through the air and filter into my bones. I couldn’t get enough of her before, and I don’t see myself ever thinking I’ve had my fill.
Moisture drips down my legs from the area where we’re joined. “You’re always so fucking wet for me.” I chuckle, gripping her cheeks between my thumb and pointer finger. “You’re my dirty little slut, aren’t you, baby?”
She nods frantically as her muscles contract around my length. My hand finds her clit, and I start moving in circles just the way she likes. She always looks so beautiful when she’s about to come, fluttering lashes and gasping breaths. The way her nipples pebble into biteable points as her chest rises and falls has my mouth watering for a taste.
Then, for the best part, she throws her head back and screams my name like it’s the only word she knows. Her legs tighten around me, and her body convulses with the need for a break.
Without any warning, my release finds me, emptying myself inside her. Her heavy breaths hit the side of my face as I drop down onto her, bracing myself on my elbows on either side of her head so I don’t crush her.
Nothing in this life or the next would hold a candle to her, from her glowing brown Bambi eyes to her plump pink lips. Every part of her is perfect.
I can’t wait to live the rest of my life with her. To see her the second I wake up in the morning and have her by my side at breakfast. To hear her laugh during lunch and smile during dinner. Then, have her in my arms when the lights go out; all that will matter is me and her.
My sweet Bella.
I must have done something right in my life to end up here.
It wasn’t love at first sight. Not in the conventional way.
The moment she spoke, I thought she was only speaking words. I didn’t see the net she threw to capture me. But I never fought it. Deep down, I knew this was where I was meant to be.
The easiest thing I’ve ever done is love her.
If I could do it all again, I would do it the exact same way.
I would pick her. Every time.
The End.
Acknowledgements
We, dark romance girlies, love our deranged men. As a dark romance author, the most common question I receive is, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Well, let me set the scene for you.
It all started when I had just spent an unsavory amount of time scrolling through TikTok （when I should have been writing）， ingesting copious amounts of masked men content. There was a trend going around about how dark romance readers would react if they were kidnapped （i.e how quickly would we all develop Stockholm syndrome?）。
Anyways, fast forward a couple hundred more videos, I was then left alone with my thoughts for two minutes. I thought, “God, how fucked up would it be if they kidnapped us AND killed our family.”
Then, the other voice is my head chimed in, saying, “That’s so fucked up. I’d read something like that.”
Another voice popped in, adding, “Damn, I don’t think that exists.”
Twenty-four hours later, while I was at work, a light bulb went on in my head. I could literally just write this messed up book by myself, because I forgot that I am, in fact, an author.
However many months and one or twenty mental breakdowns later, Skin of a Sinner will always have a special place in my heart. I love Roman with everything I have, but I want to deck that man. If he were real, I would have a taser on me at all times.