Beneath Her Skin Novels & Stories

She seizes her time. But then I heard the doorknob twist. The door jerked open, and she appeared. And as Andrew Graham would say; she's a work of art. I didn't create a loose towel on purpose, but I'm muttering a silent prayer to the heavens that it happened. That cotton gown she was wearing before? Yeah, that one. It's back on. And with a little run-in with H²O, it's like a second skin. I thought I could see those curves before, but now they're under lenses, and I'm a microscope. I could talk about the swell of her breasts, the dip where her hips meet her waist, or she faultlessly shaped behind, but those are everywhere. I can get those anywhere. That's not what has me glued. It's her skin.

But the need to be inside her is deep, greedy and claiming her was the only way to calm the beast. The duvet slides past her stomach, over her hips, and down, revealing everything. She was breathtaking, that bare, smooth skin of hers glistened in the dark and they were Long, warm. Her pussy glistening with slick arousal, pink and pulsing. She’s laid out for me like a fucking offering.

Doesn’t bring a swimsuit either. Her nightgown is gone, left draped across the bed like a flag of surrender. She wears only her skin now, bare and flushed, her pulse steady but loud in her ears. The moonlight silver-plates her collarbones, pools in her navel, paints her thighs in long blue shadows. The pool calls to her—still, deep, bottomless—and she steps to the edge like an offering. She dives. The water swallows her whole in a single breathless moment, silky and cool, sliding over her skin like hands. She opens her eyes beneath the surface, watches the light ripple above her like flames on the ceiling of a chapel. She kicks once, twice, and rises.

It still pulsed beneath her skin— soft, warm, alive. Waiting.

Blue eyes, not icy or pale, but deep, sharp like glass submerged in clear water. Skin not pale, not tan - just right. The kind of skin that catches sunlight and makes you forget how cold the world is. She walks like the world’s never touched her. But I’ve seen the way she flinches when people raise their voice. The way she spaces out mid-sentence like she’s remembering something she can’t talk about. She’s paper skin, bound in iron. A porcelain doll with barbed wire in her chest. And I think I’m already fucking in love with her.

It all makes sense now, and the truth is shattering my world. When she opened the door that night, she had literally taken my breath away. Her full black hair had been in waves, like a halo around her head and shoulders. Under the soft moonlight, her orange dress, simple but very pretty, had done something to me I couldn't explain. And her skin... Goddess, her skin. A rich tapestry of dark brown, it had gleamed as if woven with threads of liquid gold, kissed by the moon's caress. It glistened with a radiant warmth, each fleck a subtle spark that caught the light and danced like whispers of ancient moonlight.

Not panic. Magic. Faint. Metallic. Ancient. He stepped closer. “Look at me.” She hesitated. Then turned. Moonlight traced the curve of her neck. That was when he saw it. A faint pattern beneath her skin. Barely visible. Silver—no, not silver. Something older. Like light caught beneath flesh. He moved before thinking. His fingers brushed the side of her throat. She flinched. “Don’t.” His touch hovered instead of pressing. “There,” he said quietly. “What is that?”

She must be tough to deal with. I noticed how luminous her skin as the moon's soft glow kissed it. The pale radiance seemed to emanate from within, a testament to her supernatural essence. I marveled at the flawless canvas, appreciating the delicate balance between ethereal fragility and untamed strength. Her hair cascaded like midnight silk, a cascade of darkness that framed her features with an elegance befitting a queen. Yes, I want her to become my queen. I found myself entranced by the way each strand moved in harmony with the night breeze—a dance of shadows and moonlight. The inky waves seemed to capture the essence of the night itself, weaving a tapestry of enchantment around her.

Why would a being like her choose to reside in such austere simplicity? A movement to my right draws my attention. I see Orenda, lying sound asleep under a thin sheet, her breath slow and steady and her heart a gentle thump that fills the room. As I approach the bed, she rolls over on her stomach, spreading her body out above the sheets. Against my will I find myself following the curves of her body. The dark of the night does not hide the smoothness of her skin from my eyes. The streams of moonlight shining through the window give the warm colour of her skin a golden sheen and bring out the richness in her hair making the strands of cedar appear almost golden. A navy blue satin camisole cli

We still have one more day on this vacation and I already have a lot of activities lined up for today, one of which is going skinny dipping and I was sure she was going to love it. Staring at her, she lay tangled in the sheets like the fucking goddess of sin herself, bare skin glowing under the soft light filtering in through the blinds. Her thighs were slightly parted, one arm flung carelessly above her head, her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. Peaceful. Soft. Fuckkkkk.