Beneath Her Skin Novels & Stories

Sometimes having a dragon in your mind feels very intrusive. ‘I’m not intrusive. I’m just aware of when you’re lying to me and yourself.’ “Thank you. Hold her, while I undo my shirt,” she says. I watch as she quickly unbuttons her shirt. Underneath, her skin is milky white. I don’t know why that’s turning me on, maybe because it feels like her skin is never exposed to any one or any thing and here I am, seeing it. I force myself to look at the egg.

It was the monster under her bed that had finally grown a face. She reached under her pillow and felt the rough fabric of the small denim jacket she had tucked there. She thought about the red stitches: *Sari*. "I'm not going to be a nobody forever, Sari," Lina whispered into the dark. "He thinks he erased you. He thinks the darkness swallowed you whole. But he forgot that you left a light behind."

As the fabric loosened, it clung to the curve of her hips for a heartbeat before sliding downward, pooling around her ankles like a shadow. The air in the room suddenly felt cooler, but her skin held a flush of warmth. She lingered there for a moment, her bare skin facing Father Damien, her underwear still at her waist. She didn’t try to cover anything with her hands; she hoped he wouldn’t resist her at this moment.

It's in the way I run my fingers on her skin, feeling her silky smoothness, tracing every scar, bump, birthmarks, dips, and crevices of skin against skin tongues swirling as we scour our depths. One thing that struck me was her skin. Her hair was the darkest shade of black but somehow, she had gotten a tan skin which was quite unusual. Most women with jet black hair were mostly pale but her skin, like burnished gold under the candle lights as we tangled legs under the sheets.

Same ache under her skin. She wasn't ugly, far from it. Nina had a quiet beauty of a smooth brown skin that glowed under the sunlight, large cheekbones which people complimented on, and a perfect set of brown eyes that always looked like they were sparkling but beauty hadn’t gotten her far, not with the kind of men who treated women like checkpoints on a game board.

I fіgurе іt must be hеr trаdеmаrk. Her ѕkіn is раlе and ѕісklу. Her hаіr іѕ jеt blасk. It’ѕ literally mіdnіght blасk. Shе’ѕ bone thin so lеаthеrу аnd tіnу.

Her skin. Her face. Her hair. Everything was perfect. She had a mark right under her right eye, a tiny birthmark that stood out. “I can’t stop thinking about the feeling of your cock inside of me. The feeling is beautiful.” Her eyes were half closed, and her back leaned back into the tub.

For now, she was still mostly a girl in torn clothes, cheeks hollow, hands raw. But under her skin, beneath every bruise and scar, power had awakened. It turned over in its sleep when she touched water. It opened one eye when she pressed her palm to stone. It flicked an ear when she whispered to the wind. And slowly, carefully, secretly, it began to answer her.

I can see the fear etched into every inch of her face as she thrashes on the table. “I am losing them,” she cries out. “No, sweetheart, you are not,” I say, gently gripping her hand. “You are going to be okay. Your babies will be okay.” I mean it with every cell in my body, I mean it. There is something about her ,something that pulls at my soul. She looks familiar, though I do not know why. But it is not just her face. It is something deeper. A connection I can not explain. She squeezes my hand harder. Her eyes meet mine.

, and her hair fell loose—dark-, damp-, unruly—clinging to her shoulders in careless strands-. Her skin was flushed., faintly pink from the heat of the shower-, as though warmth still lived beneath it,. Bare. Real. Untouched by makeup or armor,. Even her lips—soft-, natural—drew my attention in a way that unsettled me more than any carefully curated version of her ever had,. For a split second-, my mind betrayed me,.