Black Urban Fiction Books Novels & Stories

“You came here for a story, and instead, you found a sexy werewolf soap opera. Good job.” I glanced down at the old book I’d found—the one filled with legends and dark tales of Blackthorn Ridge. It was still lying open on the table, the pages worn and yellowed with age. My eyes skimmed over the words, searching for something I might have missed, but the stories were all the same: packs of wolves, rituals, blood magic. All things that felt a little too close to what Lucian had warned me about.

"That's the sound of this tight little cunt taking me." "Julian-fuck-deeper-please-" He bent over her back, lips brushing her ear. "You love being used like this, don't you? Bent over a poetry cart, books digging into your tits, stuffed full of cock while someone could walk in any second." "Yes," she sobbed. "Fuck, I love it-I'm your dirty little bookstore slut-don't stop-" He didn't. He slammed into her harder, fucking her with abandon, thick cock splitting her open again and again, each thrust driving a new moan from her throat.

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I bit my lip harder, trying not to cry out as the pleasure rose higher and higher. Then…. My door creaked open, my eyes widened as a man in a black mask came in and pointed his gun at me. For a second, we just stared at each other. My body froze, but the vibrator was still inside me, still buzzing. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Your pussy or your life?” he asked coldly, his dark eyes dragging slowly over my naked body, lingering on my breasts, my thighs, the way I was still spread open on the bed.

“Well, Zeke’s a nice enough guy but maybe not the sharpest needle in the haystack. One of many reasons we only briefly dated.” The two dug into their meals, and Brad had to admit to himself that Bias was right, the food was absolutely delicious. Spicy and flavorful. Bias was scarfing down his food as if he were going into hibernation soon. “Speaking of you being a famous writer,” Bias said when he finally came up for air, “after you left Book Lady yesterday, I picked up another one of your books.” “Really? Which one?” “The collection, Dark Corners. I read the first four stories before bed last night, and I have to say I really enjoyed them.”

They'd read 9 Lives, 10 Circles, and been tested on it. He wished he had a copy right now. It was a fiction book about one tom's attempt to gain an audience with the Black Devil. It read like a tour guide of the Underworld, down to the minutest detail, when it didn't go into the scratchings of the main character's slowly twisting mind.

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She rolled her eyes at me as she opened the door, “Well no one would believe you even if you came out to say that, bitter lilith.” To think we used to be close when we were younger was something that felt unreal whenever I thought about it. And right now, we were just the Belluci women who got compared each day, side by side by everyone. While Yara was the Angelic Belluci, whom people saw as the pure, cute, innocent and handworking billionaire Belluci that had a successful brand, I was the Lilith Belluci, the ruthless, always on edge woman who needed to get laid, had the most sour expression, heartless and who had taken over half of her father’s Mafia business, because of reasons best known

The city roared with the shattering of car windows, a whirlwind of vibrant neon lights, and shadowy streets that seemed to exist in stark contrast to the serene sanctuary of Catalina’s home. Her heart quickened as she relived the whirlwind of moments that had led her into this haunting reality. The unforgiving leather seats dug into her back, a stark reminder of the unyielding nature of her life. Inside the car, she was surrounded by an oppressive silence, heavy and binding like chains.

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