Dark Love Artwork Novels & Stories

“Do you have any idea? You’re an artwork, Iris. The kind painters ruin their lives trying to capture. That curve of your jaw... the sheer, stupid defiance in your eyes. It’s intoxicating.” A wave of nausea hit me. “You’re a fucking pervert,” I snapped. He didn't flinch. He just leaned in closer, his shadow falling over me like a shroud. “I’m going to punish you in ways your small mind can’t even begin to imagine,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re going to beg, Iris. You tried to drag me into the light, but you forgot one thing — this city thrives in the dark. And I am the darkness.”

He reached out, and for a second, I thought he was going to touch my cheek, but he just picked up a shiny little bottle from the nightstand and started fiddling with it. Then, in a solemn tone, he said, "Natalie, what would happen if the pill stopped working?" "I'd be a goner," I said flatly. The Davis family called it the 'loyalty pill,' and a person had to take an antidote every month. If they did not, by the third day, it would feel as if ants were crawling through their bones; the pain would be so unbearable that it would drive anyone insane. A week later, death would follow.

“The art, the passion, the storm. Us.” Yet as he kissed me deeply, promising a future of unveiled desires, a subtle shadow lingered at the edge of my mind. A rival collector had messaged him earlier, one who coveted not just my sculptures but the artist now claimed by Damien. Our story was far from over. This binding was only the foundation for greater obsessions, deeper pleasures, and dangers that would test if love born in midnight rain could truly withstand the light of day.

But I do love Dark more, maybe it is because I can actually feel his love and always have. Dark snaps his tail in the air three times, and grabs me in his arms, with my legs around his body, and while standing and kissing me passionately, he penetrates my pussy with his tail. I bite his lips and make him throb my pussy even deeper with his thick tail. He asks me to bite him harder until he bleeds. I do it and then he does the same. We both bleed and kiss, feeling the taste of our blood, blending it in each other's mouths.

The tears that had also mixed with the paint I had used to make this art, the art that was made out of my own pain and heartbreak. I lifted my hand, my fingers hovering over his dark form, the only thing that gave away that it was Cole was the slash of moonlight on his right brow and the highlight of the right side of his face. That square jawline and the hint of stubble on it. And one more thing, his hand holding a delicate jaw of the female figure lying under him. Me. It was me. The whole painting was black and white, and various shades of grey. The darkness of it had resembled the same dark emotions brewing inside me while I had painted it. But there was one color that I didn’t mute. The

“But I have one more idea. Something… artistic.” Ava lifted herself on her elbows, curiosity mixing with exhaustion. “What kind of idea?” Julian’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Black and white. Anonymous. Faces obscured by shadow, angle, or cropping. Just raw bodies. Desire captured in its purest form. No one will recognize us… but everyone will feel it.” Ava’s breath hitched. The thought of being photographed while they fucked — anonymously, artistically — sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.

The one whose name my people still cursed in their prayers. But my traitorous eyes refused. They drank him in greedily tracing the corded muscles of his arms visible even beneath the armour, the way his chest rose and fell with calm, controlled breaths, the faint scar that sliced through one dark brow. He was beautiful in the way storms are beautiful terrifying and mesmerising all at once. Soren Masuda was raw power wrapped in divine grace. A strange forbidden ache bloomed low in my belly. Shame followed instantly, hot and bitter on my tongue. Stop it, Evelise. He is not yours to look at.

then her eyes met mine. They were dark. Deep. Alive. Fierce in the way. And had that pull that made me drawn to her. My wolf stirred...then growled. Mate. No. No, this couldn't be. I inhaled and took a step back, pulse pounding, cold anger rising in my throat. She is my mate. This was a trap. This wasn't a desire. This was madness. Seven mates died. And yet here I was, already stepping into the grave. "Alpha Rowan." Cole managed to mutter in my ear, bringing me back to reality.

I rubbed my forehead, unsure of what to do. “Aren’t you going to say anything? Damn, look at this. So romantic and sensual. He imagined both of you when he bought this.” Nicole said, picking up the art book. “The pictures are out of this world, though the gift is strange. Robert Clarke is very thoughtful. I’ll give him that.” “You think?” I mumbled, staring at the picture Nicole showed me, and my eyes glazed over the sensual black-and-white art. It was a drawing of a naked silhouetted man and woman in bed, tangled with the sheets.

He was the one I love the most and the one who was exactly my style. Honestly, I had a crush on Austin from the beginning but it was more like idolising and I'd never thought of telling him about my feelings because even I knew it wasn't strong enough. No, it was strong enough... too strong that I found it hard to control but it wasn't in a romantic way. Using his picture to masturbate felt like throwing him in the mud and I just couldn't bear to do that. Austin was someone who could never get into the dark place of my heart... He is the one I fear the most~ The one I cherish the most and I can't bear to dirty him.