Novel & Cerita Dark Smutty Books

Keeping the previous book on the shelf I glanced for another book. "What is it amore, didn't like your book?" Alesso asked with a smug look making me narrow my eyes at him. "No, it was fine but I am in no mood to read that type of book right now." I looked back at the shelf and he hummed in response. While glancing I looked that all books were filled with only smut. I was confused, who only has smut books on their shelf. Looking back at Alesso I see him trying to keep a straight face.

Seconds later, Shandra is already a little better, drying her eyes and sniffling a little. "Pretend that never happened." The two men shrug. Doing a bit of suspense, the girl with fair skin and dark hair opens the box. Although they are stored in a dirty, dusty place, the two books look perfectly clean, although obviously aged. The smell of leather and old paper reaches the nostrils of all three, especially those of the demons. Sam picks up the two books, paying attention to the covers and their weight. Then he smiles grimly at Shandra. "Apparently, little witch, you are either blessed by the gods, or cursed by all the terrible beings in this world."

But my body didn’t care about reasons. “I’m going straight to hell,” he muttered, then closed the gap. His mouth took mine slow this time, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of me. I sighed into it, hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. He tasted like black coffee and smoke and sin, and I wanted more.

The first smut scene he came across was tastefully done. He reluctantly stopped reading when he saw an hour had passed. It was a shame to stop reading, but he did have a job to do. “It’s good isn’t it?” Becca said with a grin. “I’m really hoping he submits something else soon. We do have a six book deal with him so he’s got one book left.” Zach wondered what type of person Damien Black was based on his writing. His mental imagining of female centric erotica authors was middle aged women unsatisfied with their husbands. Damien Black seemed like someone refined and well read.

I choose a Stephen King paperback – Salem’s Lot - from the lower shelves and struggle to decipher the pages, my curvy body sinking into the cushy couch. I’ve always been more size 12 than two, and look like those dumb pictures of Eve – soft sloping stomach like van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece, pert breasts, and curving hips for days. The words of my chosen book all turn up like mush. The leather smells like the cigars Samael smokes, the spice of his orange and musk cologne, and rain. It smells like him. I close my eyes, inhaling the scent. Memories of him from my childhood haunt me, the man cloaked in shadow, the owner of my soul.

“I already finished the book you lent me. Can I borrow more?” “Sure, do you want the same romance, or do you want it to be different? Like smut?” she asked, her grin was so wide I could practically see all her teeth. “Smut?” The word felt odd on my tongue, so I tilted my head, genuinely puzzled. Not only did she look absolutely thrilled, but it was the first time I’d ever heard that word. For most of my life, the only books I’d read were about history or science. Novels were still a new territory.

I let out a cough as I step into the dusty hall where rows upon rows of books fill the floor to ceiling bookshelf walls. The books here are all covered with fine dust and when I run a finger through one of them, I think I probably scrape off a millenia of dust. Most of the books are yellowish from age, some are barely held together, threatening to crumnble at just a touch. This is such a strange place to store books. Whoever built this place must not have liked to read. I mean, why would anyone build a library underground where light is a limited resource? It is as if the person did not want anyone to come at all.

Crystal muttered, smiling as she was led by Angelica to sit by the nearby desk, a few steps after passing the 3rd row of shelves. Angelica placed the book down with a thud before holding the hardbound cover of the said book and flipped it open, the contents revealing printed images with words citated beside or under the photos. The pages itself seemed to be slowly darkening due to oxidation and time. The pages were fragile as if they will be torn just by a mere mistake of flipping them in an unruly way, which explains Angelica’s delicate actions.

he looked around and laughed, “But enough of that, I want to hear about your writing. What are you working on at the moment?” I spluttered on the glass of water that I had just taken a drink from. Hmm, things always got awkward when I talked about my books. It was bad enough that I wrote about werewolves and vampires and stuff, but when I added in that the books were more than a little smutty, it would raise a few eyebrows. I certainly wasn’t sure that it was a good first impression that I wanted to give to someone who basically spent his days dealing with millions of pounds. “Oh, it’s a romance of sorts,” I said with a shrug and Dominic smiled.

I didn't want to have breakfast for fear of running into Darick. The door creaked as I turned the knob and entered the library. Dust particles still floated in the air, and I could barely see with the dimly lit chancellors. I walked down the aisles, holding my nose as the smell of musk filled my nostrils. I skimmed my fingers over the hardback books. Hmm, ‘Chronicles of the Blood Brothers.’ No, I don't want to read about the Blood Brothers' history. What's this? ‘Understanding your Supernatural Abilities.’