Deep Skin Sleeping Skin Imprints Novels & Stories

He kissed her repetitively, playing with her wet hair. His heart thumped wildly as he inhaled her lemon-like scent. "Doll!" He called again, and Yoori stirred in her sleep, getting out of the covers. He watched her back under the warm covers and swallowed dryly, his Adam's apple bubbling up and down. Red marks were imprinted all over her body. He expected it to take up to three days for them to fade and others to imprint again.

RAVEN The water in the basin was steaming, but it didn't feel hot enough. I sat on the edge of the bathtub in our quarters, my shirt discarded on the floor. Dominic stood behind me, his hands trembling as he dipped a soft white cloth into the water. Every time the cloth touched the skin of my throat, I flinched. It wasn't just because of the soreness. It was because the marks weren't purple or red. They were black. Five long, thin finger-prints were etched into my skin like ink soaking into parchment. No matter how hard Dominic rubbed, the color didn't fade. It had become a brand.

Sleepy is watching me as my eyes roam all over his gorgeous skin. "You..." I don't know what I'm trying to say. My brain is terribly fevered—I've never seen a body so flawless—broad shoulders, bronzed skin, a narrow waist, killer abs, and bulging veins, but the most delicious part about Sleepy must be his arousal. When I unconsciously suck my lips into my mouth while wishing I could taste him, Sleepy grunts as if suffering in agony. "Don't look at me like that, Alyssa..."

And she still didn't fall or slide off as much as I'd love her face to come in contact with. I lay her on the bed and began slowly taking off all the layers. Her body relished in the attention I paid to the detail. That little birthmark on her shoulder, the tiny stretch marks all over her beautifully rounded hips, they all got their day in the sun. I took my time to etch into my memory the way her skin glistened not from oil but from the continuous skin to mouth contact.

Several hours later. The bright sun rays, entered the gigantic and royal room. Diana was sleeping clumsily on her bed, while all the makeup on her face had now washed off. Without any layer of foundation, the girl's dark circles and moles were highly visible on her skin, while her eye liner was now all over her cheeks. Her lipstick was all over her chin, while it even stained the rich bedcover on which she slept. Her white attire had black paint marks all over it, as if depicting her soul which was equally stained and black.

He stops me from wiggling around. “Please stop.” His morning voice is deeper than his normal voice. When did he wake up? “Stop what?” I turn around to face him but his eyes are still closed. He got such cute eyebrows. I mostly love his dark melanin skin. It's so clear. I wonder what is he using. “Are you gonna wake up?” “I have a hard life baby girl. A little bit of extra sleep is necessary for me.” What does that even mean?

I wasn't in a bodysuit. I was lying on a bed of soft moss. I could hear the sound of a distant waterfall and the howl of a real, flesh-and-blood wolf. I opened my eyes and saw a sky that was a deep, beautiful blue—without any geometric lines. I sat up, my body aching in a way that felt familiar. I looked at my hands. The chrome scales were gone. But my skin wasn't "normal" either. There were faint, shimmering white patterns etched into my forearms—scars from the "Real World" that had followed me back.

I feel something crawling on my cheeks. I wrinkle my nose and twist my lips to ignore the tingling sensation and continue sleeping. I am having such a good sleep. I don’t want to wake up so early. But this crawling on my skin has not gone yet. Now something is moving slowly on my scalp through my hair. It is soothing, but at the same time, it is disturbing my sleep.

Dominik Sleep deprivation is a slow-acting poison. It corrodes the edges of my vision and fills my joints with lead. Four days of relentless adrenaline have carved hollows under my eyes, leaving me operating on pure, mechanical instinct. Sunlight bleeds through the heavy drapes of the master suite, casting long shadows across the Persian rug. Sitting at the small writing desk in the corner, Eve is already awake. Her fingers fly across the keyboard of her laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling across his forehead, and I ached to brush them away. His lips... soft, full, twitched slightly in his sleep, and I wondered what dreams played behind his closed lids. His collarbones were sharp beneath his skin, the faintest hint of a scar peeking out near his shoulder... old, faded, a reminder of battles he’d fought long before I knew him. My fingers itched to trace it, to memorize every mark, every imperfection that made him him.