Gets Under My Skin Novels & Stories

The tender skin on the underside of my arms. Scrabbling hungrily beneath his T-shirt, my eager fingers rose up and over his taut warm skin, growing bolder as he groaned his appreciation. But then he forced me to cling on tightly, his mouth leaving mine and moving downwards, trailing butterfly kisses along my jaw to my ear.

If he kept talking low and dirty to her, she’d come for sure. “It itches, like a thousand ants are marching over my skin. I need to rub somewhere—anywhere. My muscles are poised just on the edge so that if they tighten even an eighth of a centimeter I’ll explode. I burn inside like a river of molten lava is flowing through my veins.”

I gasped and winced, unable to hide my discomfort. “Ouuuch!” I murmured under my breath, my voice echoing softly. But after a few seconds, I began to adjust. My skin slowly adapted to the chill, and I continued bathing with deliberate care. The sponge lathered into a thick, creamy foam the moment it touched the soap. I rubbed it gently over my skin, starting from my head, taking care to scrub every part clean. I paid extra attention to my underarms, especially the soft area just above the curve—scrubbing with intensity until I felt fresh and satisfied.

Underneath the black satin, my skin was a map of secrets. I could feel them even without looking—the faint lines on my thighs where I had pressed my own fingernails in too deep during the lonely nights. The bruises and burns on my skin from the electric shocks. The small, round pale spots on the small of my back and the back of my arms where the doctor’s lightning had burned the life out of my skin. I felt a sudden urge to hide, to curl up and pull the blankets over my head so he wouldn't see the wreckage.

I try to pull it again, feeling a slight stretch against my skin. “Fucking great.” I mutter under my breath. I had a few options here. One was pulling my hand hard and in the process lose some minor superficial skin, it didn’t seem that bad. Honestly, it would probably mostly be dead skin anyway but I just happened to be a scaredy cat.

Those fingers inside me. Adrenaline races under my skin. And the heat that’s got nothing to do with the sun casts over my entire body. I feel it rushing over me, under me, boiling over inside my gut, as I bite the corner of my bottom lip. Holy shit. I want everything we’ve ever done together to happen again. Right now. In front of everyone. And not give a damn who watches.

Even the hideous freckles staining my cheeks were visible in this mood-spoiling reflection. The whole of Moonfall, including mom, constantly call them ugly and I can’t prove them wrong because I haven’t seen anyone else around here with these annoying speckles. My skin would have passed on for normal, which I really wish it could, if I didn’t have an unofficial condition that makes an inflicted area red for hours just because someone, or myself, gave it a little pinch or bump … I even have one on my ear right now from mom’s squeezing. Imagine how I look coming back from a bully encounter.

His gaze remained locked on the marks—deep purple now, the distinct imprint of his fingers clearly visible like a violent tattoo. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he whispered, his fingers hovering just above the bruised skin, tracing the shape without actually touching. I forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to my own ears. “Hurts? Pfft.” I waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t. Just a little sore, that’s all. It’s actually nothing, you know. I haven’t been able to get a proper tan in months, so my skin is extra pale right now. Any little touch leaves a mark. Plus, you have a very strong grip. Deadly combo.” I shrugged, trying desperately to sound casual. “And the skin around my neck has always b

Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and that telltale tingling spread like wildfire beneath her skin. She loathed it. Loathed how his presence ignited something raw and electric inside her. How the air seemed to shift when he was near, charged with something she couldn’t name but felt everywhere—on her arms, her throat, the small of her back. Her skin prickled, hypersensitive, as if it knew him before she did. Her stomach twisted, low and tight, every time their eyes met—especially when it was unexpected. Especially when he looked at her like that. Her heart was racing. Not from fear. Not from adrenaline.

My underwear was dark with wetness, the fabric clinging to my skin. My breath hitched. Mine.