Hells Kitchen Black Jacket Novels & Stories

I'm gonna concentrate and don't get consumed with Gray's dark fantasy. It's almost evening and it's Friday. As usual, the frat house will be throwing a party and I'd love to take advantage of it. Plus , I need to assume I'd never shared a mind blowing proper kiss with a man called Gray Carter. I walk to the kitchen to make toast. Leslie walks in with Hazel as they round the counter. Hazel is dressed with black rip Jean shorts and white hoodie. While Leslie wears a high waist jeans and pink crop top with straps that's tied around the neck like a bikini top.

Hector uttered as I entered the room. Typical of Hector, he wore black slacks, a black button-up shirt, and a black blazer. As I approached him, I threw my arms around his neck and giggled lightly. "What's so funny?" Hector asked, wrapping his arms around me. "Can I ask if you have any other colored clothes besides the dark ones?" I giggled. As he kissed my lips, Hector chuckled lightly, "Black is the color of my soul." "Knock, knock," Jonathan's voice echoed through the doorway.

“I was actually waiting on Olive, but I don’t think she’s going to show up.” Call it divine intervention or my miserable fate, but Hael chose that moment to strut through the Dining Hall doors like he owned the place, which technically he did. I couldn’t help the way my eyes latched onto him and the dark button-down shirt he wore. The University’s crest was also embroidered on the front pocket, which meant it was a school-approved garment, but everyone else wore white. Hael was the only one in black, and without asking, I understood why. With his messy hair and intelligent eyes the same dark shade, he claimed the color and made it his. One could even compare his personality—hell, even his so

“Juvelia, are you sure it was him who licked you?” I asked again for confirmation. Juvelia shot me a venomous glare before nodding pitifully. “Yes... that wet, sticky sensation... I’ll never forget it for the rest of my life...” “Good.” I nodded with an icy expression. “Hopefully, you’ll still remember that feeling later.” Ten minutes later, the banquet hall doors swung open. A man clad in a black hoodie, a baseball cap, and a black mask stepped inside.

This of course meant that I dressed in all black. I put on a pair of black skinny jeans, a black tank top with a black leather jack, my black 6” inch heel boots and a black bracelet. When I got dressed I did my makeup. Same Smokey eye and lip gloss. I finished and went to the kitchen. I saw the chef and smiled. “Good morning. Can I have pizza with the pepperoni, pineapple and loads of ham on it please.” I said politely. He nodded and smiled. You’re probably wondering why I did not order something fancy. Well to be honest the foods that are expensive all taste awful. They all have fancy names but they tasted like garbage. Cheap food tastes good though.

Heaven, who had laid back in bed, jolts to a sitting position on seeing him, her eyes wide as she stares at him. “You… you— you’re…” The words die in her throat. How is the man not Ziason? All she can see is Ziason with long hair, gray eyes piercing across the room to her. As he approaches her, the heavy chain hanging down from his neck sways from side to side. He’s clad in a fitted black leather pants, a gray short-sleeved shirt tucked neatly in, layered by a black leather jacket. Black gloves hug his hands. A sheath of dagger hang from his thick belt, and the metal buckles on his boots ring softly with every step, resounding in Heaven’s head just as his scent hit her.

As Isabelle walked toward the kitchen, Shawn followed her with his eyes, totally mesmerized by the goddess who was cooking barefoot in his kitchen, looking so damn sexy with his white shirt on. Isabelle was moving around with a certain ease that left him speechless. Every time she was getting up on her toes or bent over to get something she needed, the shirt was moving, exposing her thighs, showing him a taste of what he would have later, for dessert. “The sauce for the pasta is almost ready,” Isabelle warned him after a few minutes. “I’m sorry, but for tonight, we will have to settle with a simple dish.” She put the cutlery, the glasses, and the plates on the kitchen counter and fixed his l

“Goes with the current theme. Beta Ashton!” “What?!” he blinked in confusion, but before he had a chance to ask, I pushed him ahead of me and out the door. “Pack while I eat. I’m hungry!” He looked like he wanted to ask something more, but changed his mind. I sued my nose to find the kitchen and talked some brave little maid into cooking for me. They were all terrified of me at first – not so strange seeing as I was still THE Dargan Hellson – but I knew how to sweet talk the ladies. Soon there were three of them ready to serve me and hell, if I pushed it a little, I would have gotten a blow job for dessert. But Ashton showed up just as things were getting spicy, with a bag in his hand.

I’ve spent the last two years living a lie. Two years of pretending to be someone I’m not, of working my way up the ranks of the most feared mafia organization in the city. Two years of getting closer to the man who sits on the throne of crime and cruelty. They call him Damon Black— the devil of Hell's Kitchen. He doesn’t trust anyone, especially not women. That’s why I had to do it. Why I had to cut my hair, hide my identity, and become ‘Liam,’ his loyal right-hand man.

He looked like the physical incarnation of a nightmare. His bespoke suit jacket was gone. His white dress shirt was completely soaked in dark, wet crimson blood—and none of it belonged to him. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, corded muscles that were taut with adrenaline. His chest heaved. But it was his face that paralyzed the entire room. His pitch-black eyes were entirely blown out, burning with a demonic, merciless hellfire. He was a force of nature, a hurricane of violence that had touched down in the middle of a Hamptons estate solely to reclaim what was his.