Sinful Skins Novels & Stories

"As an immortal, I can tell you there are many way I could end your life, but in a mortal way seems a lot more fitting, don't you agree, Alaya?" When Sinful glances at me, I shake my head. Again, he ignores me. "You see, I'm going to first take your eyes out, for even looking at Alaya," Sinful says delicately, bringing the knife up to his cheek. He tries to flinch away, but the binds keep him caught tight. "Then, I'll cut off your tongue, for speaking to her," he continues, pressing the blade against his cheekbone. With the sharpness of the blade, blood is instantly spilled, trailing down past the tape and down his neck in a crimson mess.

"I should have known it was you. You love us so much, don't you?" I did not say anything. "What is it you want again? Skin? Oh yes. You want skin." He laughed. "Here. I'll give it to you." And without warning, he tore his skin off with the ease of clothes being torn off, and he stood before me, bleeding, skinless, and holding out his skin to me. His blood stained the ice on the insides of the pit, so that it was stained with the red. "Yes. We'll give our skins to our ancestor. He wants to be handsome." Another voice laughed. "He must remember though, that beautiful skin can never cover a rotten soul. He has no soul to show for himself."

I stomped over to him, reaching down to grab him by the collar and force his head back. But when he tilted his face up, his features were entirely blank—no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just a smooth, horrifying void of pale skin. I gasped, taking a quick step back, but before I could process it, the blank skin shifted, melting away like hot wax. In a fraction of a second, the face of the stranger from last night appeared—his sharp jawline, his high cheekbones, and those dark, piercing, lethal eyes staring straight through my soul with an arrogant, wicked smirk.

in my veins begin to solidify into something colder, harder, and far more lethal. The air in the refinery docks didn't just feel cold anymore; it felt jagged, like the atmosphere had been replaced by a million microscopic obsidian needles. Every breath I took was a battle against the "Zero-Point" fallout, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and made my lungs feel like they were being lined with lead. I knelt in the mud, my body trembling from the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of the "Reversal Gamble." My vision was blurred at the edges, a flickering screen of violet static that threatened to swallow me whole. I looked down at my hands—the "Obsidian-Gold" skin was charred and peel

Expressive touch, Passionate embraces, Strong hands upon me. Oh, those hands. They ignited sensations, Intense and forbidden, Like words unsaid beneath a larger form, a form warmer, wilder, and longer. Moans beneath his sculpted body, a blend of heaven and transgression. Pure desire, a carnal dance of sin. Though prayers for forgiveness may be whispered, The allure lingers, Drawing me back again and again. ISABELLA’S POV If there was something more frustrating, it was having to stay married to a man who was not only old but sexually dull.

Kiana couldn't deny that it felt good, but she sipped in a breath of air to stop herself from moaning. "You've had your fun. Just... just finish and go away," Kiana's pride hurt, ashamed of her lustful thoughts, but she wouldn't be defeated. Her p*ssy was sore, her nipples were almost painfully hard, and her ass was red from all the pounding. Her pale skin was covered in beads of sweat, just like the bronze-tanned men surrounding her. But she wanted it to be over, no matter how much her body screamed for more.

His entire body went rigid, his muscles shaking violently as he shot a thick, hot wave of cum deep inside my pussy, filling me up until it was spilling out. We stayed pinned against that glass window for a very long time, both of us panting for breath, our sweat mixing together as the city lights twinkled far below us. The sin was committed. It was beautiful, it was wrong, and as Julian slowly pulled his thick dick out and wrapped his strong arms around my shaking, naked body, I knew neither of us could ever go back to the way things were before.

Chapter Five Marked by Him When I woke up, my thighs ached, and every inch of me was sore in the best way. My skin still smelled like him. Like his come, his sweat, his ink. My panties—whenever I found them again—were likely unsalvageable. Silas was already up, standing by the large studio window with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and his other arm bent, flexed against the pane as he stared out over the early morning light flooding the city.

The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the empty church, profane and perfect. "Harder," she demanded. "Make me feel every broken promise." He angled deeper, grinding against her clit with every plunge. His hand found her throat—not choking, just holding, possessive. She clenched around him, milking his cock, eyes rolling back. "Come inside me," she begged. "Fill your sinner. Mark me as yours." The words undid him. He slammed home one final time, cock pulsing as he emptied into her—hot, thick ropes painting her walls. She shattered again, cunt spasming, nails drawing blood down his shoulders as she wailed his name like a hymn.

Shame burned through me, but I couldn’t stop it. I walked barefoot down the hall to the door he’d left open. His room was larger, darker, dominated by a massive bed with black sheets. The city lights through the rain-streaked windows painted everything in silver and shadow. I sat on the edge of the mattress the way he’d told me to wait, thighs pressed together, the short skirt riding up. The lace of the apron scratched lightly against my chest every time I breathed.