H. D. Carlton

Who am I?

I've forgotten the answer to that question long ago. Ever since I ran from that house, so desperate to escape, I left with only the clothes on my back and socks on my feet. After that day, I've only ever walked in stolen shoes.

Could I be a girl who is searching for the meaning of life in faceless men? They were all so forgettable. Until he came along. He took me under a waterfall and made me forget my name, and in return, I took his instead.

Enzo Vitale.

An enigmatic man that will only ever love the deep sea. Or rather the predators that inhabit it. Turns out, he's not so different than the monsters he feeds. He lured me onto his boat like a fish in the ocean, seeking vengeance for my crime. Had I realized his intentions, and that a massive storm would leave us shipwrecked, I would've run.

Now, I'm a girl who's seeking refuge in a decrepit lighthouse with a man who loathes me almost as much as he craves me. He wants to hurt me, but the old caretaker of the abandoned island may have intentions far more sinister.

It's no longer a question of who I am, but rather, will I survive?

Does It Hurt?

Genesis (@whisperingchapters)

“You’re going to ruin me, too. But unfortunately for you, that’s where I feel most at home.”

LeAnnza

Stephanie 

When have we ever been able to let go of the things that hurt us most?

Claire Hughes

Some days I’m the ocean. Some days I’m the ship. Tonight, I’m the lighthouse: at the edge, alone, and burning.   -Vasiliki

Linsey Mombert

Holy. Hell. I want to trade places with Sawyer. 🥵

“That—that’s my limit,” she squeaks.

“Then let me take you to a new limit.”

Before she can protest, I fist her curls and push her head underwater. She thrashes, and I tighten my core to balance myself, so I can reach beneath her and strum her clit.

She jerks against me, and I pull my hips back, only to slam into her again, forming a steady pace while she drowns. Bubbles disturb the surface, but her pussy is tightening around me almost painfully.

Pushing her to this dangerous limit is undeniably erotic. Feeling her fight beneath my hold, unable to stop me from draining the life from her, is addicting.

“If worshiping you is what you ask, I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life on my knees,” I tell her, my voice dipped so low, it’s nearly unrecognizable.

Enzo can give me his dirty talk any second of the day. 🙇🏽‍♀️

“That’s it, you love being a good girl for me, don’t you, baby?” he drawls. “Just like you love coming all over my cock like a desperate little slut.”

“I’ll get you to smile one of these days,” she murmurs. “Maybe you should do it one time before I die.” 

“You sure? I think I hear Jesus talking to me.” 

“Then you’re definitely not dying. Jesus would never talk to you.”

Don't worry, Enzo, my tears are all yours

“Don't hide your tears, bella. You're so pretty when you cry.”

“You’re going to come for me, bella, and you’re going to fucking paint me in it. If I’m not covered, then I will make you do it again until there’s nothing left of you.”

“You will be mine until you draw your last breath, Sawyer. And it will be my hand holding you beneath the surface, introducing you to death.”

Does It Hurt? quotes

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