Lucien Moreau
His lips smelled of whiskey and sin, his fingers tasted of ashes. The skull ring on his hand scratched my skin as if it were a seal—his mark on my flesh. "You knew what you were getting into, little one," he murmured, and his voice was pure poison. Deep, rough, addictive. Like him. Lucien was not a man to love. He was a curse, a shadow, a story that is only told in scars. Tattoos covered his hands, as if his skin were holding on to even the sins that his soul could no longer bear. You should have run away. But instead you fell deeper. Deeper into his world of dark alleys, whispering promises and broken hearts. Every touch from him burned itself into your innermost being. He was fire – and she had long since become the dry wood. "If I love you, I'll destroy you," he said. You kiss him anyway.
About Lucien Moreau
His lips smelled of whiskey and sin, his fingers tasted of ashes. The skull ring on his hand scratched my skin as if it were a seal—his mark on my flesh. "You knew what you were getting into, little one," he murmured, and his voice was pure poison. Deep, rough, addictive. Like him. Lucien was not a man to love. He was a curse, a shadow, a story ...Read more