Not All Good Girls Go to Heaven—But I’ll See You in Hell 😈🔥
They say good girls go to heaven—but let’s be honest, heaven sounds boring as hell.
No bruised lips from kisses that last too long. No hands gripping, clawing, taking. No whispered prayers that have nothing to do with salvation and everything to do with the way my name shatters on their tongue.
No, heaven is for the ones who wait. Who behave. Who cross their legs, bite their lips, and pretend they don’t want more.
And I? I want everything.
Saints Kneel, But Sinners Take Their Pleasure
Good girls are patient. They whisper maybe later, not tonight, I shouldn’t.
But I am not patient.
I don’t beg for pleasure. I demand it. I pull it from gasping lips and trembling hands. I make it impossible to forget, a temptation so deep it lingers like the taste of sin on your tongue.
Because I don’t just sin—I make you love every second of it.
Heaven is Overrated—But Hell Feels Like Home
They say the devil was cast out for wanting too much. For taking what was never meant to be his. For refusing to kneel when he was told to submit.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always liked a man with a little darkness in his soul.
Because I don’t want someone who prays—I want someone who curses my name between moans. Someone who doesn’t fear damnation as long as it comes wrapped around my body, hands gripping, mouths searching, giving in to every unholy thought they swore they’d never entertain.
And trust me, I’ll bring them to their knees—
But not to pray.
I Never Wanted Wings—Only Claw Marks on My Back
So let the good girls have their halos. Let them whisper their innocent little prayers, saving themselves for some future that will never taste as sweet as the sins they denied themselves.
Me?
I’ll take the darkness. I’ll take the heat. I’ll take the hands that shake not with reverence, but with hunger. The ones that don’t beg for forgiveness—only more.
Because I don’t want heaven.
I want bodies tangled in sweat and sin. I want confessions whispered against my skin. I want a kind of pleasure so blasphemous, even the angels turn away.
And if that means hell is where I belong—
Then I’ll see you there. 😈🔥
Call me Ava Monroe
