And I chose to stay in my Wonderland with my dark prince.
Thank you for reading Malady, lovely reader! I hope you enjoyed Blakely and Alex’s dark journey to find the light in each other. Please consider leaving a review, even a short one, as it means so much to authors. Thank you!
If you’re not yet ready for us to part, as am I, I’d like to take you further, dare you to go even darker. Flip the pages to meet one of London’s colleagues, Sadie Bonds, in With Visions of Red, a thrilling, killer romance with a dark and shocking twist.
Want even more dark, mind-twisting romance? See if you’re caught up with these fan-favorites:
More Dr. London Noble and Grayson Sullivan: Read the FREE novella London & Grayson by clicking here.
More Dr. London Noble and Grayson Sullivan: Read the Darkly, Madly Duet FREE in KU by clicking here.
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We weren’t born the day we took our first breath. We were born the moment we stole it.
~Grayson Peirce Sullivan, Born, Darkly
Meet Grayson Sullivan, AKA The Angel of Maine serial killer, and Dr. London Noble, the psychologist who falls for her patient, as they’re drawn into a dark and twisted web. The ultimate cat and mouse game for dark romance lovers. Click here to start the Darkly, Madly Duet now.
He knows her secrets. Her obsessions. The darkest, most deviant part of her soul. Plunged into a world of torture and suffering, pain and pleasure, Sadie Bonds and Colton Reed balance on the razor-sharp edge of two intersecting worlds threatening to swallow them as they hunt a serial killer.
Colton
I watch her.
Since her first visit to The Lair months ago, I’ve been watching. Just watching. And she watches, too.
I assumed she was a voyeur. Only here to feed some curiosity, or feast on the sight of flesh and violence. But the longer I watch, the more I see it in her jade eyes.
She’s hungry.
How she even got through the front door, I don’t know. Julian must have been feeling charitable that first night. Maybe thinking the same as me—that she was just wanting to settle some curiosity. But here she is again. It’s her MO.
I round the bar, tapping Onyx on the shoulder to let her know I’m taking off. Then I duck under the bar top, the beat of the house music thumping in sync to my ramped heart rate.
She hasn’t been back for a while. Maybe two weeks. And I’m like a hunter stalking my prey, needing to get a long, lustful gaze at my conquest. Although, truth be told, I have no intention of making a move on her. She’s too perfect. I just want to marvel, to watch as she watches, taking in her labored breaths. Her fingers clamped tightly around her flute of champagne.
I lean my shoulder against the wall and fold my arms over my chest and black T-shirt, letting my gaze travel over the room until it locks on to her.
This is just one room in the club. The voyeur. Set up with a stage and plenty of space for the audience to roam and play while each scene is enacted for the members’ enjoyment.
I’ve wondered before if she ever visits the other rooms. If she ever visits mine…if she plays…but I’m trusting my instincts on this one. That, and the fact Julian has confirmed he’s never set her up with a Dom or Domme.
Okay, fine. I’ve asked about her. Even against my better judgment and Julian’s unwelcome probing into my life.
All my thoughts cease as the scene on stage begins. The music dies down, and in the sudden, stark silence, a low and melodic beat starts. The dungeon master walks a blindfolded woman onto the stage and commences strapping her to a St. Andrew’s cross.
It’s a classic scene, one that the sub requests each week. She likes to be flogged while a Dom frees her from her daily monotony as a CEO of some company. Then she prefers her master to go down on her as she climaxes.
But it’s the first time she’s been witness to it. And I move a bit closer, needing a clear view of her face as she watches. My heated breath coasts past my lips, slow and measured, as I spy her vivid eyes trained on the scene. Her lips parted, black dress clinging to the curves of her slim body.
Her chest rises with her sudden and deep inhale. The V of her dress teases me, the creamy skin of her chest hidden beneath a scarf, the round swells of her breasts just below, inviting.
From the corner of my vision, I see the flogger make contact across the sub’s tits, and my pants tighten painfully as my target’s hand goes to her chest. She caresses her smooth skin beneath that infuriating scarf as if she’s been struck.
I slide my tongue over my lips as she crosses her legs. I imagine her thighs pressing together tightly, putting needed pressure against her clit, her panties wet. Fuck. I reach down and adjust myself. This is getting ridiculous, how much I crave this stranger, but she’s not like the others.
So many tempting beauties occupy this scene, and though I’ve played with my fair share, and it was satisfying on a carnal level, I’ve never been entranced the way I am when I watch her.
What would it feel like to tie her down and discover what she desires? For her to let me in and reveal her darkest fantasies? To extract her fears and inflict them on her, making her tremble, scream, ache. Then fall to my knees and gratify her as I worship my goddess.
The muffled cry from the stage cracks into my musings with the strike of the flogger, and I’m awoken from my trance, only to fall into my own form of torment.
I watch as my goddess becomes bold as the other members play around her. She snakes her hand up her parted thighs, under the hem of her dress. Her eyes shut against the scene as she touches herself.
Fucking hell. I’m going to come undone.
Yes, beauty. Rub that slick, swollen clit.
I reach down and run my palm over the rock-hard bulge pressing against my jeans. I feel the connection to her as she pushes her hem up enough for me to witness her sliding her panties aside, then I envision her trembling finger sliding into her warm flesh. Her eyes are clamped closed against the darkness, her breasts straining against the taut fabric, her nipples peaked.
I want to be there with her. Right there, when she comes. I’m tempted to yank my cock out this instant and beat the fucker off.
But my hand stills, my breathing catches in my throat, as a guy moves in front of my line of vision. Dammit. I’m already stepping closer to get around him when my feet stop. I watch as he lays his hand on her shoulder, then bends over to whisper in her ear.
My hands curl into fists.
If she welcomes his advance, I’m going to lose my shit. I won’t be able to stand here and watch someone else give her what I know she needs. Fuck him. He hasn’t watched her for months; he hasn’t logged away countless hours discovering what she yearns for.
And he sure as shit doesn’t know that she doesn’t want to be touched. But I do—and I’m two seconds away from breaking his hand.
I keep watching, regardless. If she’s ready to play, finally, I’ll make sure she’s safe. I’ll watch over her, protect her.
She’s shaking her head, trying to get away from him. She’s rattled. He’s not what she wants. She’s here to watch, not play. She’s not ready.