Short Psychological Thriller Books Novels & Stories

Book 2: Random Wetness: Blurb: What would you do if, in the middle of a wild party, just trying to dance your heartbreak away over a colleague you secretly crave, then a stranger grabbed you from behind, bent you over so fast and started fucking. Just when you wanted to raise your voice, you started enjoying the pleasure….you leaving you too weak to stand? Yeah. That happened to me. Crushing on the dangerously handsome Kaelon Draven, who doesn’t even know I exist, has driven me to some very reckless choices: Like hiring a smug love doctor to cure my obsession. Like disguising myself as a man just to land a job in his company.

On that night, I turned into a psycho because I found myself repeatedly stabbing the three men who raped me. Instead of feeling tired, I felt nothing. It even made me want more! And that's what I did. I cut off each of their fingers until I was satisfied. And when I saw their blood flowing from their stumps, I laughed hysterically like a mad person. Damn! I didn't expect seeing blood and dead bodies could be this exhilarating. Especially when you smell the stench! Because they were sleeping soundly, they couldn't fight back when I killed them one by one.

Who knew that amnesia would be the least of my problems? I got out of the elevator, walked through the house and when I got to the kitchen, I put the book on the worktop. I grabbed a bottle of sparkling water and a jar of hazelnut cream. I sat down to read a thriller. In the story, Vivian was shivering in her living room as the winds howled outside, the windows banging hard during the storm. Suddenly, the lights went out and she screamed in fright. The front door burst open and a grotesque figure with horns and an axe gleaming in the lightning emerged. I'm so immersed in suspense that when the kitchen door slams hard, I almost faint with fright. I turn quickly and find Dominique standing the

All I can think about is how easy it would be for him to reach down, tilt my chin up, and claim my mouth. He watches me read—or pretend to—in silence for a moment, his breathing steady and controlled. Then, as I flip to the second page, his fingers "accidentally" graze my forearm. It’s a light, lingering skim that sends a bolt of electricity shooting straight to my core. I jolt, a small gasp escaping my lips, and he doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb traces a lazy, possessive circle on my skin before retreating. Heat floods my cheeks, and I feel my nipples tighten painfully against the lace of my bra.

​Every creak of the floorboards in the hallway sent a spike of adrenaline through my veins, making it nearly impossible to focus. ​Suddenly, I heard a sharp intake of breath from the darkest corner of the room near the towering bookshelves. ​I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs, ready to bolt. ​Standing in the shadows was a woman I had never seen before; she was draped in a dark, vintage shawl that seemed to swallow the dim light. ​She was older, her face a map of deep lines, and her eyes held a piercing, unnerving sharpness that felt like it could look straight through my lies.

He’s still in his khaki shorts and sweatshirt when he laid down beside me. I shook my head at him. “Not anymore; your cushion here is so comforting.” It’s true. I don’t even remember now that I am scared in the darkness, and it is only just because he’s beside me. He smiled. “Good to hear about it.” Then the silence came. No one talks. The only thing that can be heard is our breathing, and take note that I am breathing heavily right now. Not because I am scared or what, but because I am really trying hard to fight against my lust.

Harry used to tease me all the time but he always charged my devices whenever he found them nearing their demise. Until he stopped. Like everything else he stopped doing — one by one till there was no difference between his presence and absence. When I got tired of staring at my displeased reflection in the dead glass, I shoved the phone back into my bag, wondering whether to continue my novel. I was reading one of Margo’s recommendations — a thriller. Since I couldn’t solve the dilemma heating up in my own life, maybe I could try solving one for fictional characters. I was almost at the end of the book and had my hypothesis, but Margo had warned me that this author was renowned for whiplash

What happens when the risk of discovery becomes the very thing you crave? Maya Rivers is not careless. She has been built from restraint, from routine, from the comfort of control. And yet the stranger who finds her in the stacks doesn’t follow her rules. He rewrites them, one by one, until she can’t tell where the boundaries end and the desire begins. He awakens the same part of her that lingered in those midnight chats, daring her to admit that she longs to be seen, watched, wanted. This book is for readers who understand that tension itself can be intimate. That the risk of being caught can tether you more tightly than any promise. That a name whispered can bind as surely as a vow. That a

The air-conditioning, the faint echo of my own steps, my heaving exhaling It felt like I was being watched. For the second time. “Put yourself together,” I whispered to myself. I wasn't actually scared, just… aware. Too aware. I could feel eyes piercing my skin, like eyes that grazed across my skin, checking, waiting. It didn’t feel fearful, which somehow made everything very much worse. I noticed movements in the kitchen, Levi stood there, by the counter going over files, as usual, in his perfect posture, his grumpy expression, unreadable.

My body went heavy, like wet sand. My breathing hitched. My eyes darted around wildly, but my head wouldn’t turn. Panic screamed inside me, but my mouth wouldn’t open. I couldn’t even blink fast enough. It felt like being trapped inside my own body. I could still feel, still see, but I couldn’t move. Something moved in the hallway. The sound of soft footsteps hit me. Thud. Pause. Thud. Pause. Thud. My heart slammed against my ribs, screaming at a body that wouldn’t move. I couldn’t lift my head. I couldn’t do anything.