What We Called Therapy After Dark Novels & Stories

And then I was coming, screaming my release as my pussy clamped down hard around his cock. Adriano followed me over a moment later, burying himself deep and spilling his cum inside me once more. We both collapsed forward onto the desk, spent and panting. "That was... incredible," I breathed, still hazy with pleasure. He chuckled and nipped my earlobe playfully. "I thought therapists weren't supposed to fraternize with their clients." I swatted his chest half-heartedly. "Well, that was a bit of an exception. You're just irresistible."

I was there to be the voice of reason, to suggest therapy, to recommend treatment facilities. “You chose Serenity Wellness Center,” I said, the name of that hellish place still making my skin crawl. “I researched it thoroughly,” Morgana confirmed. “Found the perfect place where they’d treat you exactly as badly as you deserved. Understaffed, overworked, with a history of patient abuse that was carefully covered up by their legal team.” She paused. “I even made sure your room was on the third floor—easier to stage accidents if the drugs and isolation didn’t finish you off naturally.”

So goddamn gentle it made my chest ache more than the wound. I pressed my face to his shirt. And I let myself feel it. That pull. That sick, dark thrill that came from being completely claimed. Later that night, he took me to another club. Not the kind with drinks and music. No—The Chamber was private. High-end. Invitation only. The kind of place where the wealthy came to indulge. Dominic dressed me in nothing but a leather harness and heels. My nipples were bare, hard. The brand was still raw, but visible if you bent me just right.

I said. “I know. I’m just…” “Being you.” “Being me.” We lay down on top of the covers, both of us still dressed, with a big gap in the middle of the bed that neither of us touched. The room was dark except for a line of streetlight under the curtain. I could hear Jax snoring through the wall, which was honestly impressive for a man who’d been slapped twice in one day. “Can I ask you something?” I said into the dark.

He walked to the door. He stopped. He looked back at me. He said he loved me. I said I loved him too. He left. The door closed. Eli held me. Luca watched. Hope slept. The baby kicked. And I knew. Derek would never be fully healed. None of us would. But we were trying. And trying was enough. My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah. I am coming back. Derek and I are going to therapy. Together. I smiled. I showed Eli.

Graphs of heart rates, brain activity, and chemical levels. Subject: Dark Valerius Thorne. Age: 5. Objective: Suppression of Empathy Response. Method: Isolated Conditioning / Negative Reinforcement. Iza felt a cold, sharp pain in her chest. She looked at the photos attached to the file—a young Dark, sitting in a dark room, his eyes wide and vacant. He wasn't being raised; he was being broken. The "Devil of New York" wasn't born. He was manufactured. The final entry in the file was a memo from twenty years ago—the year of the accident.

“Judge? I’m in awe. You’ve got a soft pretty boy calling you Mommy in one bed and his uncle calling you his slut in another, and they have zero clue. That’s not messy, that’s high-wire acrobatics without a net.” She groaned. “You’re the worst best friend ever.” “I’m the best and you know it. Wait—did I hear you right earlier? He’s your therapist?!” “Yeah…” Her voice went small again. “Dante. The dominant one. The one who bends me over desks and makes me forget how to breathe. He was my therapist first. I went in to unpack the Kia thing—blackmail origin, guilt loops, all of it—and somehow ended up spilling every filthy fantasy, then waking up naked in his bed after a blackout drunk night. And

Sub-Genre: Age-gap Romance, MF Themes: Slight BDSM, Slight Erotica, Lust, Stalker. MALLORY I fight against the dark part of me that wants to beg for more. A dark part that has found a voice and is trying to break free. Take over and give in to this man so we both can find relief. I thrash against it, entering a silent battlefield and trying to choke the life out of it so it never comes to light. But then he withdraws his finger to the very tip, swiping his finger along my entrance, and when he sinks back inside me, he adds two more fingers.

My heart is doing something strange in my chest, beating too fast and too slow at the same time. Jeremy clears his throat and the moment breaks. “You should try to get some rest,” he says, standing up. “Big day tomorrow.” “Yeah. You’re right.” I watch him gather his sketchbook and pencil, and when he passes by the couch he pauses. “Goodnight, Cam.” “Goodnight, Jem.” The nickname slips out and I see his shoulders shift slightly before he turns away. I curl up on the couch, pulling one of the throw pillows against my chest, and close my eyes.

Amelia By the time I got home that evening, my phone was filled with suggestions. Lingerie pictures. Flirty lines. Videos about seduction. Things I didn't even know existed. I dropped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. What the hell was I doing? I picked up my phone and opened Ashen's I*******m. His latest post was a photograph of a woman in a beautiful red dress. The lighting was perfect, the background simple, and the entire picture looked effortlessly expensive.