Novel & Cerita What We Called Therapy After Dark

Within few minutes, he was back with Ethan. "Why did you invite Ethan?" I asked. "He is part of the therapy," Morgan said and I thought of what he meant by therapy. Before I could say anything, Ethan was on me while Morgan used oil to massage my leg. "Morgan!" I called taking in a deep breath. Ethan screamed when I called his father's name and I knew what it meant. He wanted me to call his name. "Ethan!" I called in a moan. Morgan's therapy was great. It felt like romance to me.

I scream his name as I reach my climax, my body shuddering violently in unison with his as he slams into me one final time before spilling deep inside me. As the aftershocks fade, he shifts, rolling onto his side until he's lying beside me on the couch. I twist to snuggle against his chest, feeling the steady, calming beat of his heart. A soft smile graces my lips as I slide my hand into his, watching as our fingers intertwine. "Feel better, now?" I ask softly. He chuckles low, exhaustion heavy in his tone. "The best therapy session I could've ever asked for." I smirk. "I hope so. I don't do that for just any client—you know, only for the dark, brooding ones that belong to me."

Dark of Night Copyright 2019 Emily Goodwin Chapter One “What do you see when you look at this one?” The doctor holds up a card, showcasing an ink splotch that’s twisted and creepy, with eyes that follow you no matter where you go. I look at it, heart hammering away inside my chest. The mess of ink on the white paper reminds me of the monster that lurks in Nana and Papa’s basement, the one that tried to get Abby and Scott to go downstairs with it.

Danny stands guard at the door of the boutique, while the rest of his team sit outside in vans, waiting to spring into action as needed. It's been two weeks since I started therapy, and things are gradually starting to get better. I'm finally confronting the grief of losing Alicia and one day, I may even be ready to talk about Nathan. My therapist, Dr. Drake, is well-acquainted with the mafia. I'm sure Diego wouldn't have chosen her otherwise. I have too much blood on my hands to confess my sins to a regular therapist.

I murmured, keeping my sigh quiet enough that he wouldn’t hear. As soon as I ended the call. A few minutes later, the door creaked open and Melissa stepped in and froze like she’d just seen a ghost. “What are you doing here? Everyone’s gathered in Jennifer’s room. We’re playing Truth or Dare.” “Everyone?” I asked, lifting a brow. “Yeaaaah!” she sang with her grin wide and mischievous. Melissa had dragged me out of the room while buzzing from excitement. We followed the muffled sound of music and laughter down the hallway until we reached Jennifer’s suite.

But I crave more darkness. The following nights dissolve into a symphony of sin. Nathan introduces me to his world fully—collars, clamps, roleplay where I'm his obedient pet, crawling for him, begging for release. Each session pushes boundaries, but his aftercare is loving—baths, massages, whispers of "I love you, Rose. Always have." It's romantic in its darkness; he owns me, but I own his heart. On the last night before our parents return, he sets up a scene in the basement—dim lights, a St. Andrew's cross against the wall. I'm naked, collared, wrists and ankles strapped to the X-shaped frame.

I stayed indoors for those days, trying to keep my mind busy by reading the surrogate contract book Alpha Rowan had given me. It was strange, the procedure was, but for a while it took my mind off the events. But the evenings and nights were worse. Every time I closed my eyes to sleep, it all came rushing back—blood, tears, screams, Rowan’s dying face—and I woke up screaming like I had lost my mind. This evening was one of those. I had not eaten anything as Talia had brought Beta Cole in the morning, and they stood at my door saying something about checking up on me. I refused them entrance as I wasn’t ready to talk to him.

"Says the man who refused therapy for six hundred years." "I'm in therapy now. Have been since you died. So are the girls. We're all working on our trauma together." I paused. "Which you'll be joining. Family therapy and individual sessions. Non-negotiable." "You can't just mandate therapy." "Watch me. You came back from the dead. Literally. That requires professional help to process for everyone involved." Eve was quiet for a long moment. "You really went to therapy? You hate talking about feelings with strangers."

“Completely. Twisted. Obsessed. All of it.” He smirked, dark and predatory, eyes smoldering. “Good. Because once you’re mine… there’s no turning back. And I… I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Than you. Than fire in the dark.” We stood there, wrapped in fog and shadow, hearts racing, desire tangled with obsession, danger pressing from every side. And I realized, terrifyingly and thrillingly, that we were already beyond redemption, beyond reason, beyond the world that had tried to keep us apart. We were lost—and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

What was I supposed to tell them, that the dead were walking again? The receiver felt heavy in my hand. The number I dialed was burned into my memory. “Welcome to the Wellness Alliance,” came the smooth, practiced greeting. Their tone was gentle, corporate, the kind meant to soothe anxious patients and reporters alike. On paper, the Alliance was a mental health and rehabilitation clinic. But I knew the truth. Behind that smiling logo was the Seraphic Shadowmenders Guild, a network of healers, fighters, and scientists who dealt with what the world was not supposed to see.