Tag: forced proximity romance

New Excerpt from Unholy Intentions Now Live on Patreon!

On By Ana C. BlacklaceIn books with trigger warnings, booktok, dark college romance, dark romance, forced proximity romance, jealous and possessive hero, over the top hero, romantic suspense, spicy romance, stalker romance, steamy romance, touch her and you die, you're mine romance2 Comments

Hot off the press (and my keyboard), a brand-new excerpt from Unholy Intentions is live on my Patreon! 😈🔥

For those of you who’ve just joined the party, let me catch you up: Unholy Intentions is my latest work-in-progress, where a brooding warrior priest is sworn to protect the daughter of a ruthless tycoon from her stalkers. The line between duty and desire blurs. Forbidden attraction, anyone?

This is a peek into this latest chapter, but if you want to be kept on the edge of your seat, then you’ll want to hit that Become a Patron button on my Patreon. 🔥💀

So head over to Patreon, join the dark side, and savor Unholy Intentions chapter by chapter. Enjoy the ride! 💋

***

Hailey

The quarterback has been drunkenly nibbling at my ear for ten minutes. I would have pushed him off me by now if not for the dirty stuff he’s whispering. I like that shit. But the whole club spins with me, and when I-Forget-His-Name’s squeezes me against him, all those cocktails start coming back up. I’m this close to throwing up all over his expensive, sheen-white shirt, but then he grabs my hair, tugs my head back, and sticks his tongue into my mouth.

He’s a big, fleshy guy, and I usually like them that way. There’s a sense of comfort to a generous layer of fat over muscle, even though I know the snugness is fake. I-Forget-His-Name is as much a bully as his friends, who are probably filming this as we speak, and will be laughing about it on campus tomorrow. 

I know, because this isn’t the first time I’ve sneaked out of Bobby’s gilded cage to make out with a guy at a club. But daddy dearest’s people always track me down before I can go all the way. 

I had some hopes tonight I’d outpace them.

If at least What’s-His-Name were sober, maybe he’d see the deed through. I’d sure as hell let him. It’s not like I dream about love stories like in Hallmark movies anyway. No, I fantasize about getting (full content on Patreon) all over my (full content on Patreon) like a hentai slave with eyes tearing up from the thickness of a paying customer’s (full content on Patreon). No one was supposed to know that I fantasized about having (full content on Patreon), or to see the drawings I made of it.

But Bobby found them. Actively hunted my secrets. 

He took those secrets from me, and it felt like rape.

That’s what started this whole shit storm. 

No. If I’m honest, it started the day Stella met him.  

I was only two years old when my mother turned from a rock band groupie into the wife of a boxing star. When she got her very own American Dream. I can still see her in my mind, spinning happily among falling confetti with a flute of the most expensive champagne in her hand.

Too bad it didn’t last, just as her trysts with famous crackheads didn’t last. I still wonder which one of those eccentric dogs sired me whenever the clock app pushes fan accounts of theirs up my feed. I’ll probably never stop longing to know, but curiosity killed the cat.  The knowledge would only roll in an entire snowball of questions and frustration, and better let sleeping dogs lie. Therapy is what I should have done, but Bobby would never allow it. Too big a risk of our fucked up family secrets to be dragged out into the public eye, and there’s no way in hell Bobby will allow any damage to his public image.

It took Stella ten years to understand that’s all he cared about.  She might have seen it earlier, but she spent them so high on status and fame that she didn’t notice when his declarations of passion turned into abusive insults. But I do remember being ten when I first saw the bruises just above her elbow. I also remember the first time he looked at me differently. I kept my head down for years, hoping it would go away. I tried to stay a child for much longer than I actually was one in the hopes that he’ll become the Bobby I knew when I’d been little. I mourned that Bobby. But he never came back. Instead, during a family photoshoot, his hand slipped low down the small of my back, the tips of his fingers grazing my ass.

The smile froze on my face, turning into the grin of a little shark. I knew that I had to do something at this point. Shit was getting serious.

So I told Mom. She listened to me patiently, the glass of champagne stiff in  her hand. She had this direct, fixed stare that made me feel seen, so I started crying, letting it all out, telling her that I knew he was going to do far worse to me than just put his hand in the wrong places. I thought that her silence was focus, which is why I kept talking like a fucking waterfall, but then she struck me across the face. 

“You lying little bitch.”

I’ll never forget those words.

They echo in my head right now, probably because that’s what I-Forget-His-Name is calling me. Little bitch. While he keeps sloppily nibbling at my earlobe. 

You should have him lap at your clit while he’s still halfway capable of doing it, Hentai Hellcat whispers in my head, her face emerging from the shadow.

“Hoo ‘bout we take dis to da back of my car?” he stammers. 

I blink against the club lights, letting his proposition run through my mind. I don’t have much time until Bobby’s people find me, and chances are I won’t be able to get out again next week. This might be my last chance. I could spread my legs on the hood of his car and let him do me right there in the parking lot. No doubt his friends will be filming it, but who gives a fuck at this point. Just thinking about how it’ll damage Bobby’s image, how the tabloids will be screaming, gives me a kick.

I nod, giving the quarterback the green light.  

He pulls away enough to run an arm around my lower back, and I rest my hand on his shoulder to keep steady. I must resemble a ragdoll hanging on a drunk bull, which is what he looks like with those Thor horns on top of his head. He’s a big guy, and I’m on the small side, even though I’m told that I look taller in pictures. I did running back in high school, which endowed me with lean limbs that create the optical illusion, so maybe that’s why.

I miss the running track. The freedom coursing through my veins, the wind rushing through my hair. It was my favorite thing in the world until Bobby confined me to the house, arguing that I needed to polish my grades for college. It was just an excuse to keep me in, of course, to isolate me from my friends, from people I might talk to about the inappropriate ways he touched me. My grades were absolutely fine, I’d made sure of that because they were my ticket away from Bobby. But he wanted me to go to Norrington, The Order’s very own university, so I’d be trapped under his roof. He wanted me to remain, I quote, his “well-behaved little pussycat”. Never drawing attention to myself, always at his disposal.

That’s when it hit me—that’s exactly what I needed to do. Call attention to myself, as much of it as possible, as quickly as possible. I hated the spotlight, but I desperately needed it to keep his hands off of me. But the feat was hard to achieve, considering he kept me locked in.

So I dropped the graphic novel I’d been working on, the one thing I found refuge in, and went online. Things got out of hand fast, but at least Bobby won’t dare lay his hands on me now with so many eyes fixed on my channel, on us, on our family.

“Thank you for helping the young lady,” a male voice says, close enough that it’s louder than the music. “I’ll be taking over from here.” 

I raise my head, slowly. My eyes move from a pair of polished black shoes up legs in black, to a torso with broad shoulders and a face I can’t make out with the club lights shimmering behind it. 

“Back off, Father,” the quarterback grunts.

Father?

The quarterback tries to push past the newcomer, but the man slides his shoulder out of the way, causing my date to stumble forward. The bastard grabs my shirt in the process of falling flat on his face. He’s pulling me down with him, but a strong arm blocks my fall by catching me at the waist. I-Forget-His-Name ends up a heap of limbs on the floor all by himself. 

“What the fuck,” he grunts, scrambling to get back up to his feet, and failing like he’s trying to gain his footing on ice. I burst into laughter, which earns me a mean glare, his eyes gleaming in the club lights. His face screams ‘I’ll get you for this, bitch’, but I guess I’m too drunk to care. Dizziness still clouds my head but, miraculously, the nausea is gone. Maybe it was his smell. He smelled of cologne when the night started, but then he began to sweat and the stench of onions and dank clothes crept in.

Very much unlike the gentleman whose arm is now wrapped around my back, keeping me close to his body that feels like a wall of muscles against me. His scent brings back a feeling—or a memory, maybe? Of autumn leaves and pumpkin-spiced stories about sexy villains and their secrets.

I look up, finally bringing his face into focus, and—you gotta be shitting me…

***

BECOME A PATRON.

Dirty Arrangement – First Chapter and Meet ‘Cute’

On By Ana C. BlacklaceIn bestselling dark romance, billionaire romance, books with trigger warnings, books with trigger warnings, booktok, bully romance, contemporary romance, Dark and Dangerous, enemies to lovers romance, forced proximity romance, jealous and possessive hero, jealous possessive hero, over the top hero, over the top hero, spicy romance, stalker romance, steamy romance, touch her and you die, you're mine romanceLeave a comment

WARNING. This is a Dark Romance. It may include trope-specific triggers such as but not limited to: mention of abuse, indecent proposal, forced proximity by the hero. Recommended only if you are familiar and comfortable with Dark Romance.

Blurb:

Sirenna

Zayne Thorngren isn’t Lucifer. He’s the whole damn hell. Violence incarnate.

I should stay a million miles away from him but, with the city mafia out to get me, the controversial billionaire is the only one who can protect me.

So, I have no choice but to accept the dirty arrangement he offers. 

An affair that Zayne has full control of, while I’m caught in his web of dark desires.

But the more of my problems he solves, the more I realize he’s not going to let me go. Like, ever. His passion is a prison that I’m not sure I want to escape.

Still, there’s one thing more powerful than Zayne’s possession. His secret, hidden in a past that’s coming to tear us apart. A secret that should send me running away in horror. And yet…  

Zayne

I’m this city’s golden boy, a celebrated pharma lord.

Some call me the real-life Lex Luthor, while others say I’m my very own brand of vicious. 

A member of The Order with no weaknesses. No soft spots. No addictions. 

Except for watching Sirenna Carter.

Imagining dirty, nasty scenarios with her.

So when she comes asking for protection from the city mafia, I demand payment right there, on the couch in my office. It should still my lust and get her out of my system, right?

Wrong.

Because now I’m obsessed. 

Possessed by a need that’s out of this f*cking world.

I will destroy her enemies and put the world at her feet, but can I protect her from the monster lurking beneath my skin? And when my secret starts creeping out from the shadows of my past, will this twisted love be enough to save us? 

***

CHAPTER I

Sirenna

“This is bullshit.” 

I throw myself onto the pillow, my phone landing on the bed next to me, showing death threat number fuckteen. A sound rips through the room before a stark light lands on my face, forcing me to slap a hand over my eyes. My groan morphs into a very unladylike, hung-over cough.

“Rise and shine, princess,” a familiar voice chirps. Fuck me, it’s too early to deal with her.

Mia Rogers–soon to be Lady Santori–is the only person I know who manages to sound accommodating and commanding at the same time. She’s a hustler used to getting her way, but at the same time, she’s charming, and pleasant. Me? I’ve been called a stuck-up bitch more often than by my own name. 

“Damn it, close those motherfuckers, will you?” 

“Like hell I will.” The bed jerks when she drops onto the mattress. I don’t need to look at Mia to know her eyes are running over the empty champagne bottles lying around the hotel room. “I understand that you need time to heal after everything that happened, but you seem to be growing comfortable in your misery. Let me remind you that you can’t afford that. With Joseph missing, you’ve got a whole freaking empire to run, not just this hotel.”

“Not now, Mia, I’ve got a mean hangover.”

“Yeah, you’ve been having a lot of those lately. You need to snap out of it.” She props herself on her elbow next to me, so close now that I can smell her expensive perfume.

“Come on, Sirenna, you’re stronger than this.”

My phone buzzes, and the display lights up. 

I don’t even bother to pick it up. Let Mia do it. See for herself why I’m not leaving this hotel for the next couple of decades. A sigh leaves her lips. You know what, let’s take this up a notch. I unlock the device for her and let her read the texts that came before it. 

“So, shall I order room service?” I taunt as she reads. “You can listen to the voice messages while you enjoy a hearty breakfast. We have excellent croissants here.”

“I…wow,” she mutters, still scrolling, her eyebrows arched up. If those texts are enough to render the tough journalist Mia Rogers speechless, imagine what they’d do to the average person. 

I drag myself out of bed, wrapping the discarded bathrobe around me–not because I need it, since I’m going to step into the shower right away, but because I don’t want Mia asking questions that make me feel more like shit than I already do. I slept in the same tiny red dress I wore last night to the hotel bar, which dress is now crumpled, and my pantyhose are ripped. I wonder how that came to be since I didn’t eventually hook up with anybody. 

I intended to. But no matter how drunk I got, I just couldn’t do it. 

I squint at myself in the vanity mirror, brushing my matted hair away from my face. My eyes are swollen, my make-up smeared around them, my face puffier than usual. I look over at Mia’s reflection. She’s flawless with her shiny black hair pulled into that stylish do, her skin perfectly tan, her eyeshadow making her intelligent blue eyes pop. I used to look as dignified as her once. A lifetime ago, it seems.

Mia tries to hide it, but she’s worried as fuck. Those messages are going to haunt her for a while, too. 

“I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but there’s a shitstorm on Twitter, too,” she announces. “I mean X.”

I let out a hoarse laugh that is devoid of any amusement. “Yeah, the X is all about my ex lately, it would seem.”

“Very funny. The media is all over issues when there’s room for speculation.”

“Are you, too?”

“Of course.” She gives me a slight grin. “You wouldn’t expect any less of me, would you?”

“Of course not. And, what have we got so far?” I throw over my shoulder as I head into the bathroom. I make quick work of getting rid of the dress and the pantyhose before Mia appears behind me and leans against the doorframe.

“It seems Joseph disappeared right after the big party at The Rite,” she says. “From my investigation, you were the last person who saw him that night. I made sure no one involved the police, just like you asked.”

“Thank you. As for being the last person who saw him, I was surrounded by a bunch of guys that Joseph wanted to have gang-bang me that night. Whatever I saw, they did, too,” I reply as I step into the shower. A cold spray comes down, battering my face and back. It makes me gasp sharply, chasing away the memories of that night. Every time I remember, they claw at me like hungry shadows. 

Mia keeps talking, but I can’t hear her over the rush of water until the temperature adjusts, the warmth soothing away the goosebumps.

“Declan talked to all of the guys that were around you that night.” Her tone changes, growing softer. More careful as she walks closer to the shower, rivulets trickling over her face through the glass pane. “Busy as they were with you, they lost track of Joseph.”

I swallow against the bitterness coating my palate. “Could Declan even identify all of them? Most were wearing masks.” But not Joseph or I. He enjoyed letting those guys grind into me, knowing full well who they were debasing. “If you and Declan hadn’t taken over the show, arresting everyone’s attention, he would have let those bastards rape me, and I wouldn’t even know who they were.”

“You can’t go down that rabbit hole, Sirenna,” Mia murmurs, now peeking around the pane of glass between us. “Joseph is one of the most disgusting bastards I know. What he did had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him. He was punishing you for getting dirt on him and leaking it to the press.”

“He was my husband for five years,” I reply, my fingers curling into the tiles. “You don’t do those kinds of things to people who once meant something to you.” Despite the hot water and the heat steaming the glass pane, I start to shiver. 

“I understand that these things hurt even if we’re braced for them to happen,” she argues carefully. “I, of all people, know that. But you need to steel yourself, because now that Joseph is gone, all of his businesses, including his enemies, are your problem.” She pauses, surely thinking about the texts on my phone. “Especially the enemies.”

“That bastard, he knew what he was getting me into.” All my muscles flex painfully as I watch the water flow towards the drain between my feet. “It’s probably why he did it. He knew that he could no longer stop the shitstorm that was coming at him. He was going down, and there was nothing he could do about it. So he fled and left me to get ripped to pieces in his place.” I laugh, the sound hoarse and bitter. “I can’t think of a better strategy to destroy someone.”

“He might well be dead, Sirenna.”

I scoff. “Oh, he’s not dead. We would have found a body. The kind of people that he deals with, if they wanted him killed, they would have made a show of it. Set an example. They would have butchered him and scattered his remains all over the city–the way they made it clear they would do with me.” And that wasn’t even the worst threat.

“Many want to take over his empire,” Mia says, making herself comfortable on the closed toilet seat as I wash my hair and my body. “He’s a Triad member. One of the links that connects the underworld with the world of top finance. Access to his banks is worth this city’s weight in gold.”

I scrub myself faster, the new reality firing up my nerves. By the time I step out of the shower, I’m on full alert, an anxiety attack looming.

“This is bullshit, Mia. I’ve been saying it since this morning, and it seems I’m gonna be saying it for a long time from now on.”

She doesn’t argue with me. She knows this is dark shit, and she’s fully aware it can swallow me whole. I see it on her face when I wipe the steam off the mirror. It gives me the chills, seeing the fierce Mia Rogers so worried.

“You should come stay with Declan and me for a while,” she says when I’m done blow-drying my hair, and we can finally hear each other again. 

I stare at myself in the mirror, seeking the powerful, effervescent woman I used to be. But the face staring back at me is only vaguely familiar. That woman and this version of me share the same straight nose and uptilted dark eyes, but the intensity those eyes used to have is muted. I never had a plump mouth, my features are rather pinched and severe, but my lips look even thinner now, and my face is almost gaunt.

“That wouldn’t be fair to you and Declan,” I say quietly, resting my hands on the sides of the sink. “You’re preparing for a wedding, you don’t need this kind of heat.”

“I’m sure Declan–”

“I’m sure he would, too,” I cut her off, “because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to please you. But he could spare the trouble. Trying to protect me would mean facing a war.”

“Sirenna, my future husband is one of the most powerful men in the world,” she reminds me kindly.

“So is Joseph. Keeping me safe will be hell with the city’s nastiest overlords trying to get me. Declan can’t protect me forever, and you know what?” I square my shoulders. I may be a broken woman with a drinking problem, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let these assholes tear me down. “I spent a lot of time trying to bring down Joseph Carter for the nasty shit he was involved in. I failed. But now? I’ve never been in a better position to take down half of this city’s evil rats. I could actually achieve something meaningful here.” My eyebrows dip in the mirror as I inch closer to a tough decision. “Right now, I don’t need a protector. I need an ally.”

Mia’s eyebrows rise slowly. “And you don’t think Declan and Jax would come in handy as allies?”

“This isn’t their fight, Mia. Jax kicks ass on the stock market, Declan runs diamond mines. They have nothing to do with the drugs and pharma mob that Joseph got himself involved with. It would be like having an oil sheik fight a social media mogul. No, I need someone who shares the same fight. Someone who has a personal stake in it.” 

Mia walks behind me, running her hands through my now dry, silky platinum hair. 

“Before you do anything about those guys, we need to find out what happened to Joseph,” she says.

“We don’t have the time to investigate that. Those assholes out there would get in the way. I’m a direct rival to them now, an unprotected one with open flanks. I’d be surprised if I made it to the next street corner without a kidnapping attempt.” I glance out the bathroom door toward the window. The outside world will never be safe for me again unless I do something about it.

“There’s only one person who can help me now.” I release a long, shaky breath, a name on the tip of my tongue. The name that sent icy shudders down Joseph’s spine every time he heard it. “Zayne Thorngren.”

A void sucks away the air when I release it out into the space between Mia and me.

“Zayne Thorngren?” she repeats, her voice quiet. “You mean the Lex Luthor of the real world?” 

“Yes. The Lex Luthor of the real world.” 

“Sirenna, Zayne Thorngren has been Joseph’s greatest enemy for years.”

“My point exactly.” 

Mia places herself in front of me, hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t follow your logic. If anyone is going to take you down on sight, it would be Thorngren. Shouldn’t he be at the top of your list of people to stay away from?”

“He is. Which is why I’m going to see him.” I step by Mia, walking back into the hotel room. I open the wardrobe, my eyes running over the few things I managed to have brought here after The Rite. Not much I can choose from, though. I traded the sharp suits for slutty clothes to hook up with random guys at the hotel bar, but I ended up relying on booze alone to escape reality. 

“I’m gonna need something powerful but sexy.”

“Why would you wear something sexy when you’re going to meet an enemy?” 

“Because Zayne Thorngren is a nerd, probably autistic, who freezes in front of pussy.”

“How do you know? You’ve never met the guy.”

“No, because he’s very private, which only confirms my theory. He’s respected at MIT like a scientific Jesus, so he’s definitely a super brain. Private, secluded, hence socially awkward.” I cock my head to the side as I calculate, my hands still on the open wardrobe doors. “He was at war with Joseph over who gets to control the drugs on the streets, so it’s safe to conclude he’s an evil genius with the balls to get into virtual fist-fights with thugs. He’s also got businesses in the underground that would give Machiavelli a run for his money.”

“Yeah, we were together when we stumbled over some of this stuff,” she murmurs. A tremor runs down my spine, and if Mia’s tone is any indication, she’s feeling the same.

“And you think you can manipulate a guy like that?” she continues. “I mean, awkward nerd or not, it sure won’t be the first time some chick has pulled the sexy trick on him.”

“I don’t expect he’s easy to manipulate. You don’t become the head of the entire pharma industry, with the most powerful lobbyists working in your favor at the White House, if you are. But maybe he can get a little intimidated. I could try to make him feel like he’s sixteen again, a pimpled boy masturbating under the sheets to the cover of Playboy. Context matters.” 

Mia steps next to me, and I drop a hand to let her inspect my wardrobe. 

“Red?” she chirps.

“No, not red. That’s your color, and I always looked better in black.” My eyes narrow as I put together an outfit in my head. “Maybe a leather jacket and black lace pumps. A tiny cream satin dress underneath.” Problem is, I have none of that in my wardrobe.

“Mhm, bold. It’ll look both badass sexy and classy with your hair down and maybe some dark red lipstick. The question is, how do we get to him?”

I shake my head. “Not we. Me. I get to him.”

“But–”

“No buts, Mia. Declan will never forgive me if I get you involved with that kind of thug. I’m gonna have to do this alone.”

“Let me at least give you cover.” She gestures toward the window. “Half the city gangsters are after you and–”

“I’ll be careful about how I leave the hotel. Besides, even if I do get caught, nobody’s gonna kill me, not yet. They need me alive to sign things off or to otherwise use me. I would be facing a mafia capo or two before anyone puts a bullet in my head.” I tap my chin with my index finger as the wheels turn in my head. “I would rather not get kidnapped, though. It would be a nuisance.”

“If you do get to Zayne Thorngren, he might be the one to kidnap you. So, how about you let me help?” She holds out her hands before I can protest. “Let’s just start with some good old shopping, okay? After all, we can’t afford anything less than perfect for the Zayne Thorngren Mission, and you don’t seem to have what you need here anyway.” Then, with a dip of her tone that won’t let me say no, “Let me do this for you at least. I’ve got a car ready outside and a squad of bodyguards with experience in Afghanistan. No one will be kidnapping you on my watch.”

I look down at my purse, discarded on the vanity table, the contents spilling out of it. I pick up one of the black cards. I have access to a lot of Joseph’s money, even if not all of it, until he’s officially declared dead.

“Let’s start by spending the asshole’s money.” Wicked satisfaction seeps into my tone. “It won’t lure him out of his hideout, but maybe it will make him toss and turn in it.” My eyes shoot up to Mia’s, whose grin mirrors mine. 

When she and I first met, we struck a deal. I would help her get intel on another member of the Blood Fist Triad she was investigating, namely Jax Vaughn, and she would help me get dirt on my husband. I assumed the code name Dakota and met her in a coffee shop with a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes. There, I told her my story.

I told her that, when Joseph and I met, I had already built a few successful start-ups, but I was young, and they weren’t a big deal. We met at a charity where I was hunting for business angels for my new project, an independent media outlet that would actually bring truth to the world. I was also one of the podcasting pioneers, and he was my first hot-shot guest. The head of the New York Corp Bank. I couldn’t believe my luck, I was walking on clouds.

Joseph fascinated me. He was an older, well-spoken man from whom I felt I had much to learn. I wasn’t wrong there. But boy, was I wrong about the price I would have to pay. Soon, he held me in a chokehold. Keeping me confined to our villa made it easy for him to cheat with models every other day, and his substance abuse problem gradually got out of hand. It turned him into a violent man. I eventually learned to avoid his wrath and turned to champagne more often than I liked to cope with my dire circumstances.

Yet the more I learned about the filthy bastard, the more I hated him, and there was only so much that booze could do to numb that down. I couldn’t keep my arms crossed anymore. I had to do something about the underage girls he drugged senseless and fucked with his buddies, about the kids he sent out on the streets to sell his drugs, about the way he waved his hand when one of those kids got shot in the head as if it didn’t matter. They were just cannon fodder to him.

So Mia and I partnered up. We made one hell of a team, she and I. 

“I just hope we haven’t become danger junkies,” I tell her with a smile.

She smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Just don’t forget the evil genius part,” she warns. “Remember the stuff we discovered on the streets about Thorngren. That man is Machiavelli made flesh. Even the Blood Fist Triad are wary of him.” And we both know what that means. If he makes the rulers of the underground squeamish, there’s got to be something truly devilish about the man. “I’ll ask Declan to–”

“I told you, I don’t want Declan involved in this. At all. He’s already done enough having the guys from The Rite interrogated.” My voice fades over those last few words.

Mia releases a long exhale, full of patience. “Sirenna, I know why you’ve really been avoiding Declan and Jax. You’re ashamed of the situation Joseph put you in at The Rite. All those guys and–” She stops in time, surely seeing the heat creeping up my cheeks. “But there’s nothing to be ashamed of. They understand better than anyone. Besides, if you feel like shit, how am I supposed to feel? No one actually put their dick inside you that night, while Declan fucked all my holes in front of the entire crowd.”

“And you sound fucking proud about it.” 

“There you go,” she says, running her fingers through my hair as the heat leaves my face. 

“Sometimes all it takes to make a girl feel better is pointing out that someone else should be feeling worse.” 

She laughs. “Always glad to be of service. Now, how do you plan to get to Zayne Thorngren?” She taps her index finger against my temple. “Because I know this brilliant mind already has a plan.”

MEET CUTE

Sirenna

“I trust you can take it from here,” the security guy repeats, keen to get off this floor. He hasn’t even stepped out of the elevator with me, and the look on his face when I glance over my shoulder is quite telling. Before I even get to respond, the doors of the elevator have already closed, leaving me alone in this place.

I look up at the doors, taking a deep breath. Then, slowly, I raise a hand to touch the intricate patterns carved into them, searching for a knob or a latch. Damn, I could swear the material is liquid. It seems to respond to the heat of my palm because the doors open with a smooth hum.

They reveal a space that looks more like the receiving hall of a king than the office of a nerd-slash-businessman. A pattern in the shape of DNA spirals is worked into the marble floor, a large floor-to-ceiling window to one side showing a vast green park that sprawls between this building and the city, skyscrapers visible in the distance. Buttery couches and a low table mark the visitors’ area. Surely only the creme-de-la-creme spend time here, people of Declan’s and Jax’s caliber.

My mouth is still open as my eyes drag to the large, sleek desk that presides from the far side of the room. A pretty-faced man in what appears to be the outfit of a clergyman leans against the desk, not looking very surprised to see me. If anything, it seems like he expected me, but somehow I know he isn’t Zayne Thorngren. 

But when another man emerges from an adjacent room, drinks in both hands, I know instantly that this is him. And he’s nothing like I expected.

His face hits me like a hammer to my gut, leaving me breathless. 

Zayne Thorngren has such beautiful blue eyes that, for a moment, my heart stutters. The tone of his skin makes me instantly think about licking it, and his jaw should be on an advertising billboard for “unattainable standards of male beauty”. His hair is so black it reveals blue highlights when he passes in front of the window, but it’s his lips I can’t look away from by the time he’s eaten up the distance between us. 

God sure as fuck went to town when he made this man. His lips are perfectly sculpted, and I can see how tasting them could feel like a privilege. I can think of no better way to describe him other than “Fuck this”, “You’ve got to be shitting me”, and “I’m fucking done here”.

“Mrs. Sirenna Carter,” he greets in a voice like liquid sin. “How wonderful that you made it in time. I’d made a bet with Priest here about how long it would take for you to crawl out of the hotel you’ve been hiding in, and reach out for my help.” 

Oh, wow. That was sobering. I’m not sure whether to feel offended or grateful for the bucket of ice he just dropped on me, but I’m instantly back to my senses.

He reaches me a drink, his smile not leaving his face for a single moment. “Five minutes later, and I would have had to pay up.”

My eyes flit between him and the clergyman. “Had you instructed your security to let me through, I would have been here sooner. Saved you the palpitations.”

“Oh, and deny myself the show? Oh no, Mrs. Carter. Watching that famously brilliant mind of yours in action was too much of a delight. Premium entertainment.” He winks, and those insanely blue eyes arrest my attention completely.

I absentmindedly take the drink from his hand. He looks down at it, one eyebrow arching up, giving him the look of a young devil. “I know you prefer champagne, but I figured you might need something stronger for the talk we’re about to have.”

“Sounds like you already know why I’m here.”

That smile again. It could disarm a fucking army.

“Of course, Mrs. Carter. If I didn’t know when people were planning to manipulate me, I wouldn’t be where I am. Please, have a seat.”

He motions toward one of the buttery, cream-colored sofas by the large window, light flooding in around it. His movement is fluid, his black sweater stretching over his strong arms and chest. The man is built like a freaking Michelangelo sculpture, an effect which the full black, casual outfit enhances. I lick my lips, trying to divert my thoughts from how he might look naked. It’s just  that finding a man so intensely attractive is a big deal for me. I didn’t think anyone could ever catch my attention like this again, and it feels surprisingly uplifting to know I’m not dead inside after all.

Besides, there’s something beyond his looks that keeps me staring. A strange familiarity, which is crazy because if I’d met this man before I sure as hell would have remembered.

I head over to the sofa, sharply aware of my posture and the way that I walk. I’m wearing a long, thin leather trench coat instead of the jacket I initially planned to wear because I didn’t want all of his employees to see the sexy outfit underneath. But the moment I sit down, crossing my legs, the sides of the coat fall to reveal my thighs, the lace pumps on my feet enhancing the effect. Zayne’s shoulders seem to tense, but it might be just in my head, because I want to affect him. But I can’t show him that, so my eyes fly over to the clergyman. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Carter,” Zayne says, following my gaze. “Priest doesn’t really work for Jesus. He works with me. No need to feel guilty about tempting him.”

He casually takes a seat perpendicular to me on the L-shaped sofa, facing the widow. There is enough distance between us to keep me comfortable, but also to make conversation less confrontational than if we’d be sitting face to face. It’s also a way for him to judge my composure. Face to face, I’d have no choice but to stare him full in the face, have my fill of those handsome features without making a fool of myself. The same cannot be said about this angle. If I stare it’s because I can’t help it. 

The same goes for Zayne, only that he doesn’t seem intimidated by the idea at all. He rests an arm over the back of the sofa, crossing one ankle elegantly over his knee and staring at me without a care in the world. Definitely not something you’d do with someone who affects you. Surely, if he felt the slightest hint of familiarity, of recognition, he would say something–wouldn’t he? I swallow hard, trying to get rid of the strange sensation, and trying to keep myself together. It’s not easy, especially with the scent that now envelops me like a crisp morning breeze tinged with citrus. It’s the scent of a man that will shatter everything in the way of his goals. World domination comes to mind as I meet that blue stare.

“So, I suppose this is about your husband having gone MIA,” he opens the discussion as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Nothing like the socially awkward nerd I imagined him to be. This isn’t the formerly pimpled teenager I thought I could intimidate, but a fucking Adonis who saw ten moves ahead of me. 

“Sad story, but I can’t say I’m very much touched by it,” he continues. “As you surely know, your husband and I are far from buddies. I am curious about one thing, though. How affected are you by his disappearance? Because if your hooking up with guys in the hotel bar is any indication, not much.”

I choke on my sip of scotch. “How do you–”

“I make a habit of keeping tabs on people who might become trouble.”

“Those hookups never went all the way.” Now why the hell did I have to point that out? It’s none of this bastard’s business. I clear my throat, putting on a straight face. “But the question is–how the fuck do you know what happened at my hotel?”

“Maybe I was a guest there.” He twirls the glass in his hand as he speaks. The corner of my mouth lifts, satisfied that I recognize at least one of his strategies. He hasn’t taken a single sip of his drink since we sat down, while I’ve taken three, if only to justify the color in my cheeks. 

Besides, by the look of him, the guy really isn’t a drinker. He’s too athletic for that, yet he doesn’t look like the steroid-fed gym junkie either. The power of his body, his exquisite build, they come from excelling at a sport. Something that enlarges the shoulders and trims the waist, that muscles the thighs and makes the ass look like it’s made of concrete. It takes effort not to ask what the hell he did to look like this.

“No, you weren’t. I would know, since the hotel is mine.” And I would sure as fuck have remembered him.

His grin widens. “I have eyes and ears in all the places that matter. It’s as if I were there in person.”

My lips thin. That must be how he knew about the bar hookups–through his spies. And I only realize that now, taken as I’ve been with his looks. After all, security lets everyone into the hotel bar if they aren’t carrying a weapon or wires–we scan them at the entrance. He must also know that none of those pick-ups ever ended with a fuck. That I always landed drunk and alone in my bed, having cried my eyes out on the shoulder of some stranger frustrated that he didn’t get laid that night. Fuck, I don’t know what’s more pathetic, him knowing the truth, or him believing I’m a slut with a drinking problem.

I tilt my head to the side, mirroring him.

“Since you know it all, why am I here?”

He drags his eyes away from me for the first time, directing them to the window. The way those blue irises catch the light is out of this fucking world.

“Let’s see, there are three possible reasons at the top of my list. First, you were curious to put a face to my name, but that’s wishful thinking on my part, yes?” He gives me a beat to respond, but the moment I open my mouth, he cuts me off. “Second, you’d like me to help you find out what happened to your husband. But that doesn’t hold either, does it? In the end, you don’t give a damn about him. You never did.” Is it just me, or was there just a little bit of venom in that last statement? “Third–and most pertinent, if you ask me–is that you’re swamped with death threats. With Joseph missing, all kinds of nasty people are trying to take over his empire. With you being a woman, the competition thinks you’re easy to take down. So you decided you needed help. And who better to partner with, if not with the man your husband feared most–and who he was in direct competition with.”

He turns his face to me, while I try to keep a poker mask on. 

“You know, I used to wonder what you and Joseph had in common,” I say calmly. “I mean, he runs a large drug network and you control much of the pharma industry, but that’s where the similarities end–or are supposed to, with him being in essence just a thug, and you a refined genius.” I pause for a beat. “But then, while I was busy digging up dirt on my still-husband, I came across some interesting things.” I rest the glass of scotch on my knee, my eyes pinning him down like daggers as I speak out the next words. “You seek to replace the common drugs on the streets with your own highly engineered ones. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

He holds my stare as silence falls over his large office. I become increasingly aware of Priest still hanging out by the desk, of his attention fixed on us. I wonder what his job is with Zayne, because I doubt he’s either his spiritual father or his bodyguard. There’s something menacing about the pretty boy that puts him on an equal footing with Zayne.

“Are you trying to intimidate me with the knowledge you have about my dealings, Mrs. Carter?” Zayne eventually says. His voice is still a silky  caress, but one that could morph into a whip at any second. His eyes slide down my frame. “And here I was, thinking you would use some of your feminine charms in order to coax me into becoming your ally.”

“Now that you mention it, I might as well.” My voice lowers a few tones, becoming more husky and inviting. All my senses scream that I’m doing something terribly stupid right now, but I can’t help it.

I undo the buttons of my coat, flipping the sides open to reveal the skimpy black satin dress. It might be just in my head, a trick that my racing pulse is playing on me, but I think his throat tensed a little.

“Shall I take this as an offer, Mrs. Carter?”

“First of all, I’d appreciate it if you stopped calling me that. Considering all the information you already have on me, I would expect that you already know I planned on leaving Joseph before his disappearance.”

He tsks, twirling the glass in his hand a little faster, even though the rest of him remains calm.

“Indeed. One could argue that you had good reasons to disappear him yourself. After all, you’re a resourceful woman. You just talked yourself past security that even the greatest con artists would have trouble breaching. Getting rid of an unwanted husband shouldn’t be hard for someone of your skill and competence.”

The compliment sends heat to my cheeks, but I manage to mask my reaction.

“I suppose one could make that argument. But not you. You know better. After all, you kept track even of my failed hookup attempts. You’re a know-it-all god of sorts.”

The twinkle in his eye sends my heart jolting into my throat. 

“Fair enough. So, for the sake of clarity, I’m going to ask you again.” He uncrosses his legs and leans forward. When his eyes move down my body again, they’re no longer just mildly curious or intrigued. It seems like he’s x-raying me, shamelessly exploring what I might look like naked. “Is this an offer?”

My entire body heats up, control slipping out of my hands. Now how the fuck do I reply to that?

***

STAY TUNED for the release coming soon! Dirty Arrangement is going live on Amazon on the 19.01.2024 – just a little over a week from now! Interested in more sneak peeks from my books, or maybe in a bit of Zayne’s POV from this one? Leave a comment and let me know.

Masked Man Scene – Wicked Rich Boy Excerpt

On By Ana C. BlacklaceIn bestselling dark romance, billionaire romance, books with trigger warnings, booktok, bully romance, contemporary romance, Dark and Dangerous, dark college romance, forced proximity romance, jealous and possessive hero, jealous possessive hero, over the top hero, over the top hero, spicy romance, stalker romance, touch her and you die, you're mine romanceLeave a comment

One thing you should never do on campus – get on the radar of the Heathen Kings, as much as you crave a piece of them.

They’re golden campus boys by day and warlords by night.

Cruel rulers of the world.

Set to marry virgin heiresses and use lesser mortals, like me, for their dirty pleasures.

Sade Royales? He’s a mouthwatering bastard with a sadistic streak that’s always fascinated me–safely, from afar.

But now I’ve done something that’s drawn his attention, and my life will never be the same.

Now, he’s out to haunt me.

Use me for his perverted desires.

Judging by his reputation, he’ll discard me afterward and take pictures of the mess.

Yet when the police come sniffing about the disappearance of my ex-boyfriend, he steps in for me. He swears to protect me. But there’s a deeper plot behind his actions, and soon I start discovering my place in Sade’s wicked plans. One thing is for sure – if he’s going to hell, he’s taking me with him. The question is, do I even want to fight it?

NOTE: This is a dark romance. It contains dub-con, degradation, and a twisted, dark love. Proceed at your peril.

***

MASKED MAN SCENE

The good news is that I’m not insane.

The bad news is that I have a stalker on my tracks.

The masked man is real, and he can do things that would give a ghost a run for its money. Like breaking through closed doors and dissolving into thin fucking air.

I run breathlessly down the stairs, only the moonlight guiding me. I should scream, draw the guards’ attention, but what if that psycho kills whoever happens in his path? I can’t be sure whose face hides behind the mask, but I’m positive he’s one of the Kings or the wannabes they initiate and train as their acolytes. They have the sickest skills, and they’re pretty freaking low on morals. 

Dogg Wilson alone, whose unwavering gaze from the car the other night still haunts me, can do some serious shit. If I hadn’t been so obsessed with working Sade out of my system, I would have spent my last few nights tossing and turning about Dogg’s intentions. 

My chest burns with every inhale I take by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs. The double doors leading out onto the front patio are just across the hall, at the end of a dark hallway. A shadow crosses in front of the glass panes, framed by the outline of combat gear–one of the guards. I can hear muffled laughs, him talking into his phone, oblivious to the fact that there’s an intruder inside the house.

I throw myself in the direction of the light. I’ll tell him about the masked man, and beg him not to look for him but just go, get us all out of here. I may not survive the dark forest surrounding this house alone, and the guards surely wouldn’t survive the masked man, but together we stand a chance. I can almost reach out and grab the door knob, a whimper trembling on my lips, when a shadow whips through my field of vision.

“Jesus Christ,” I shriek. It was so close, the movement ruffled my hair.

Sweat breaks out all over me, the empty house chilling me to the bone. 

No, I can’t stop now, not when I’m so close to salvation.

But when I take the next step, something pierces my naked foot. I yelp, stepping away and looking down. In the faint light filtering from the outside, I make out the drops of blood dotting the wooden floor–my blood, from the thorns that broke through my skin. There are multiple roses scattered at my feet. Under them lies another one of my crumpled poems, words written across it in dripping red.

You can run, but you can’t hide, pretty poet.

Just as I pull in a deep breath to shout, a large presence spreads out behind me like a splash of ink. I feel him before his breath touches my ear, and his deep voice reaches me.

“Scream, and their blood will be on your hands.”

Definitely one of the Kings. 

Even though his voice is distorted, as if Mr. Hyde had replaced whoever he is during the day, there’s a deadly edge specific to the way they all speak. Maybe I’d recognize him by the shape of his body, his height or the color of his eyes but, for that, I’d need to turn around. 

An exhale trembles on my lips before I take another breath, hoping to recognize him by his scent. I’m good with scents. Roses and smoke. Sade is clean linen and fall spice, Micah is leather and dark chocolate, Carlton all ocean and dew, but this one? 

“Trying to recognize me by my scent, pretty poet?” A low, quiet laugh. “A good stalker knows how to mask everything about himself, including his scent. Haven’t you read that in your books?”

A body as hard as concrete brushes my shoulder blades. He’s large, broad, crushing. My brain starts frantically calculating possibilities. No doubt he’ll make good on his promise and hurt the guards if they intervene. Those men don’t expect anything to go wrong tonight when the house is presumably empty. They’ll be caught off guard. They have families waiting for them at home, and if a father doesn’t make it back to his kids, it’ll be on me. 

I’m trapped. 

Nausea flares up from my stomach, and I hunch over, gripping my waist and retching over the roses and poems scattered at my feet. Maybe it will disgust him, and he’ll abandon his pursuit. But the universe isn’t feeling merciful tonight. Nothing comes out, and the masked man chuckles again, sleek like a lake where corpses lie.

“You have a strong sense of responsibility. Be a good girl, and no one will get hurt tonight.”

“No one?”  I manage breathlessly.

“No one,” comes the flat answer. 

I slowly come back up to a standing position, my eyes fixed on the light ahead. It’s so close, it’s painful. I could just lunge across the hall and grab the doorknob. But the masked man has me in a chokehold without even touching me.

I lick my parched lips. “You’re enjoying this, huh? Making someone much smaller than you fear for their life?”

“Why would you fear for your life? I brought flowers.”

“You also brought letters written in blood.”

He’s now closer, inhaling the scent of my hair. My fingers dig into my arms. It’s all the protection I have against him. Useless, pointless, but I need the illusion. 

“They’re freshly written, inspired by your poems,” he murmurs in my ear. My blood drains from my limbs. The poems in which I called Sade by name. 

Verses without much depth, but of piercing sincerity. I thought that I would be safe to explore those feelings within the safety of these walls, unlike at the mansion or on campus.

“Why don’t you take off the mask now?” I manage. “I mean, it’s clear you’re one of the Kings. Or that they sent you.”

A chuckle, so close that I’m sure he must have somehow gotten inside my head just like he broke into the house. Like a freaking ghost.

“How do you know I’m even wearing a mask?”

“I know you’re the same man who broke into Mel’s bathroom the first night I was here.” I pause, wishing I remembered the glimpse I got of him in more detail. “I know it in my bones.”

“See, we are bound on such deep levels.”

“How did you even pull that off, the first night?”

“Magician’s secret.”

“Who are you?” My words leave on a trembling breath.

“Who do you suspect that I am?”

“Please don’t play with me.”

“I just enjoy seeing you do the guesswork.”

“I’d prefer it if you saved me the torture.”

“Yes, I imagine it would be hard to choose. Considering how many men Dean’s videos fired up for you. Dogg Wilson, for example. He’s been obsessed with you since that night at the party, when you ground yourself against two men.”

I swallow hard at the threat in his voice. It bothers him. Still, what he saw that night inspired him to track me down here and set up this entire nightmare. 

“Or Carlton Wilde?” he continues. “He was pretty loud about how much he enjoyed what he saw in that group chat.”

The knot in my throat feels like a jagged pill. Carlton is a big guy, the muscle on whom the Kings’ society at Norton King’s relies to do their dirty work when someone needs a painful lesson. Some people whisper he’s their hitman. It’s definitely not out of the question that he could be the one standing behind me. 

But if it’s Sade–

My mind freezes before I fully acknowledge that possibility. It would mean that he saw into my mind tonight when he read my verses and knows all about the dirty, preposterous, boundless perversities I want him to do to me. I shudder, even though I’m wrapped in a cocoon of unbearable heat coming from his presence, making it a struggle to breathe. 

“What do you want? Why are you here?” I croak.

A gloved hand slithers around my neck from behind. 

“You didn’t go back home that night. You have no idea what that did to me.” His fingers press into the sides of my neck, enough to obstruct the flow of blood through my jugular. “I should have monitored you every step of the way. The torturous hours before I tracked you down, thinking that you might have–”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what he means. Despite the fact that I’m going lightheaded, I understand the psycho was worried I might have caused myself irreparable harm. But does that mean my life is precious to him, and he won’t attempt to take it himself? The energy coming from him is dark and barely contained, and there’s a killer in the vibrations of his voice. His fingers curl into my flesh, possessive like a claw.

He pulls me back into his large body that feels rock-solid against my back. Yet his energy is a swirling black hole, ready to suck me in. 

“Relax, princess,” he purrs while that gloved hand claims more of my air supply, forcing me to abandon my weight against his body. “You’re in better company than you imagine. I’m a fellow poet myself, you see, and I wrote something for you. I’m curious what you think.”

He reaches into a pocket to produce another piece of my scribbling and holds it in front of my eyes. I should be relieved it’s not a knife he’s holding, but the red writing across it, trumping my own lines as if it owns them, fills me with terror. If I had a sliver of a doubt it was blood, it dissipates into thin air. My pounding pulse must tell the masked man exactly how I’m feeling because a laugh rumbles against my back. The bastard is amused.

“You can rejoice, pretty poet. The words are written in the blood of a man who deeply grieved you. Come on, read them out loud for me. But careful. Not loud enough to draw attention.” His mouth is now touching my ear, I can feel his hot breath through the mask. “We wouldn’t want to get the guards in trouble now, would we?”

My eyes fall to the words, tiny rivulets of red darkening the parchment-like paper. I didn’t even realize he led me back towards the stairs while we talked. We are now close to the windows on the back side of the house. There are no lamp posts here, just hedges and rose bushes all the way to the wrought iron fence that separates the property from the black forest beyond.

I try to make sense of the words in the moonlight, but my brain just won’t work with me. The masked man hums in understanding.

“All right, let me help you then. I’ll start by reading your own lines first.”

“No!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction. The prospect of hearing the explicit things I wrote about Sade, from this guy’s mouth, makes my blood curdle. I’d rather face his twisted desires than the realization that he knows my own. I put my attention on the red words. 

“Then you read my own verses to me, little poet.” His voice is almost dreamy as he says it. This bastard takes serious pleasure from tormenting me.

My tongue flicks over my parched lips, my throat constricting, not wanting to produce the words. I force myself through it. 

“Stepping on petals of sin, A death rider brought to ruin, Locks you in his soul–an iron maiden, And makes of you his hellish haven.” The dark walls swallow my strained voice. My throat bobs under his gloved hand, so large that it completely covers my neck from base to chin. There’s so much strength in those fingers that a single squeeze would kill me. 

“Doesn’t it sound romantic?” he says. 

“I see only despair,” I whisper, staring at our verses’ twisted embrace like it’s a work of art. 

He breathes in, his dark presence wrapping around me like a cocoon, his hand tighter around my throat. 

“It’s a violation, you know,” I manage, my voice a ghostly whisper. “Reading someone’s poetry without their permission is the same as reading their diary.”

“Ah, princess, you surely understand by now that I’m not someone who is easily held back by morals. For example, that beautiful red color of the verses I wrote for you. Like I said, it’s acquired from a man that grieved you.” His mouth touches my cheek through the mask, and I shut my eyes tightly as if that could keep the information at bay. But his whispers trickle into my brain. “One of the men who exposed you at that party. Who tainted your dignity and took away from you everything you believed you were.”

“Everything I believed I was,” I retort, my voice as low as his, “or who you wanted me to be?”

He keeps quiet, only that broad chest moving behind me. Unfazed, waiting for me to continue. 

“Maybe I was never the innocent girl the world saw. There was always more to me than just a poet’s soul.”

“Hmmm,” he rumbles softly. “A poet’s soul as captivating as those big hazel eyes. I knew your soul before I even spoke to you. Oh, how it hurt to watch you betray your muse like that.”

My head spins as if I were tipsy. An effect of his steady grip on my throat. 

“You see, Justine, it’s not that I expected your being to be reduced to the poet. I just didn’t expect you to cheat on your dreams. To give yourself to anyone other than your muse.”

Sade. His name fills my head. It’s him, oh, dear Lord, it’s him.

“Did you think about me, little poet?” he murmurs, confirming my suspicion. “While Posh Boy pounded your p***y and you held on to that headboard, did you imagine it was me doing it?”

“Jesus Chris, Sade, why are you doing this?” I croak.

He releases my throat, and I instinctively pull in a deep breath. The oxygen hits too hard, making me reel on my feet and eventually find balance against his hard body. He removes a leather glove, and I recognize the back of his hand. The heads of snakes with jaws opened towards every one of his knuckles. 

Fucking Flying Dutchman, it is him. And he knows exactly what I’ve been fantasizing about all this time. He flexes his fingers, reddish bruises stretching over that fist that can punch its way through walls.

“You shouldn’t have chosen him over me, Justine. Now, we are both going to hell.” He turns his palm to face me. I gasp.

Blood is smeared over the large plane of his hand, crusted over deep, mean cuts. A sharp feeling shoots straight between my legs. 

“What the hell?” The words whoosh out of my chest.

“I told you–I wrote the words in blood.” His voice goes even lower. “My blood.”

I’m speechless, staring at what he did to himself. Those cuts will leave scars, his hand is almost maimed.

“Do you want to see what else I wrote for you in my own blood, pretty poet? The kind of feelings that you ignite in me?”

God knows the answer is yes. I want to know everything about every feeling he might have for me, but I don’t dare ask, still fearing that this might be a trap.

Holding the piece of paper with one hand, he produces a Zippo with the other and lights up a flame. He holds it at the corner of the paper until the flame catches, leaving a trail of crumpling black in its wake.

“There’s no purification like verse and fire,” he muses. “When the pain gets unbearable, they do more for us than a hundred hours of therapy. They bring healing. Give respite. They banish the demons that haunt us, even if only for a little while.”

“You are the only demon that haunts me,” I whisper, the flame playing in my eyes, hypnotizing me. 

He’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of burning paper filling the hollow darkness around us. The fire reaches his fingers, and my stomach tightens, waiting for him to let it drop. He doesn’t, just watching the flames licking their way dangerously close to his fingers.

“You may have given your virginity to another man, but make no mistake, Justine Pracht. You’re mine. You encourage another guy’s advances again, and there will be casualties.” 

Still holding the burning paper in one hand, he lets the other one slip down my body, snaking over the red silk robe toward the apex of my thighs. I look down, watching that large hand with those tattooed snakes slithering down my robe that shines ruby red in the flames. The moonlight flickers, and my head whips up. A shadow just crossed in front of the window, and now another. Shit, the flames must have drawn their attention.

“The guards,” I whisper breathlessly, my heart beating harder. I’m not sure whether I’m reacting to the prospect of being caught or of the masked man stopping what he’s doing to deal with the nuisance.

“You better hope they don’t come in here, pretty poet, or you may have to write their obituaries next. I’m sure you’d make eloquent work of it.” His hand slides lower, but at least he lets the paper drop and taps out the fire with his foot. 

I resist his touch, even if my thighs are squirming. 

“Please, don’t,” I whisper, my eyelids fluttering as I keep my eyes on the window.

Sade doesn’t reply. He just waits, his hand now hovering just above my womb. I can feel the wetness seeping into my panties, this fucked up situation turning on the wanton inside me like there’s no tomorrow. But I can’t. 

There’s a truth here I can’t ignore–If I do this, I’ll lose myself to him. It’s the point of no return. If I let Sade Royales f**l me with his d**k, he will take my soul like a real-life demon. The energy surrounding him, dark like spreading ink, is ravenous for my soul, ready to fill the entire canvas of it, and that treacherous canvas is dying to soak it in. 

And then? It’s not like Sade Royales and I actually have a future. 

“We can’t do this, Sade,” I whisper. “So you take this from me, and then what? What happens to me when you marry your virgin heiress and go on with your life?” I shake my head, not even wanting to imagine it. I’d rather not taste something so good only to be denied the flavor for the rest of my days.

But by the way his gloved hand slithers around my throat again, Sade isn’t ready to take no for an answer. 

“You’re asking too much.” My voice trembles, but I manage to bring some spine to my tone. I won’t go down tonight without a fight. If I give in to his wicked lure, I won’t ever recover. “What happened the other night with you and Dean, it changed me. Things will never be the same for me on campus, even if your attention gives me some sort of protection.”

“Some sort of protection?” 

“Okay, real protection. But I’m still a sl*t in everyone’s eyes.” I pause, swallowing at the uncomfortable pressure he puts on my throat. “Including yours.”

His grip turns into a leathery caress that could become deadly any second. 

“I see you’ve already decided what everyone’s thinking. Including me. But if you’re honest, can you blame me? You let a man run his money through your account and his d**k through your p***y and your mouth. You let him film you while at it, too. You are a sl*t.”

I laugh, the sound disturbing. “After all the poet soul talk, this is what you give me?”

“This is what you’ll have of me. Also, despite the fancy way you put it, you are trying to ditch me.” The hand on my throat turns harder while the one on my front dips, parting the sides of my robe. I’d protest, but his squeeze now makes it impossible. My naked feet thrash to gain a footing, but I don’t stand a chance as he drags me back towards the stairs, the floor slippery under my feet. 

“I’m going to finger you with the same hand from which I drew blood, Justine, just so you understand that you belong to me.” His voice gains a different inflection. If sex demons existed, I’m sure this is what they’d sound like. “Then, I’ll have my way with you in front of a mirror, so you get a perfect view of yourself being used like the dirty little w***e you like to be. If that’s what you’re into, that’s what I’m gonna give you. Ah, look at this p***y, dripping wet already. Does it turn you on, the prospect of being forced to fulfill a masked man’s fantasies? To be used for his perversions?” He drags me up the stairs, the mask scraping my cheek as his lips touch me through it. “Does it even matter who is behind the mask when it comes to that particular fantasy?”

I thrash harder, but my feet just skid on the ground, my entire body weight sustained by his grip on my throat, his other hand deep in my panties. My eyes bulge, my hands clawing at his black-clad wrist, but it’s like fighting the fucking Terminator. We’re almost at the top of the stairs when he loosens his grip a little, just as his naked hand pushes two fingers into my p***y, making it hurt. 

“On second thought, how about we film it, too? That way you’ll have something you’ll actually enjoy watching later on. I’ll be keeping my mask on, too. Imagine how wet you’ll get every time you remember.”

I should ask him whether he’ll be in bed with his wife while I do that, spitting poison at him. Instead, I croak, “I wonder how many guys in your group chat will be doing just the same.”

His grip gives out a little more, as if my words hit him in the gut. 

It’s now or never. 

I bend forward, and crash an elbow into his exposed side. But it’s not like in the movies. I hit a wall of muscles, causing my captor nothing but a moment of amused wonder. As if he can’t believe what I just decided to do, and the stupidity of said decision. 

I spin around, facing the huge masked shadow for the first time before I sprint through the hall. He doesn’t follow, nothing but his dark laugh chasing me. As if he’s giving me some leeway only to increase his own fun, to make this more exciting. 

“My pretty poet likes adrenaline,” his voice sounds down the hall. “By all means, as long as it pleases you, but it’s good to know when to give up. Remember, you can run, but you can’t hide.” 

Reaching the next flight of stairs, I grip onto the banister to haul myself up, my thighs burning. 

“I must say, your words hurt me.” He’s closer now. A force of evil speaking from the walls, reaching for my sanity. “You thinking that I would share footage of you with anyone. Haven’t I made it clear that I wanted you entirely for myself? I want your beautiful mind, your precious soul, and I want your soaked p***y.” 

I pant, the end of the next flight of stairs hovering within sight. It’s so dark up there that I can hardly make out the outline of the last step. 

He laughs, and it’s a punishing sound, because he’s gaining on me by the second. “You want to be ill-used on the stairs, I see. It will be my pleasure to comply.” 

I’m dying to look back, gauge how long until he catches up, but I force myself not to. I have to stay focused on the task, which is reaching the attic door. There, I’ll pull a string so that the trap door falls open. If I can get in fast enough, and pull the string back up with me before I shut the door, he won’t be able to get me anymore. There’s only one small round window to the outside in that room, and there’s no way he can get in through it, no matter how sick his skills are. There, I wouldn’t have to scream and alert the guards. I just have to keep hidden until morning, and–

“The faster you understand you’re not getting rid of me, the better.” His voice is so close now, it’s in the very air I breathe. I gasp as a large hand wraps around my ankle, yanking me down so I fall with my front on the stairs. He drags me back mercilessly–his punishment for my trying to run away. The bastard wasn’t kidding. He is hurt. 

A hand covers my mouth, muffling my cry.

“Now, now, we don’t want to alert the guards, remember?” he murmurs. I can feel the weight of his body hovering over me, his fingers grazing the back of my thigh. 

“You know this scenario well,” he says. “It was a nightmare you had. One from which you woke up aroused.” He tsks, his fingers bypassing my lace panties and grazing the lips of my p***y. 

I claw at the stairs in front of me, using all of my strength to try and drag myself up from under him. 

“Ah, look at how much this p***y wants me.” Satisfaction is unmistakable in his voice. He allows some of his weight to press onto my back, trapping me against the stairs. Enough that I can still breathe through my nose over his leather-clad fingers, but also enough to rob me of the strength to keep fighting. 

At least having to work for air takes my focus away from how my body betrayed me. He’s going to render me a mess, ready to serve him. 

I cry out into his hand, and reach up with curled fingers, desperate to save myself from succumbing to him like to a disease. He presses that impossibly large chest harder on me, rendering any further attempt futile. 

“Now what was the first thing the masked man did to you in your nightmare?” He chuckles in my ear, the sound almost spectral, creating a sweet pool of terror in my womb. “I know there was a part where he caught you on the stairs, knocked you down and ripped off your panties while you thrashed under him. He rammed a large c**k into your pussy, a hand on your mouth so you couldn’t scream. You woke up ashamed and disgusted with how hard you came on his c**k.”

My eyelids flutter shut. His words cause me more than just shame or disgust. The voice he uses is inhuman and blood-curdling, the voice of a god forged in war. One seeking solace from the horrors he witnessed, endured and was forced to perpetrate. I always had a knack for the deeper frequencies in people’s voices, and his voice tells a story that envelops my brain in a fog of feelings that are beyond the human experience.

“But I won’t do that to you, little poet,” he murmurs. 

I remain still under his weight. The scent of roses and smoke now mingles with the scent of clean linen, as if the Hyde were now merging back with his human form. “Still, you’ll end up begging me to use you.”

***

Keep reading HERE.

His Twisted Fantasy – Excerpt – Obsession

On By Ana C. BlacklaceIn Dark and Dangerous, dark romance, enemies to lovers romance, forced proximity romance, jealous possessive hero, over the top hero, stalker romance18 Comments

His Twisted Fantasy is going to hit the Zon in fourteen days! Here is anorher sneak peek. Check out the first chapter here, and another sneak peek here. Leave a comment and let me know what you think 🙂

Warning! Boxing scenes ahead! There is violence!

Jax’s POV

This is why I never train with anyone but Declan Santori, The Bull. He can take my punches, swift and vicious and damaging, without ending up whining on the octagon floor like a beaten pimp. He’s a pro, a UFC champion back in his fraternity days in college, and a legend of underground fighting, too. He can’t say no to an illegal fight, hence his mask and nick-name, The Bull. No one can ever know his true identity.

A famous billionaire that never misses a red carpet, he’s many a city girl’s wet dream. I don’t think he’d ever settle for one girl though because, like me, he’s a fucked up bastard, with fucked-up secrets. But he was a promising boy when he came to me for help years ago, and I just couldn’t let him go to waste.

I couldn’t let him fall down the same dark pit that had turned me into a monster.

So I covered up his screw-up, and he’s been a loyal puppy ever since, albeit one with grit, and dignity. Fearless and dangerous, The Bull doesn’t need to suck up to me, not anymore. Unlike all other men I know, he doesn’t offer his adoration because he’s secretly afraid of me. On the contrary, if anyone stands a chance against me on pretty much all levels, then him.

Sweat dripping down my back, I throw punches so hard that one of his mitts flies off.

“Whoa, not feelin’ very friendly today, are we?” 

I heave, my fists still up. I’m not wearing gloves, just the wraps, wanting to feel the impact of the blows full force. But now that I’ve thrown some punches, I know that what I need today is to be the punching bag.

“Hit me,” I growl. “Hard, in my face or my stomach, I don’t give a fuck, just make it hurt.”

The Bull hesitates, like he always does.  

“Dude…”

“Just do it, Declan.”

He knows better than to hesitate a second time. Dropping his mitts, his right fist hits me straight in the gut. It would send a large man bending from his waist and spitting his guts out, but all the years of training, all the fights to the death in prison, have taught my body to withstand much more than normal men. My muscles clench, and the blow bounces off of me like a fucking ball.

“Harder,” I push through my teeth, gritting them until my jaw hurts. 

Declan hits again, and I buck forward, my abs turning into a wall of concrete. He shoots another blow, and another, so fast that his fists whip the air. My fists strain against the chafing bandages. Before I know it, I respond to his blows, and we dance in a full-fledged fight in the octagon, a stark light from above falling in the middle of it. We keep to the circle of light, the way we did back in the octagon where we met seven years ago.

The only draw in my life. And in his.

Right now, I need the violence that only he can give me. Something to knock out the beastly lust inside that threatens to consume me. If anyone can make the lights go out, then Declan.

The last few blows send us both outside the cone of light, bouncing against the octagon net walls, heaving. We have another go at each other, another flurry of blows that scrambles both of our brains. Another groaning pause sees us bouncing from net walls, struggling to find balance on our feet again.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Declan hisses among labored breaths, his large chest heaving, Unlike me, the former frat boy doesn’t have any tattoos. It’s a thing of the elites, not to mar their own bodies. But on the inside, his soul is a scarred wreck.

“And don’t even try to tell me it’s nothing because I’m gonna beat the shit of you until you talk.”

“No.” My chest vibrates. “You’re going to try.”

He does. He launches himself at me with a war cry, his arms bouncing off my guard as I block his punches. He does finally land a jab to my jaw, and I groan at the pain that splits my head–loving it, embracing it. Snarling, I stick out my tongue like an enraged gladiator, ready for more. The Bull throws his next hammer-like punch to my face, knowing exactly what I want. What I need. Had he gone for the body, my muscles would have reacted by instinct and turned to concrete, shielding me from any real damage.

But as long as I keep my hands down, nothing can pad my face against the onslaught of violence.

I revel in his blows, my mind focusing on the cracks and splinters and lightning that cut through my head. I grin like a madman, leaning into his pummeling until Declan suddenly stops. 

“What are you doing?” I snarl. “Keep going.”

“Like hell I will. What the fuck dude, why are you doing this to yourself?” The sight of him swims in front of my blurry eyes, his fists unclenching at his sides. There’s blood on one of his bandages, which means the slick wetness above my eyebrow is from split skin.

“What you askin’ stupid questions for? This isn’t the first time we’re doing this. Go on.” 

He shakes his head and steps back, running a hand through his soaked hair. “This is different, man. Seriously different. I’ve never seen you like this before, and honestly, it scares me.”

I fall back against the octagon wall, trickling down to the floor, exhaustion sliding through me. I rest my forearms on my knees, eyes closed to take in the feeling. At least for a few minutes, the beast will be quiet, stunned by the blows, reeling as it tries to regain some focus. Ah, there’s that feeling, of having gotten what I deserved.

“Start talking,” he presses.

“Or what?” I retort, my head leaned back against the octagon wall, my eyes closed.

“Or else.”

A small laugh escapes me. Here it is, Declan’s unique way of cracking me open. I start unwrapping my bandages, focusing on the smooth movement as I speak. 

“It’s, I–” What the hell do I say? I’ve never talked about women with a guy, simply because I was never interested in one. 

Luckily, Declan has this uncanny ability to sense stuff.

“It’s a chick, right?”

My eyes fly up, meeting his eerily black irises. A grin curls up his lips. 

“Well, well, well, the great Jax Vaughn has fallen for a girl. Who knew he even could.”

“It’s not like that,” I grunt.

“By the way you just tried to have it beaten out of you?” He clicks his tongue, pointing a finger at me. “It’s totally like that.”

“What would you know?” I grumble, ripping a piece of my bandage, folding it, and dabbing at the cut above my eyebrow.

Declan’s face tightens. Damn it. It’s been so long since we talked about it that it slipped my mind. 

“I’m sorry.” I’m a bastard. “I don’t know what I was thinking, it’s just–” I refold the bandage and press it harder to my brow, until it forces me to hiss. “I haven’t fallen for her, this is something else.”

“Oh, but there’s no way you can tell, is there?” Declan says. “You’ve never been into someone before. You have nothing to compare it to.” 

I throw a stray glove at him with my free hand. It happens swiftly, his hand raising a split second too late, and the glove hits him in the face.

“The fuck man,” he protests, hurling it back at me across the octagon. I catch it in the air, and drop it next to me. “It’s not my fault a woman is finally getting to you. I’m just trying to help here. I’m not even sure how, but I know beating the shit out of you isn’t a long-term solution.”

“Why not? I’m not a glamorous character in public life, like you, I don’t need to pamper my face.”

“No, but it still is a pity to see you roughed up. You’re a pretty boy, you know. Besides, what will that girl of yours say if you turn up looking like Kitschko run over by Muhammad Ali?”

“She’s slipped under my skin, man.” The words just slide out of my mouth. I rub the folded bandage into my wound, gritting my teeth. “I’m capable of doing the most horrible things for her.”

Declan stares at me keenly. “But not to her.”

“Never,” I react quickly, out of my gut. “But to anyone that tries to take her away from me. Like her ex, he kept texting her the other day, and I just lost it. I considered getting him in a dark alley and breaking every bone in his body. And that’s not even the worst part.”

“What is then?”

“She’s only been there for one night and one morning, and I already told her about Dominic.”

His face freezes. He knows what this means. “How about what happened in prison?”

I shake my head, wet strands whipping against my forehead. “Not yet.” And not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t face the disgust that would have twisted her features. She must never know what I did. 

“I don’t know dude,” Declan says, rubbing the five o’clock shadow on his square jaw. “On the one hand it sounds great. You’re a hard boulder to crack, and being able to talk to someone like that, it’s priceless. Not something one wants to lose.”

“But something one definitely should let go of when they’re a–”

“Don’t say it,” he cuts me off. 

“It’s what I am.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to be–” He’s careful about the use of the word, but he goes for it in the end, “you know, happy.”

“Happy.” I spit out the word. “That’s not in the cards for me. The prison shrink said as much when he declared me a menace to society after what happened. I’m incapable of good feelings. I destroy everything I touch.”

“You know damn well that’s bullshit.” Declan is usually a controlled guy, but there’s no missing the anger lacing his tone now. “You come from a shitty background, where everyone predicted you’d become an addict and a goon. Hell knew all the other boys down your lane did. Instead, you never touched drugs, got your first job at sixteen, brought all your money home to your mother, and even enjoyed the pure slavery they subjected you to on those construction sites because it gave you purpose. If there ever was a good man, Jax, then you. You made something great of yourself even in those terrible circumstances, just imagine what you could have accomplished if you were born to a couple of posh narcissists like my folks.”

I scoff bitterly, wishing I could believe that I am a good man, at least in essence. But Declan is biased because I helped him when he was at his lowest. 

“Even if I were a good man, prison changed all that. In a sense, I never came back out.” I slap the bloody folded bandage on the floor. 

“I can’t fall for her, Declan,” I say, my voice the closest thing to a whisper. “I would squeeze the life out of her, cage her in, and go mad with jealousy every time she stared with melancholy out the window, suspecting she might be thinking of some other guy. The only person I can tolerate around her is her friend Mia.  And don’t even get me started on the effort it cost me to agree to those few dancing classes a week that she gives.”

When Declan fails to latch onto that, I look up from the floor. If I were to define melancholy, it would be the look on his face right now. 

“Everything all right?” I probe.

“Yeah, it’s just–” He stares into nothing, his mouth hard. “That name.”

I soften my voice, speaking carefully. “Was it her name?”

He nods, his throat working as if he just swallowed a word he couldn’t say out loud. 

A good friend would probe deeper. But a brother knows better. 

“You know, if you ever feel like talking about her, I’m here.”

Declan bursts into laughter, coming back to himself, and throwing a mitt at me. “If I ever felt like talking about the woman that destroyed my life, it wouldn’t be with an emotionally crippled bastard who’s just tasting merciless passion for the first time. But as the more experienced of us I can tell you, Jax–the experience will hurt. There’s no avoiding that. Yet every second of it will be worth it, and you’ll crave more.”

His Twisted Fantasy – Excerpt

On By Ana C. BlacklaceIn dark romance, enemies to lovers romance, forced proximity romance, jealous possessive hero, over the top hero, stalker romance7 Comments

Pic source.

As you’ve been surely expecting, I’ve been feverishly working on my upcoming book, His Twisted Fantasy, under my new pen name, Ana C. Blacklace. It’s a dark billioniare romance (emphasis on DARK, so steer away if that’s not your cup of tea), with an over-the-top, obsessed hero who will stop at nothing to get the woman that he wants. Because I’m dying to share this book with you, and I can’t wait until I’m done writing it, here is a new excerpt. Please keep in mind this is a first draft, and it still needs some editing. Lemme know what you think in a comment. Warning, strong language ahead!

NOTE: This is NOT the first chapter. You can read the first chapter HERE, and the excerpts that I will keep posting as I write do not follow in order. This scene happens in chapter III, for example, some time after Adalia and Jax met. Enjoy! Especially if you need some inspiration for a Valentine’s Day full of spice, and over-the-top, stalkerish chasing that is only ever safe in fiction.

Have yourself a blast 🙂

Title: His Twisted Fantasy

Main characters: Adalia and Jax

Jax‘s POV

The rain patters against my windshield, a pair of incoming headlights fogging my view of Adalia’s window. My leather gloves squeak against the wheel as I grip it harder. I wonder what goes through her mind as she sits with her friend at the kitchen table, her forehead resting in her hand, knowing she’s only got herself to blame for the girl having lost her internship at HQ. 

She should have known better than to reject me.

While her room-mate speaks, Adalia shakes her head, pouring them both more wine from the bottle standing between them on the table. I promised her I’d find her motivation to do what she professed she’d never do, and there it is–the people she loves. Maybe she won’t fight for her own dreams, but she won’t put the dreams and livelihoods of those she loves in jeopardy. She’ll give herself to me, in exchange for my leaving them alone.

I keep my eyes trained on her face through the rainwater trickling down my windshield, congratulating myself for not having sent her the contract after the first time we met. Adalia Ross isn’t a woman to have for a one night stand. It’s gonna take more to quench my appetite for her.

Her face turns to the window, her expression ghostly. There’s no way she can see me sitting in an anonymous black car parked across the street, but maybe she can sense the beast watching her from the night. Her friend is still talking to her, gesticulating amply, but Adalia just stares lost out into the rain. She comes to her feet slowly, her hands going to the sides of the window. For a moment, I worry she might close the drapes. Instead, she leans against the window frame, peering outside while her room-mate keeps talking.

My cock stirs in my pants, and I have to grab the bastard with one hand, my leather glove creaking. My eyes flash into slits as I zoom in on those dreamy blue eyes, remembering their long, curved lashes. The harder I stare, the more I wonder if that’s what attracted me to her from the start. If it was her selflessness, her capacity for love and dedication, her self-sacrificing nature that affected me on a visceral level, even before she proved them to me. Ah, how good it will feel to corrupt her. To ruin her. To break her apart and then piece her back together into my own Frankenstein’s monster. 

Making her completely mine.

The day I met her I was certain she’d thrown herself to her knees to grab my attention, to turn me on, to have a shot at personal contact with me. Now I know that wasn’t the case, but fuck, I wish it had been. A week later here I am, chasing a woman for the first time in my life, even if there won’t be any chocolates or flowers. I won’t be turning up in a limo at her curb, because I’m not a knight in shining armor. I’m a ruthless bastard that will ravish her.

My cock turns to steel in my pants as I imagine her finally bending to me. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll have her on her knees. Soon, her pussy will be clenching around my cock while I drive it deeper inside of her than any man has ever been. 

She stirs at the window, as if she sensed my thoughts. A second later, a shadow simmers against the orange light coming out of the hall as it pushes the door to enter her building. She reacted when she saw him from the window, so she must be expecting him. Tall and lean, he moves confidently, like he knows what he’s doing, but something about it seems overdone. 

His style could probably fool men who hadn’t spent half their lives in prison, men who aren’t used to stalking people from a distance, and observing everything around them, watching for any element that could become a threat.  But my observation skills and deadliness are what kept me alive all those years in prison. Being able to assess an opponent within the first seconds of seeing him was vital in the prison octagon, where I first made a name for myself among heaps of money–illegal fights, to the death. It was either me or the other guy. The way this one moves, he’s not even a wolf in a sheep’s clothing. He’s a hyena trying to fake the elegance of a dignified predator.

The leather gloves stretch over my knuckles, and I growl deep in my chest, wanting to bite his head off.

Especially when my hunch turns out to be spot on. 

Mia Rogers stands up from the table only to return with the visitor. Adalia turns to greet him, and the bastard throws off his coat, putting his gym-trained arms around her. Next to his princely presence, I’m a boulder. My jaw clenches as I wonder if this is what she likes, if he is what she’s into. Neat hair, beard so well-tended I wonder why the fuck he grows one at all, considering beard stands for raw, beastly masculinity. For something straight out of the caves, which he obviously isn’t, and which I take pains to hide being by always sporting a cleanly shaven jaw.

Except now, because I haven’t shaved in days, focused on the one thing I’ve wanted in years–her.

I wonder how she’d react if I crushed him right in front of her, squeezing the pretense out of him. If I proved to her just how useless city rats like him are against the likes of me. If protection is what she’s looking for in his arms, she’s gonna find out soon enough what a lame excuse for a man he is.

I hitch out my phone, zoom in, and snap a picture of him. It’s good to have state-of-the-art technology at your fingertips at all times, the kind normal people don’t even imagine exists yet. After an investigation of a few minutes and a few firewall breach hacks, I have all the info I need. He’s Camden Murray, stock broker, well-known ladies’ man in New York, and Adalia’s ex who she supposedly broke up with. I hiss at my phone and put it away. Later, I’ll dig up the last vid on PornHub he watched, what time he took his last dump, and all the dick pics he sent to other women while dating Adalia. I’m gonna break his image in her eyes, as well as every bone in his body. But right now, I need to watch every move he makes around her. 

His Twisted Fantasy – First chapter

On By Ana C. BlacklaceIn beauty and the beast romance, Dark and Dangerous, dark romance, enemies to lovers romance, Fiction Entertainment, Free Reads, tiktokbooks10 Comments

Hello, people! As some of you may know, I’m working on a new book, under a new pen name, since I’m starting a series of contemporary dark billionaire romance novels and novellas. His Twisted Fantasy is going to hit the Zon mid March, and this is the first chapter. Let me know if you are interested in an ARC (a reader e-copy you get a week before release) so that you can post a review on Amazon on the day of release. Comment on this post, leave your e-mail address if possible, and let me know.

Please keep in mind this is the first draft.

Blurb:

I go into tycoon Jax Vaughn’s office looking for a job. When I come out, it’s with an offer I should definitely refuse.

But the most powerful man in America doesn’t give choices. He twists arms.

The Devil

Not everybody has a price. But everybody has a weakness, and I’ll dig up Adalia Ross’s, if that’s what it takes to make her mine.

The curvy little angel refused my proposition and my money, but we both know, it’s only a matter of time until I’ll have my twisted way with her.

From the moment I saw her, dirty thoughts flooded my brain. Blood raged through me, making me rock hard. It’s been a long time since a woman affected me like this, too long.

This little angel opened up Pandora’s box, and there’s no closing down that lid again.

I’m a ruthless, relentless bastard, and now, I’m obsessed. 

But then, she uncovers something that should have stayed forever hidden.

This changes things–it changes her contract. If she ever dares break it, someone will end up in pieces. Most likely any man whose attention she invites.

So welcome to the devil’s den, little angel. One way in, no way out, if that’s what it takes to keep you. Because who would choose to stay with the broken monster you’re about to discover in the dark? 

The Angel

The only thing harder than Jax Vaughn’s perfectly sculpted face and bulging muscles is his heart. Cold, stony, impossible to break. Want can’t move him.

But on the rare occasions when he desires something, there’s no scenario in which he doesn’t get it. And now what he wants is me, doing things with him that would have any decent lady clutching her pearls.

Except I’m not a decent lady. I’m a far cry from the innocent girl that came with big dreams to New York five years ago. Those dreams shattered, and now I have dirty secrets and bad habits. By the look of it, I’m also developing an obsession with a man way out of my league. A predator that wants nothing more than to consume me, and break me. In the end, he will succeed.

But I sure af won’t make it easy on him.

Chapter I – First Sight

Addie

Vaughn Corp Tower is one mean, impressive motherfucker. My neck hurts as I stare up at the monolith of glass and steel that scrapes the clouds. Even though it’s standing in the heart of Manhattan among others of its kind, it still dominates the landscape, demanding special attention and respect. 

Which it kinda sorta deserves.

In the last few years, the V.C. Tower has become as much a symbol of this city as the Empire State, and all because Jax Vaughn, the man who runs it, is a whole new level of mobster. A dangerously smart one. He emerged from prison onto the stock market ten years ago, and bulldozered through everything in his path. Soon, organized crime bowed to him, and politics was quick to follow. Yes, I’ve done my homework, seeing that I’m now applying for a job at one of the crook’s companies.

Don’t judge. It’s a job I can do well–social media marketing–and one of his start-up brands is paying a banker’s wage for it. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to quit my nightclub job, and pay back all of mom’s debt, too. Practically a fairy tale, but with work. I can’t afford not to grab this chance.

I take comfort in the idea that Jax Vaughn must be old, ugly, and probably bald to make up for his money. Nobody knows for sure what he looks like, because there are no pictures of him online, but who builds something like this in their thirties, right?

I prance towards the building, trying to look confident in my two-piece suit and high heels, but as soon as I step through the rotative door, my jaw drops.

Fuck, how many people signed up for this?

I let my eyes run over the crowd in the lobby. Men and women, all looking crisp and competent, the kind of people with their ambitions forged in Manhattan, are stepping on each other’s toes.

What was I thinking? I should have expected hellish competition for this. Not many people are truly good at social media marketing, but everybody thinks they are, so it’s only logical they’d try for something this well paid. 

“Ma’am,” a dry voice reaches me. My eyes find a tall lanky man in a suit, glasses down on the tip of his nose. Salt and pepper hair, in his fifties, high-brow. He holds out a device. “Your name and registration number.”

“Of course.” I pull out my phone, transferring the information by holding it to his device.

“Thank you.” He motions to a line I can now make out snaking through the crowd. Apparently, the people clustered together have already taken the interview, and are now exchanging notes. From what I hear, there are a number of openings on this job, not just one. I breathe out in relief. Maybe there actually is a chance.

“It will be around fifty minutes,” the man says.

More like five hours by the look of it. 

I join the line.

“Also,” he adds, “No pictures, no matter what. Keep your phone tucked away at all times. When you hear your name, you walk up to that door.” He shows me a large black door across from the elevators and walks away, moving on to the next people entering the Tower. 

I wonder why he didn’t demand that I give up my phone, but I guess it would be too much trouble collecting the gadgets from everyone here. I haven’t seen a lobby this packed since Jason Momoa stayed at the Crowne Plaza. Plus, there are cams in every corner, at the top of every marble column, so whoever breaks the rules sure won’t get away with it. 

Half an hour later, there’s barely any progress, the crowd only getting thicker, the air hotter, and my feet are killing me. I’m shifting from one leg to the other, cursing under my breath. I better get this job, because it will be days before I can go back to dancing in my cage at the nightclub.

The red-head in front of me flips her hair for the hundredth time, whipping it over my face. The space between us has tightened so much I can smell her sweat mixing with Chanel No. 5. Why the hell did they have to put us in a line when we’re being called in by name? Maybe Jax Vaughn likes it this way. I imagine the heartless bastard watching us mere mortals through his cameras, swarming like cockroaches for the crumbs under his table, taking sick pleasure in it. 

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” I bite out when the red-head fails to excuse herself. She turns around, arching an eyebrow. She’s got so much fill-up in her glossy lips that it must take a huge amount of effort to move them when she speaks. She gives me a once-over before her features distort in arrogance.

“Excuse you,” she says, waving a hand with pointy, black-polished fingernails like I’m trash standing too close. “Some distance would be great, thank you.”

“No, can’t do.” I throw my thumb behind me with a wink. “Peer pressure. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a tsunami back there. So why don’t we just be considerate of each other?” She glances over my head at the sea of people behind, but it doesn’t seem to faze her. 

Narcissistic much?

Every piece she’s wearing is designer made, and expensive as fuck. She scoffs and turns her back to me again, giving me the chance to measure her up and down, noticing she’s wearing only V.C. owned brands. Of course she’d try to impress like that. I would have done the same, if I could afford it.

Except maybe she doesn’t either. Shit, I should have rented, too. There is a place just down the street. Now here I am, dressed in my room-mate’s best two-piece suit that’s too small for me, wearing the most uncomfortable heels that ever existed. The suit jacket didn’t reach over my bust, so I had to leave the lapels open, enabling a view of my breasts that always borders on indecent no matter how hard I try to cover them. I don’t have the breasts of a porn star, but I do have those of a wet nurse, and they did get me my job at the nightclub. There’s no hiding them. It’s been five years since I dropped out of Julliard, and I’ve put on more weight than any ballerina would ever tolerate on her bust and thighs, so it surely wasn’t my dancing skills that got me into the cage. When Snake hired me, he said that I looked like a MILF at twenty-five, which was what his clients liked to watch. 

And he was fucking right. None of the bastards drooling around my cage with drinks in their hands is right in the head, you can tell that much by midnight. They have crazy eyes, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the glittery Swarowsky mask that permanently covers my face, ensuring anonymity. If I took it off and went with them to the hotel, I’d probably have paid off all of mom’s debts and the mortgage by now, but I’d also be a suicidal alcoholic, and I can’t afford that. Let’s be honest, mom’s problems are never over, and she’ll never stop needing me.

With a little luck today though, we both will gain some stability.

I glance at my fuzzy reflection in the glossy marble column, clear enough for me to check my hair-do. It’s anywhere but in place. It’s too hot and too clammy in here, so there’s hardly anything left of my chignon. Blonde strands have rebelled everywhere, making me look like a secretary that just got fucked. 

Who am I kidding? I’m so not ready for this, and I don’t stand a chance anyway. I mean, come on, how many people are in here? A hundred? Two? I should freaking go. This is a waste of time.

I turn to leave, but a piercing ‘ding’ makes me spin around. Elevator doors open, and men in black pour out of it. One of them holds his hand up, his face dead serious.

“No pictures,” he croaks.

When the last man steps out of the elevator, the others line up to flank him. 

Even among his bodyguards–because that’s what they are, since the last guy is clearly the boss–he is seriously massive. He arranges the cuffs of his Brioni suit with a sleekness that is both refined and dangerous. Damn, his elegance could rule both the jungle and the city.

Which it actually does.

No doubt, this is him. Jax Vaughn. There’s no other reason why every member of staff should freeze in the straightest posture a human could take, or why dead silence sweeps over the entire room. And fuck me, he’s not old, ugly, or bald. In fact, he runs a hand through his thick brown hair as he prowls towards the exit, and the side of his face that I can see is so perfectly sculpted, it’s not fair to the rest of mortal men. 

My jaw slackens, and so do my hands, a loud whump following–My bag, all of its contents spilling onto the floor. The sound echoes through the silence, causing the bodyguards to stop, and Jax Vaughn’s head to snap right to me.

One second, and the world tips.

Our eyes lock. 

The wildest green I’ve ever seen pops against the backdrop of skin like caramel.

What a beautiful animal…

And he’s staring right at me, fully aware that I exist. My heart pounds crazily, heat flooding my cheeks until annoyed huffing rips through the magic. The red-head, arms crossed under her tits in a way that pushes them up, stares at me like I’ve just pooped on the floor.

“Clumsy much? Or just desperate for attention?” She sneers. 

I look down at my stuff, and shame grips my guts. Not only have a few tampons spilled from their package, but my new battery-operated friend that Mia gifted me during lunch peeks out, too. One glance at Jax’s eyes, and I know he’s seen it. Good God, he’s seen it.

I drop to my knees, scooping my stuff quickly back into my purse, the red-head’s laughter so shrill that it echoes against the luscious walls. All the attention weighs like a boulder on me, even though it’s obvious she’d rather hi-jack it for herself. I can only hope that this is all too unimportant for Jax Vaughn, and that he’s already moved on, his schedule way too tight for him to waste another thought on either me or the red-head, but no. 

I meet his eyes again the moment I look up, except this time there’s more than just surprise in them. He seems angry, his masculine face bristling with aggression. He doesn’t like this, not one bit, but then why isn’t he leaving? He should be out by now, people like me are nothing but ants to him.

Sweat runs down my spine while all sorts of thoughts plague my head. Is he thinking about having his men throw me out? No, why would he do that, I mean, only over a few tampons and a dildo? 

Holy shit, he saw my dildo! Is this how I’m going to stay imprinted in his memory? On my knees, desperately trying to conceal the thing?

On the other hand, there’s no shame in single girls having their fun with their battery-operated friends, is there? Even though I would do anything to turn back time, and make sure Mr. Fucking Universe doesn’t find out I use one.

I should get up and bolt out the door right now, minimize the damage, but I can’t move, not under Jax Vaughn’s cold scrutiny. He pins me down with those green eyes like a wild animal does prey in the jungle.

Barely anyone in the room dares breathe.

It feels like an eternity until he finally signals his men to follow with a jerk of his head. But even as he exits the building, I can’t help feeling that he’s still aware of me.

Judging me. Despising me.

Probably laughing at me, like the red-head. I turn to stare daggers at her, but it doesn’t faze her any more than the competition did before, when she ran her eyes over the crowd. She’s just glad she used me to catch his eye.

Delusional bimbo. Jax Vaugh has a dozen like her lining up to suck his dick at a snap of his fingers, she’s nothing special to him. None of us are. Men like him are so spoiled for choice, only the sickest things can still arouse or interest them–I dance in a cage at a nightclub for a living. I should know.

“Really?” the red-head shrills. “Staging yourself in a pornographic position to get the billionaire’s attention? Come on, I’m sure you can do better than that.”

Anger shoots up to the tips of my ears.

“I didn’t stage anything.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

How satisfying it would be to punch the sneer off of her face, but I don’t need any more trouble at Vaughn Corp. I’ve had enough for a whole fucking lifetime. Making sure my purse is firmly shut, I prance out of the building in my heels with completely fake confidence. On the inside, I’m dying.

I wish I could block out the crowd’s whispering as I walk by, but my senses are only sharper. The adrenaline worked like a radioactive spider, so there’s no protecting myself from all the, “I’ve heard chicks do some crazy shit to get the guy’s attention, but this?” “How fucking lame.” “Stupid broad.” “Come on, it was funny.” “Who cares about the hoe, have you seen him? Oh. My. God.” Hand slapping chest. Giggling takes over before I even step between the glass blades of the rotative door, smoothing the hair off my face, leaving the swooning over Jax Vaughn to the girls who still have some dignity left.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to tell myself that life goes on, but the moment I step out, the tall man from before blocks my way. He looks down at his device, double checking my information, then at me.

“Miss Adalia Ross?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Follow me.”

Oh shit. Is it that bad?

***

Jax

She stared at me like a deer in the headlights, and my cock stood up to attention for the first time in what? Months? Years? It’s been so long since a woman turned me on that I lost count. 

But the moment I saw her, I could barely keep my cock down.

Women have been throwing themselves at me for years. I’ve seen and experienced literally everything, and I was sure nothing could impress me anymore. Yeah, I can fuck, rough and hard, if a bitch insists, but I never initiate. I’m never the first one horny.

Until the woman on her knees inside the lobby of my Tower.

I stare out the dark window of my car with my jaw clenched. My boxing-roughed knuckles rest against my mouth as I focus on keeping my cock in check, and on taming my bristling. 

I thought myself immune to this kind of shit, yet here I am, falling for the cheapest scheme a woman could pull. Dropping her bag with the dildo, and then pretending to gather her things by going down to a doggy style position, who does that? But ah, how her top stretched over her bouncing tits as she moved her arms to gather her things back into her purse…

I can’t get those messy blonde strands out of my mind, hanging over a perfectly plump mouth that looked ready to suck cock, her tits inviting jizz to spill all over them. Sweat glistened on her flushed chest as she stared up at me out of those milky blue eyes, making me wanna unzip for her.

I imagine those eyes on me while she masturbates with that dildo that slipped out of her purse.

My cock rages in my pants, this is insane. 

Against all odds, I’m alive again, awakened by an onslaught of twisted cravings.

So twisted, like a sickness rising. 

On an impulse, I reach for my phone, and text the chief of staff. ‘The girl that dropped her purse. I want her in my office when I’m back. Don’t let her leave even if you have to lock her in. I’ll deal with the legalities, if it comes to that.’

I tuck my phone back into my chest pocket, and rest my fist against my mouth again, trying to think about my upcoming meeting. It’s the first one with a secret group of underground tech rebels from the Middle East, and it took hell to arrange it. Yet here I am, thinking about fucking Ms. Clumsy’s mouth while she writhes on her dildo, instead of focusing on national security. 

Fuck.

I straighten up, and pull at the lapels of my jacket, sharpening my focus.

She wanted my attention. Well, now she’s got it. She opened Pandora’s box, and there’s no fucking way that lid is closing again, not until all that darkness has spilled over her, and consumed her. 

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On By Ana C. BlacklaceIn About the books, reading, beauty and the beast romance, best fantasy romance, booktok, dark fantasy romance, dark romance, enemies to lovers romance, Fae Romance, Fairies and Dragons, Fiction EntertainmentLeave a comment

Today, he is my protector. Tomorrow, he could be my ruin.

The abuser from my past has returned, bent on getting me back in his power. Now only a shadow of my former self as a cheerleading team captain, I know I won’t survive abuse at his hands again.
Enter Sinai of the Yces, winter fae and badass academy star boy with a grudge against my tormentor. He offers me protection, but his reasons don’t stop at our common enemy, and he’s not exactly my friend either. I’m not sure I want him to be, not with that perfectly chiseled jaw, those bulging muscles and the smoldering way he looks at me. He’s feared, nasty and dangerous, and yet I want him all over me. I feel that his rough lust can heal me.
But Sinai is sweet poison that could lead me to my doom. I should run away from him as fast as I did from the other one, except this time I’m hooked. Hooked on the deadliest man I’ve ever met.


TRIGGER WARNING. This book deals with themes of abuse (physical and emotional, NOT between hero and heroine), stalker, forced proximity, jealous/possessive hero and related tropes. This is NOT a bully romance. There is a HEA.

The affair between fae prince Salazar Shadowthorn and me, a human witch, is three things – toxic, destructive, and forbidden. Now, it might become deadly.

Salazar is a prince without a crown, a tragically beautiful force of night. Shadow and smoke are deadly weapons in his hands, and even demons have learned to fear him. Yet now a mysterious power is closing in on him and his people, and Salazar can’t beat it alone. He needs to awaken the shadow fae king. Only that awakening the king is no less problematic than the dark power seeking to gain control of his kind. Because of me.

There’s a big fat chance that I’m the king’s fated mate, which means that Salazar and I would have to stop this toxic thing we’re doing. He likes toying with me, making me beg for him in basements, and pleasuring me in public in order to humiliate me. Perverted delights, to which I’ve secretly become addicted. We’ll have to kill this sick chemistry between us, if we want to stand a chance against this new power. A rising menace that can lead us both, ruthlessly, to our deaths.

A cursed beast lurks in the woods outside my village, and it wants one thing—me.

I learned to fear the Scorpio Beast many years ago. He is the most dangerous thing out there, brutal and cruel, so when he takes me captive in exchange for my brother’s freedom, I know to expect the worst.
Yet deep into the ruins of his ancient castle, I discover there’s more to Ares Amberson than his ruthless reputation. There’s a tortured soul behind his mask, and a sensual touch behind his iron fist. There’s also more to my own past than I ever knew, a secret buried in my bloodline that Ares wants to use me for. But in order to unlock my dormant powers, he needs to teach me.
Train me.
Seduce me.
Ruin me.
The pull I feel towards him is wrong on all levels, but I’m hooked on the devilish pleasures he’s giving me. I must fight against it, or die trying. The secret of our bloodlines makes it impossible for us to be anything but rivals, polar opposites, enemies. In the end, there can be only one on the throne of the kingdom that we were both born to rule.

Note: This book offers you a strong female lead and a tortured villain, so brace yourself for dark themes and possible triggers related to past trauma. These two go to work on each other. Yes, there’s a HEA.

When you’re destined for each other – as sworn enemies.

With a common rival sitting on the throne that was meant for one of us, the Scorpio Beast and I are forced to work together – as a fake couple. We must fight against the evil usurper that brought misery upon our kingdom. But, in the end, there can be only one on the throne of Celestia. In the end only Ares or I can survive a terrible prophecy – that one of us is destined to kill the other.

Throne of Lust and Ruin is Book II of the Court of Scorpio series, telling the story of a passion that can only lead to ruin. Beware of triggers and dark themes. This is an enemies-to-lovers romance.