nyc•to•phil•ia | nik-tō-fil'ē-a - love of darkness or night;finding relaxation or comfort in darkness. ⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓ {EXTRACT} "Tell me Celeste," he began as he walked back and forth in front of me. "Have you ever heard of nyctophilia?" I slowly shook my head no as my bottom lip quivered. He stopped to look at me, and smiled that breathtaking smile of his before he went back to walking. "Well, Nyctophilia is the word used to describe the love of darkness or night" He paused again but this time stopped right in front of me. I kept my head down as my heart pounded out of my chest. "A nyctophile would be the term used to describe someone with nyctophilia." He then brought his hand to my chin and tilted my head up so I was looking him in his eyes. Those beautiful golden eyes. "You, my darling, are a nyctophile." He smirked then added, "And I am the darkness you find comfort in." ⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓ Celeste Banks was as sweet as candy and as pure as cotton. Although she had her tougher exterior and questionable interests, she wouldn't hurt a fly...or so people thought Asher deville was a charming, sexy sociopath, with no regard for anyone but himself. If he wants something, he'll do whatever he needs to get it. Once meeting Celeste he decides he has to have her, but what will she do when she finds out his secret? ⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓⛓ This is my first time writing a book so It won't be perfect and id also appreciate and feedback/comments 🥺 Rankings: #1 in goth 15/09/20 #1 in abusive 15/09/20 #1 in violence 1/10/20 #6 in manipulation 15/09/20 #4 in sociopath 25/09/20 #11 in insecure 20/09/20 #11 in anxiety 20/09/20 #8 in Darkromance 1/10/20 #22 in toxic 15/09/20

"I want to write poetry with my tongue inside of you Mi Amore". A young journalist, Celeste, goes undercover to investigate a reclusive billionaire's, Sante Morelli, rumored secret life. She infiltrates his world and uncovers not just his hidden past but also an irresistible chemistry between them.

Why would she leave me? She loves me. I'll make her love me. If it's the last thing I do. If I can't have her. Nobody can. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When you think of a stalker usually men come to mind but stalkers can be women too.

Ω§•••Ω§°°°§•••Ω§°°°Ω§•••Ω§°°°Ω§•••Ω§ "you'll never leave me right my love?" He asked as he squeezed me impossibly closer into his person. The big man seems so weak in the moment and it breaks my heart. "Of not. Nothing in the world would ever make me leave you." Looking into my eyes, he inhales deeply. "Even if I kill people?" Ω§•••Ω§°°°Ω§•••Ω§°°°Ω§•••Ω§°°°Ω§•••Ω§ Disclaimer and prologue will be inside the book, have yourself a good read. Signed Tye-Tye ✨

I point my gun at him but he does it at the same time. We both let the tension settle in. "Bitch?" I question in an innocent way. "Do you want to see what it looks like when I am a bitch?", tilting my head sideways. He grabs the back of my neck, pulling me towards him. His nose buried in my neck as he snarls "don't fucking talk to me like your my equal". He pushes the gun further into my skin "untie him now or I'll have to waste a bullet tonight" I began to laugh hysterically as he backed away "I never took you as the type to joke you know. I'm sorry but we both know that pussy you call a cousin, is a nuisance. I'm doing you a favour. Plus I know you were gonna get rid of him". Suddenly I see him smirk and I'll tell you it was fucking scary, "kill him then see what happens"

It's sick and unhealthy . But none of us can stop . We hurt each other . We lie to each other . We cross lines we promised we'd never cross . Every time I think I've had enough , somehow , I'm pulled back in . He became obsessed with me . I became obsessed with him . At first , I thought I was afraid of him . Maybe I was . But fear has a strange way of turning into curiosity . Curiosity turns into fascination . And fascination becomes something you can't control . Somewhere between fear and fascination , we lost ourselves . We stopped knowing what was right and what was wrong . What was love and what was obsession . What was protection and what was possession . Now I can't tell where he ends and I begin . Maybe that's what being possessed feels like .

A compilation of one shots and short stories. Twisted Obsession, Dark romance, and all the yearning a girl would want. Welcome to the twisted world where the pursuit of desire knows no bounds. Within these pages are stories of men who are dangerously unhinged, their hearts beating solely for the women who have unknowingly captured them. They are relentless. They are possessive. They are obsessed. This compilation features interracial dark romances (White Male / Black Female) that explore the depths of a man's craving. Watch as these powerful men surrender to their darkest instincts, fighting to protect, claim, and keep the women who hold their souls captive-whether the women want to be saved or not. Prepare for toxic love. Prepare for redemption. Prepare for the fall. A/N : These stories contain a lot of toxic, mature and uncomfortable themes. Viewers discretion is advised.

𝐢𝐥 𝐯𝐨𝐫·𝐭𝐢·𝐜𝐞 /𝐢𝐥 ˈ𝐯ɔ𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐭ʃ𝐞/𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧 𝐀 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧.

Amari has always been the quiet girl. A high school senior, she spends most of her time focused on graduating and staying out of trouble. She never imagined that someone like Mikhail Volkov would notice her. Mikhail is the kind of boy everyone fears but no one dares to confront. Handsome, charming, and dangerously persuasive, he knows exactly how to make Amari feel safe-until she belongs to him. The warnings come immediately. "Stay away from him." "He's not who you think he is." "He's dangerous." Amari ignores every one of them. As the weeks pass, Mikhail's mask begins to slip. He demands to know where she is at every moment, decides who she's allowed to talk to, and explodes whenever she disagrees with him. During arguments, he grabs her hard enough to leave bruises, shoves her when she tries to walk away, and later apologizes with expensive gifts and promises that it will never happen again. It always happens again. Then Amari discovers the truth: Mikhail is the son and future heir of one of the country's most feared mafia bosses. Raised in a world where violence and intimidation are normal, he believes love means ownership and that no one has the right to take Amari away from him. The abuse becomes impossible to ignore. Every attempt to leave is met with threats, intimidation, or another violent outburst. Her friends beg her to leave. Her family pleads with her to run. Even strangers can see the fear in her eyes. But by the time Amari realizes everyone was trying to save her, she's already trapped in a life ruled by Mikhail's obsession-a world where escaping him may be the hardest fight of her life. She thought she had fallen in love. Instead, she had fallen into the hands of someone who believed that if he couldn't control her, no one could.

"Nelly." His voice cracked-a warning and a desperate plea-as I straddled him. I knew exactly what came over me. Lust. Days of touching myself under his roof, wishing my fingers were his hands, his cock. Days of being denied. But not anymore. "Please kiss me," I breathed. His hands bit into my waist. He swallowed hard, and my cunt wept for him. "You don't know what you want, pumpkin." That Texas drawl, too smooth, too edged. I grind down on him, my slick pussy sliding over the thick ridge of his cock through his trousers. He groaned, tortured, and I felt him throb beneath me. "I want you, Leo." I breathed it against his lips. "All of you." "Nelly, baby..." He cried my name like he was breaking. Then his hands shot up. Grabbed my wrists. "Stop!" He lifted me off him, set me aside like I was shameful. He stood up. "Why don't you want me?" My voice cracked. He turned, eyes tortured. "I do want-" "Don't lie to me. It's clear you don't." I stood, ready to flee, to salvage what little pride I had left. But he pinned me to the wall before I could open the door. His hand wrapped around my throat-not squeezing, not threatening, just there. A silent command. A brand. His body pressed flush against mine, and I could feel every inch of him, every ragged breath he fought to control. This," he growled, low and wrecked, his hand firm on my throat, "is exactly why I'm trying to walk away." I hated him. Hated how he denied the spark that burned between us. "You feel that?" I pressed my hips into him, letting him feel my heat. "You feel how wet I am for you? And you still want to walk away?" His jaw tightened. His fingers twitched against my throat. "Don't," he warned, voice breaking. "Don't what?" I breathed. "Don't make you admit you want me just as much as I want you?" He closed his eyes, fighting it. Fighting us.