Navessa Allen

"I don't need another kink." That thought pops into my head whenever I pull up my favorite social media app, but alas, every time I scroll, I learn something new about myself, and another one is born. And yes, I know I'm responsible for what the algorithm shows me, but l'm trying to ignore that fact. Lately, my feed has been dominated by masked men. I've favorited videos with them dressed in full cosplay, decked out in futuristic military apparel, and wrapped up like ghouls. But more than anything else, my FYP is filled with shirtless men wearing ghost masks. Bonus points if they're heavily tattooed, wielding a knife, or covered in fake blood. At night, I dream about being chased by them, of them catching me and doing deliciously dark things to my more than willing body.
I never could have guessed that by sending one drunken text, those dreams would become my new reality. Lights Out is a fast-paced dark romance with a morally grey male lead. Some themes and scenes may be disturbing to readers. Please check the TWs at the beginning of the book.

Lights Out

Sophia

We eyed each other in the darkness. It was pretty runty despite the long black and white hair.

Okay, so I didn’t want to hurt her, but I did want to scare her. Potentially troubling but far from the worst-case scenario.

I lifted my eyes just in time to watch Aly drop her phone on the comforter and place her head in her hands. “I need so much more therapy than I’m currently getting.”

Well, I’d be his next victim over my dead – whoops, wrong phrase for right now. I wouldn’t be his next victim.

I whipped my head to the left, toward the distinctive couch along the far wall that I heavily featured in my videos, then to my bed and the stupid fucking custom headboard I just had to commission because I couldn’t go to Ikea like everyone else on the goddamn planet. No, I had to be special. Unique.

Was he watching me even now through the hospital security cameras? Probably not, but just in case he was, I flipped the bird at the one in the corner of the breakroom.

 phone chimed with a text message. I pulled it up to see an unknown number and a single word: 

The middle-aged white dude took one look at my mask and reared back in his seat.

His buddy on the passenger side started shoving his shoulder. “Dude, what the fuck?”

I lifted the knife with one hand and twiddled my fingers hello with the other. 

Her fingers dropped to the waist of my jeans and ran along the edge. I flexed. Hard. Not to show off but to keep from giggling like a lunatic. I was ticklish, and it was incredibly inconvenient at times like this.

Would it ruin my scary masked stalker image if I came too early? Didn’t badasses hold out for a long time? Her hand wrapped around my now-lubricated shaft and started to pump, rotating on the way down just like I liked. I prayed to the gods of longevity and then started naming baseball teams in my head.

“Bad boys don’t get rewarded,” she said.

. Goddamnit. I did not need a brat kink on top of my newly awakened praise kink. The two were supposed to cancel each other out, not act as amplifiers.

Lights Out quotes

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