How the Mind Breaks: A Dark Psychological Romance

by Dani René

  “Feel me, Tia.” He drives into me again and again. “That’s me, my fucking dick inside you. I want you,” he grunts, over and over again.

  Wait, what? His mouth falls to mine, stealing my unspoken question in a heated kiss.

  Our tongues duel in an erotic tumble, fighting for dominance, and my body bows toward him. Aching for more. For something rough and hard. Deep and almost violent.

  Pulling my mouth away, I beg, I fucking plead for it. “Fuck me, Brax, hard, please!” His gaze darkens, from shimmering gold to a dark, deep caramel, and suddenly he pulls out of me. With one hand on my neck, he pulls me to my feet, fire blazing behind his eyes.

  As if a rabid animal has been let out of his cage, he lifts me and walks us toward the door, and now I’m even more confused than I was earlier. His thick, hard cock bounces between his legs as he stops at the cold, concrete wall. “This what you want?” He pins me to it with one strong hand.

  “Yes,” I manage to croak out.

  He doesn’t answer, only offering a devilish smirk. With his free hand, he lifts my thigh, hooking it around his waist, and thrusts back into me. So fast, so deep, and so fucking violently I feel as if I’ve been split in half. I cry out, but he swallows the sound with his mouth. Licking at my lips, he takes the lower one between his teeth and bears down, biting until tears spring to my eyes.

  I don’t know where this man came from, but he’s got me dripping fucking wet. His hold on my throat tightens, and my vision blurs. His cock hits me deep, over and over again, rubbing against my G-spot, and I feel everything tighten below my belly button. Desire, lust, and hunger swirl together in my mind, through my body, and they gather at my core. My clit throbs, and my nipples are pebbled, aching for his mouth. But he doesn’t give me what I want. What I need.

  Instead, he fucks me. Like a primal need has taken hold, a possession unlike anything I’ve ever seen. His body glistens with sweat, and his mouth lifts at one side. “Do you like being fucked like this?” he hisses between pearly white teeth.

  With every thrust, I’m left breathless.

  “You love my cock in your tight little cunt, don’t you? So fucking tight, so beautifully wet. Just—” Thrust. “For—” Thrust. “Me.” Before I can respond, his fingers dig into my neck, and my vision clouds. I’m about to pass out when he releases me, and instead, reaches for my clit and pinches it harshly, sending me spiraling into an abyss of euphoria.

  I cry out, again and again. His name echoes through my bedroom. He doesn’t relent; instead, he continues ploughing into me, drawing another orgasm from deep inside me. From my very fucking core. My mouth crashes onto his shoulder, and I bite down hard. My teeth break the surface of his smooth skin, and I taste it. The metallic flavor of Braxton Carter. It courses into my veins like a drug. Every nerve in my body sparks with desire.

  Electric currents race through my body, and I shudder violently, as if he’s shocked me. I cry out again as his finger dips into the tight ring of muscle of my ass. He pistons unforgivingly in and out of my drenched core. My body pulses, sucking him in, craving him, and needing him. “Come for me, Tia. Make that pussy fucking coat me in your sweet honey,” he growls, his mouth on my neck. He bites down on the sensitive skin there, sending my world spiraling, and all that’s left is us.

  And then black.

  “You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping, Vixen.” A deep rumble, heavy with sleep, comes from behind me, but I don’t open my eyes. I want to savor this feeling of happiness and contentment just a moment longer. I know as soon as I open my eyes, I’ll be bombarded with questions.

  “I’ve told you watching me while I sleep is creepy,” I murmur sleepily.

  “You love it when I’m creepy.” He leans in close, his naked torso hot against my bare back. “You love it even more when I fuck you deep and hard, when I hurt you with my cock. Don’t you, baby?” Mention of him taking me has my body pulsing and reacting. I’m so needy for him.

  “Don’t tease, Braxton.” I smile, still not looking at him. The sheet that was covering me moves, and I’m left naked to his heated stare. I feel it as if he’s stroking me with his fingertips. Soft, cooling breath teases my skin, from my shoulder down my arm. When he reaches my hip, I whimper, and I know he’s smirking. His hot breath trails over the fevered flesh of my thighs all the way to my ankles.

  “On your back, Vixen,” he demands, and I obey. I can’t deny him anything. My thighs splay, my body seems to liquefy under his lust-filled eyes. They darken to a thick caramel, glowing with hunger as he drinks in every inch of me. He reaches out, stroking my thighs, his thumbs massaging the sensitive skin as he nears my sex. “So fucking beautiful. You’re always wet for me. Aren’t you, baby?” Biting my lip, I moan while nodding as his one calloused thumb skims my bare lips.

  A growl, low and feral, breaks from deep in his throat. My eyes meet his before he dives between my legs and sucks my clit into his mouth so hard I yelp at the sensation. So harsh it has me clawing at his scalp. Pulling and tugging his hair as he devours me.

  His mouth latched onto my center is enough to have my hips bucking into his face, needing more. He knows what I like. He plays my body like he plays with my heart, an instrument he uses to coerce the most erotic symphony, which echoes around us, filling my room with lust and sex.

  “Please, please, oh, God, please . . .” My moans get louder and louder. Braxton’s mouth taunts and teases, attempting to draw my orgasm directly from my goddamned soul.

  “Mmm,” he hums against my clit before biting down and driving two fingers into my pussy, making my body convulse. Crooking two fingers, he presses against that special spot, which sends me spiraling on the crest of waves crashing through me, causing my release to soak him. “So fucking delicious.” He laps at me, licking and laving at every drop I have to offer.

  “Oh, God . . .”

  “Now I feel like fucking you. On your knees, Vixen.” He sits back, a thick, proud erection jutting obscenely at me. Gripping my hips, he flips me onto my stomach, and I shuffle onto my knees. My body opens for him, inviting him to do to me what he pleases.

  Two big hands grip the globes of my ass, and his hot breath whispers over my puckered entrance. My body tingles in anticipation, and his thumb teases the ring of muscle. “So pretty and tight,” he groans.

  I glance back to watch him lick me from my clit to my ass. “Please, just fuck me,” I beg, louder, needier. Wanting him.

  He spits on the tight hole, teasing a finger inside me while flicking my clit with his other hand. His taunting ministrations send me climbing higher and higher. Scissoring two fingers into me, he prepares me for his cock. I’m about to find my release when he stops. Before I can beg, the slick tip of his shaft teases my ass.

  “Ready for me, Vixen?”

  “Yessss!” I hiss out as he slowly penetrates me. Two fingers plunge into my drenched core, and his cock fills my ass. Deeper, hard, and faster. He pulls out, then thrusts back in.

  “You feel me, Tia? You are mine. Remember that,” he commands with a gravely tone, fucking my ass, fingering my pussy. Owning me. Because he does. I fist the sheet. His free hand grips my hair, tugging me toward him, arching my back. “Do you like this, baby? Mmm? Me owning both your fucking holes?” He grunts, and my body tightens, needing my release. Aching for my orgasm.

  “Please, please, I need to come,” I beg again.

  “Come, Vixen, on my cock and fingers. Now,” he commands, and I obey. My body complies, my heart fills, and my mind lets go of all the horror.

  The only thing that exists is the two of us, and I see stars.

  Moments later, Braxton joins me. In heaven. In hell. In euphoria.

  Tia

  The Present

  “Hello, Tia.” She smiles at me. She always seems so happy. “I’m glad you came today. I thought you’d evade me after the last session.”

  Shaking my head, I flop into my usual seat. Her office is dark today. The clouds outside are dreary, casting everyth
ing in a gray haze. Kind of like my mind.

  “I need answers. I need to know what the fuck is wrong with me.” Another wince. Surely by now she’s used to my cursing.

  “Well, it’s not that easy or straightforward. I’ve never had a patient with your . . .” She glances at her notepad, then lifts her eyes to meet mine with a sadness etched on her perfect, flawless skin. “It’s new to me. To be honest, it’s baffled me since the hypnotherapy session when you went away. It’s as if you walked out into another room, and I couldn’t find you.”

  She’s talking, but I don’t understand.

  “You’ve got two varied issues, Tia,” she mumbles softly. Almost as if she’s scared to tell me. My heart thuds.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  “I’m sick? Very sick?”

  She smiles sadly and shakes her head, but shrugs. What. The. Fuck? “Tia, I want you to keep an open mind. This is something I’ve not yet dealt with. So, as we go through what I’ve found out, I need you to keep calm.”

  Sitting back, I pull my legs up and under me, watching her intently, waiting for the bomb to drop. I can’t be doing this. How the hell am I meant to exact revenge on my father when I’m sick? When I’m crazy?

  “Tia, look at me.” Her voice lowers, and I drag my gaze to hers. “You’ve created a place to go when you’re scared, or when things get to be too much. I’d call it an imaginary world, a place of safety in your mind. It’s not uncommon. The technical term is paracosm. I’ve never treated anyone who’s done this, so I’m intrigued.”

  “What do you mean? What about her? The . . . I don’t know, woman? She talks to me. Is that even real? Fuck this.” She winces again, and I want to laugh. To giggle like a giddy schoolgirl who’s angered her mother by cursing.

  “Simply put, it’s a detailed, imaginary world. They would originate in childhood, if said child has been through a tragedy, or suffered a death of a loved one. It’s a way the child copes with the trauma. You’re not ill. It’s seen as a highly intelligent way of coping. However—”

  “Wait. You’re telling me I’m living in an imaginary world?” My incredulous tone leaves her gaping. She’s got to be kidding. I’m living in a nightmare, and she’s telling me I’m making shit up.

  “Look, Tia, this is an incredible way of coping. These paracosms are important in you continuing a life and allowing you to orientate yourself in the real world, in real life. Now, you mentioned a girl . . .” She tapers off, meeting my glare.

  “I’m not here for you to tell me I’m a child making up shit, doctor. I’m here for you to fix me. I need your expertise to mend the broken parts of my brain.” My tone drops to a hoarse whisper, filled with emotion.

  “There’s one more avenue I’d like to talk about. But before we do, I need to get into that mind of yours. I want you to open up to me. I want to talk to her.”

  Shaking my head swiftly, I push off the chair and pace the length of her office back and forth. “I can’t. There’s no way I can bring her here. She does things. Things I can’t allow myself to show you.”

  “Like what, Tia? Does she tell you to do things to others?” Her question startles me, and I freeze. She knows. There’s no doubt she knows, and she’s not helping me.

  I need air.

  She wants to talk to me.

  No. No. You can’t.

  Why not?

  You’re not meant to be here. This is mine. My life.

  It’s ours. We’re in this together.

  “No, you have to go.”

  “Who, Tia?” I glance into deep brown eyes, and she waits. She always waits.

  “Nobody. I have to go. I have a meeting with Braxton.”

  “Have you told him?” she asks. She always asks.

  “No, I can’t tell him. He can’t know how fucked up I am. I’ll lose him.” I’ve never been scared of losing someone. My feelings have never been an issue for me. But Braxton seems to have cracked my shell. As scary as that is, I want him. He’s burrowed himself inside me, and I have no way of getting him out.

  “Why on earth do you think he’ll leave you?” She sounds so confused, more so than I feel most days. And to be honest, I’m not sure how to answer her. I’m not perfect by any means. He’s someone who needs a woman who can give him everything. How can I do that?

  “I don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer I can offer.

  A small smile on her lips tells me I’m in for it now. “He won’t leave you. He needs to know your feelings are the same as his.”

  “How would you know he feels the same?”

  “Because I can see it in your eyes.” Even though I’m not sure what she means, I shrug it off. “The love he’s already given you so far is clearly written all over you. You’re glowing, happy, not the broken girl who walked in here months ago.”

  Perhaps she’s right. Maybe, just maybe, I can find happiness.

  Isabelle

  The Past

  “You’re in big trouble this time, Belle.” His hands thread through my long, cocoa waves. He grips my tresses at the nape of my neck, pulling my head back, meeting my fearful eyes. “You’re all grown up now, aren’t you, sweetheart?” His question is dark, dangerous, and fear that was never present when I was around him now threatens to choke me.

  As if he can read my mind, he tips his head to the side, regarding me with a malicious glare.

  “Father, please, I didn’t do it,” I whimper, but it’s not enough. The kids at school teased me about my family, about the fucked up things my dad did. They all knew about his dealings. So today, when that little asshole called my father a pervert, I freaked out. The teachers had to call him. Now he’s angry, and there’s nothing I can do to calm him down.

  “So, you didn’t hit your classmate with a steel ruler?” I can’t deny it because I saw the blood. My hands were ruby red when I woke up. My skirt, shirt, and socks were marred with the crimson liquid. The thick stench of metal permeates around me. Even though I washed my hands, the smell lingers on my clothes. I blacked out and somehow awoke to a flurry of nurses, teachers, and children all glaring at me like I was the antichrist.

  “I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  “You never fucking mean to, Belle!” Spittle flies from his mouth as he shouts down at me. “You’ve caused more trouble since your mother died. Even then, you stood there like a lost sheep. I had to have my men fix your mess. Don’t you remember how you ripped her apart? All her blood dripping from your hands? And then, what did you say? It wasn’t me. You fuck up all the time!” His body vibrates with rage.

  Since they found me standing over my mother’s body with her blood all over me, I locked myself away, inside my mind. I found a friend inside my world where it’s beautiful and sunny and there’s never any pain.

  He pushes me away, and I stumble onto the floor. He brought me straight to my bedroom when we arrived home from school, and I thought he was going to lock me inside, but when he entered with me, I was shocked. He hardly ever comes inside here. I’m sixteen. I’m old enough that if he so much as tries anything, I’ll cut him.

  Like I taught you.

  Yes, like you taught me.

  “Get up. Clean yourself up. You look like shit,” he growls, but I don’t move fast enough, and with a swift kick to my stomach, the wind gets knocked from me. “I said get the fuck up!” Quicker this time, I push off the carpet and scramble for the door.

  Once inside my bathroom, I shut myself away, locking him out. My ribs protest, and the agony shoots through me.

  “And when you’re done, get yourself out here. I’ve got some friends coming over.” With that, I hear my bedroom door shut and lock.

  Imprisoned.

  Break out. Kill him.

  I can’t, he’s my father.

  And? He’s an asshole, Bella girl.

  “I know, but right now, I need to finish school and then I can leave,” I whisper, and I feel the ebb and flow of her leaving me to my tasks at hand.

  Opening the taps,
I wait for the water to heat and strip out of my dirty clothes. Once the steam billows around me, I step inside. My ribs protest, and I try inhaling a deep, calming breath. Relaxing, however, never comes.

  Moments later, I hear the music start. Men’s deep voices filter through the doors, and I realize the party must have started. Back in my bedroom, I dress quickly, pulling on a pair of faded black jeans over a pair of cotton panties, a long-sleeved sweater over a dark blue tank top, and my socks.

  I’m about to pull on my sneakers when my bedroom door flies open. My father is dressed in khakis and a gray T-shirt, and he stalks over to me. “What are you wearing? That won’t work. Where’s your pretty pink dress? The one you wore to the school dance?”

  “But I can’t wear that dress tonight.” My mouth falls open on a gasp. The dress in question is skintight, and it stops just above my knee. It’s a formal dance dress. There’s no way I’m wearing it in front of I-don’t-know-how-many men.

  “You can and you will. Change. Now.” I wait for him to leave, but when he doesn’t, I push off the bed and head into my walk-in closet and pull out the cerise material, which matches the deep pink ballet flats. “Do it in here,” he orders in a gruff tone, and I gasp in shock. “Now.”

  In my bedroom, I find him seated on my bed, his arms crossed over a broad chest. “Could you at least give me some privacy?” My question earns me a glare I’d rather not see, so I bite my tongue and pull off the sweater. When I reach for my tank top and pull it up over my head, I meet his intense stare as soon as the material falls to the floor.

  My breasts are bare to his gaze, and unease slowly sweeps over me. I reach for my bra, but he stretches out, gripping my wrist. “Leave it.” I open my mouth to retort, but bite back the comment, knowing it would earn me more than just a swift kick in the ribs.