Alana Williams is three published authors. She has been for years, but now she wants to add another voice to her whirlwind of deadlines and unachievable targets. Trouble is, she knows nothing of her latest literary undertaking - KINK. \\\\\\ Alana It began as research. Just research. The technical approach. One that delivers the content necessary for a hidden culture to seem plausible, even if it's not. Readers expect perfection from me. They want the experience. To be taken on a journey. That's my job as a writer - to make them believe. Blaine Jacobs is his name. He's my research. A man who seems as logical and focused as me. A man who agrees to help. A man who, regardless of his stature in the community, seems to offer a sense of realism to this strange section of society. And even if he does occasionally interrupt my data with dark brooding eyes and a questionably filthy mouth, what does it matter? It's just research, isn't it? It's not real. None of this is. Nothing will come of it or change my mind. So why am I confused? I'm becoming lost. Falling apart. And Blaine Jacobs, no matter how calm he might have seemed at first, now appears to linger on the outskirts of sanity, pushing my boundaries with every whispered word. Note from the author: This book is intended for mature audiences. 18+ It's BDSM based and violent on occasion. Dark read.

Blaine Jacobs knows nothing of love, but Alana Williams does and she’s opening doors to truths he’s never felt before. Walls will be broken and secrets revealed, regardless of consequence. \\\\\* BLAINE My throat growls out in distress, desperate for more alcohol to fuel this panic ridden hatred of myself. That’s all this is. I know that. It’s rage and indecision. A barrage of self-loathing and repugnance, one confused and trapped in its own irrational behaviour. The psychologist in me would tell me to quieten down. The magician would play for the fun of it, but the monster in me? He’s ready to rut hell into anything that will take me, just so it can imagine her face and abandon the last drops of my resistance. I’m confused. Losing control. Being torn into three. And no matter how I try to avoid it, the layers keep peeling apart with no sense of clarification or psychological evaluation. They just split for her.