I wanted to share with you this week a new release by Poppy Flynn. Dark Consequences is book 4 in her Club Risque series and it is just as hot as the first three books in the series.
Don’t just take my word for it, here is a steamy excerpt from the book:
Pain seared across her back, once, twice, more. Much more. Sometimes, she knew she was in too deep, but most of the time, she ignored it. She ignored it now. She was way past caring anyway, so what did it matter anymore?
And, yeah, she was lying to herself there, too. Just a tiny bit. Because it did matter; somewhere, deep in the furthest recess of her mind, she did care. Maybe.
Maybe that’s why she was really here, taking such a severe thrashing from the club’s ultimate sadist, Master X. Maybe that’s why she had become his slave because, deep down, maybe she did actually care, and maybe with some minute sliver of understanding, she didn’t want to let go of that final tiny thread.
Because as harsh and as brutal as it might appear to an outsider—as unfathomable and aberrant as it might seem, even to some of her friends—this single gossamer filament of masochistic intent was the only thing that was keeping her receptive to the rest of her life.
The welts, the bruises, the pain she chose freely and consensually were the only things, these days, that reminded her that she was alive.
As contradictory as that might sound, and Micah—or any other psychologist—would have a field day with it, she was sure, Laurel knew, on some deep, subconscious level, that without this ritual, this pain and humiliation to prickle the edges of her consciousness, then she would be lost.
If the flimsy thread of sadomasochism that tethered her shakily to this life was severed or broken, then Laurel knew, without a doubt, that she would succumb to the welcome oblivion that whispered to her mind and called to her body. That bleak, insidious darkness that constantly slithered just the barest fraction below reason and rationality. Waiting.
Waiting for the string to be cut so that it could gobble her up into a pit of desolation that she would never return from.
It called to her relentlessly. Incessantly. Whispering to her to give up, to give in, to succumb to the blackness and despair and free herself from this mortal coil, to snap that final, fragile strand of mortality which tethered her to this precarious survival.
So, whether it was logical, or rational, or sane…or not, Laurel came here, to Club Risqué. And here, she instead succumbed to the pain.
Because in pain, at least, she could feel. She could scream; she could cry.
She could escape the subtly deceptive numbness that slithered its sinister and treacherous fingers stealthily through her mind and body, through her thoughts and feelings, with its devious and sneaky promises of detachment and indifference.
Instead, she freely embraced the physical torment and the erotic humiliation in one last, desperate struggle not to surrender to the final, peaceful void of nothingness that would be her demise.
Be sure to add this book to your collection today— click here to buy now!
Poppy Flynn was born in Buckinghamshire, UK and moved to Wales at eight years old with parents who wanted to live the ‘self-sufficiency’ lifestyle.
Today she still lives in rural Wales and is married with six children.
Poppy’s love of reading and writing stemmed from her parent’s encouragement and the fact that they didn’t have a television in the house.
“When you’re surrounded by fields, cows and sheep, no neighbours, no TV and the closest tiny village is four miles away, there’s a certain limit to your options, but with books your adventures and your horizons are endless.”
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