Through reading, I’ve learned that there’s something special about outstanding communication between characters, where they express their likes and dislikes with each other, so that by the time they reach the bedroom, everything is clicking like clockwork. The book boyfriends know exactly how to treat a woman, how to touch a woman, and how to fuck a woman. This isn’t wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Book boyfriends know how to use their hands, and they know that a sex toy isn’t their enemy but their best friend—their tag team partner. The book boyfriends tease the darkness in me that wants more, because they aren't afraid to go further than the average man.

The dark thing caged within me wants sex with a man who isn’t afraid to slap his woman because he knows she likes it. It wants to see how much a riding crop really stings, and it yearns for the pain. It’s curious about floggers, and how much they really hurt. Can it draw blood? I don't want to bleed, but the darkness …

I want to bleed. Bind me. Slap me. Torture me. Whip me. Fuck me.

Fuck. There it is. The voice in my head that speaks only to me, and it says the vilest things. Things I want but don't show. I can’t show them. I can’t give in to them because it’d be too much, but just thinking about it sends me to the moon. I feel myself starting to float away to a place I know I’m not supposed to go, because this isn't a spicy romance novel. This is my real life, and I can’t get caught up with unrealistic, sick fantasies. So, I breathe deeply and check myself. I know I’m more open minded now than ever, but Vance isn’t quite there yet. I haven’t given up on him, but maybe I’m at a point where I don’t want to think about Vance when I have an unopened copy of The Patient sitting on my couch. My four-course meal awaits, and the darkness is pacing in its cage.