I'm thrilled to announce my new book, MINE 1, the first installment in my dark BL/MM romance series, Dark Bonds. This series marks a new direction for me as I've never written in first-person perspectives from both the protagonist and the male lead before.
In Dark Bonds, I wanted to delve deep into the psyche of the male leads, showcasing their dark and obsessive thoughts about their protagonists. The first couple you'll meet are Vince and Eli, and I can't wait for you to experience their intense journey.
Writing from the male lead's perspective, especially Vince's, has been an eye-opening experience. It's allowed me to explore character depth in ways I never have before, and I'm considering using this approach for future dark BL/MM romance series.
MINE 1 will be available on Amazon starting October 21st, and it's free to read with Kindle Unlimited. I'm also excited to share the cover with you, which features Vince Hale, the captivating male lead of MINE.
This new writing style has been both challenging and rewarding, and I hope you'll enjoy reading about Vince and Eli as much as I've enjoyed writing their story.
MINE 1
A Steamy Forbidden Obsessive Dark MM Romance
Dark Bonds Book 1
Alexia Praks writing as Zara Lee
ELI & VINCE: You’re MINE to love and treasure… / …and you’re MINE to keep and cherish.
ELI
I’m drowning in Vince’s love, and I never want to come up for air.
He’s my savior, my entire world. His touch ignites a fire in me that threatens to consume us both. When he looks at me, I feel seen for the first time in my life. When he holds me, I’m finally home.
But as I discover these new, intense feelings for Vince, I’m terrified. What if I’m crossing a line we can’t come back from? What if my growing desire for him changes everything between us? I’m scared of losing the safety and comfort I’ve found in his arms, but I’m willing to do anything—anything—to keep us together, even if it means surrendering to the heat that threatens to engulf us both.
VINCE
Eli is my salvation and my damnation, wrapped in an angel’s face and a sinner’s temptation.
From the moment he entered my life, I knew I’d burn down the world to keep him safe. His innocence calls to the darkness within me, awakening a possessive hunger I can barely control. When he trembles beneath my touch, when he looks at me with those trusting eyes, I feel like a god.
But now, as he starts to spread his wings, panic claws at my chest. The thought of losing him, of someone else claiming what’s mine, drives me to the brink of madness. I’ve built an empire, but Eli is my greatest treasure, and I’ll do anything—anything—to keep him.
MINE is a story of obsession and devotion, of the blurred lines between protection and possession, and of two souls so entwined that the thought of separation is more terrifying than death itself.
Content warning: Contains explicit sexual content and explores forbidden romance. Deals with themes of emotional dependency and complex power dynamics. For mature audiences only.
1: Vince
I stood in the sanctuary of my walk-in closet, surrounded by the trappings of luxury that I had earned through relentless ambition. Polished mahogany shelves housed a collection of shoes that could rival any boutique, and rows of tailored suits hung with military precision. My reflection stared back at me from the full-length mirror, a monument to the fruits of discipline and control. I traced the lines of my suit, the dark fabric clinging to my form, accentuating the breadth of my shoulders and the trim of my waist. I looked every bit the corporate conqueror, my appearance as meticulously curated as the empire I presided over.
In the open-plan living area, I moved with purpose. The morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the modern art and the sleek lines of designer furniture. I poured myself a coffee, the rich aroma mingling with the quiet hum of the city awakening below. The first sip was a ritual, a moment of solitary reflection before the day’s battles began. My watch read seven thirty a.m. exactly—time for action.
I moved once more, each step bringing me closer to Eli’s sanctuary. His door creaked open, and there he was, an angel amid the chaos of tangled sheets. Sunlight danced across his blond hair, spilling gold onto the pillow. His chest rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of slumber, his lips parted in silent repose. A fierce longing surged within me, a yearning to envelop him in my arms, to protect him from the world’s harsh edges. The desire to claim him, in every way a man could, roared silently in my veins. But these were thoughts to be locked away, not indulged.
I perched on the edge of his bed, my hand brushing his hair with the tenderness of a whisper. “Eli, I’m leaving for work,” I murmured, my voice low and steady.
His eyelids fluttered open, revealing the depths of the ocean in his gaze. His hand, delicate and warm, found mine, gripping it with a soft plea. “Please don’t get home late like yesterday,” he implored, his voice barely above a breath.
The tightness in his grasp, the hitch in his breath—it was exquisite, the way he needed me. “I’ll try,” I promised, the lie smooth on my tongue, “but work is unpredictable.”
His fingers clenched tighter, a silent reflection of his dependence. I savored the control, the power I held with such simple words.
Leaning forward, I pressed a kiss to his forehead, a chaste seal over the tempest of my desires. “Be a good boy,” I instructed, “and I’ll call if I have time.”
He searched my face, the unspoken hope that I would relent and stay home flickering in his eyes. But I was immovable. “I can’t, Eli. You understand, don’t you?” He nodded, the reluctance clear in his furrowed brow. “I’m going now,” I said, and with one final look at his angelic face, I rose, leaving behind the boy who held my heart captive in ways he couldn’t begin to comprehend.
As I slipped behind the wheel of my car, the leather caressed my skin like a familiar lover. The engine purred to life, a melody of power and precision that resonated with my own heartbeat. I navigated the streets with ease, the city a chessboard and my car the queen—unmatched in its freedom to move. My grip on the steering wheel was firm, the leather cool against my palm, a tactile reminder of the control I exerted in every facet of my life.
The building that housed my empire loomed ahead, my sanctuary of steel and glass. I parked in my reserved spot, the privilege of my position. The moment I stepped out, the cool air of the underground garage couldn’t mask the heat of anticipation that coursed through me. I straightened my tie, an armor of silk against the day’s skirmishes. Today, like every day, I would dominate in the boardroom, my decisions shaping futures with a word.
I strode into the lobby, my path cleared by my reputation. My staff—men and women whose careers I held in my hands—regarded me with a mixture of respect and longing, greeting me with deference. I felt their eyes on me, admiration and desire woven into every glance. Women allowed their gazes to linger a touch too long, their thoughts transparent and hungry. Men nodded with respect, aspiring to the heights I had reached.
I caught snippets of their gossip, their voices a low murmur beneath the buzz of the workplace. They whispered about the tragedy of my wife, Clara, who had the audacity to leave me for a lesser man. They painted me as a loyal, wounded figure, a role I had crafted with meticulous care. I welcomed their sympathy, their curiosity—it was all part of the facade. Let them believe what they wanted; their ignorance was my canvas.
The truth was far more calculated. Clara and I had married out of mutual convenience—I gained the image of success, the picture-perfect wife to complete my empire, while she reveled in the wealth and lifestyle I provided. Love had been a foreign concept then, an emotion I neither understood nor cared for. Our marriage was open in all but name, with Clara indulging in numerous affairs I knew about and dismissed with cold indifference.
She had been a stepping stone, a remnant of a past life. Once, she was a playmate, a fixture of my youth, but nothing more. It was Eli who changed everything, awakening a fierce protectiveness within me that bordered on the primal. For the first time, I understood what it meant to love, to feel a consuming passion that defied all logic.
Clara’s presence had become an irritant, her questions about Eli a distraction I could not afford, and her interference with Eli had been intolerable. Eli was the jewel in my crown, the secret obsession that fueled my every move. Our bond, forged in the fires of circumstance, was sacred, and I would protect it at all costs. So, I orchestrated her departure, nudging her toward a more public infidelity, clearing the path for my true focus.
The story of our past, Eli’s and mine, was etched in the fabric of my being. I remembered vividly the day I had first seen him. He had been a vision of vulnerability, a waif perched outside that dilapidated apartment in the park, a forlorn figure lost in a world that seemed intent on discarding him, a world away from the boardrooms and power plays I inhabited.
Eli, with his wide, fearful eyes, had been a silent siren song, drawing me in. Each day, I returned from my work to find him there, lost in thought. I extended an invitation to my humble abode, a gesture of sanctuary. He was skittish, a colt unaccustomed to kindness, but my patience was unyielding.
Our friendship had blossomed in the shadows of his mother’s neglect. He was afraid of his own shadow then, the product of a life lived in the margins of his mother’s sordid affairs. I had become his refuge, the stability he craved. And when I learned of his mother’s profession, the parade of men in and out of their home, my resolve to shield him solidified.
Eventually, slowly, our bond grew, a foundation laid on his need and my resolve. I engineered my father’s encounter with his mother, a calculated move in a long game of chess. The day of our parents’ wedding, I watched Eli’s face light up with a joy that was almost too painful to witness. It was a day marked by the illusion of family and the promise of a future where I could keep him close, always within reach.
As I entered my office, I glanced at the city below, a kingdom at my feet. But none of it compared to the feeling of Eli’s hand in mine, his trust, his dependence. It was a connection beyond blood, beyond law—a union of souls, however twisted mine might be.
The day was a relentless tide of emails, contracts, and decisions that demanded my unyielding focus. I sat at the head of the conference table, my senior executives arrayed before me like generals awaiting orders. My commands were delivered with precision, my strategies dissected and executed with ruthless efficiency. I thrived in this environment, each victory a reminder of my control over the chessboard of industry. My team hung on every word, their gazes flickering between awe and envy. They were competent, yes, but none had the killer instinct I possessed—the unyielding drive that had clawed its way up from the depths of family betrayal and emerged victorious.
Yet even amid the relentless pace of corporate conquest, my thoughts wandered to my penthouse where Eli remained, a treasure hidden away from the world’s prying eyes. In the rare moments of respite, the world of contracts and figures receded to the background, I reached for my tablet, the screen coming to life at my touch. With a few taps, I accessed the surveillance app that connected me to the myriad of cameras I had installed throughout the penthouse, my private window into Eli’s sanctuary. It was a violation, a breach of privacy that I justified as necessary vigilance. The time read ten a.m.—Eli would be up by now, his morning routine unfolding before the unblinking eye of the camera.
My breath caught as the feed flickered to life, revealing Eli’s bedroom. He moved with a languid grace, his slender frame an enchantment of youthful beauty. The camera in his bathroom offered a different view, one that bordered on the sacred.
Steam curled around him, a mist that clung to his skin like an ethereal garment, his skin flushed with the heat of the shower. Water cascaded over his slender frame, droplets glistening on his pale flesh like morning dew on a spider’s web. His head tilted back, and his lips parted as he basked in the warmth. The sight of him was intoxicating, a vision that stirred a deep ache within me.
I watched, entranced, as his hands roamed his body, the touch so intimate, so private, and yet there I was, a voyeur to his innocence. My gaze was drawn to the way his hands drifted lower, gripping his length with an unconscious need. My heart pounded in my chest as Eli’s body stiffened with pleasure, the muscles in his forearm tensing with each stroke. My pulse quickened, my body reacting with a primal urgency that mirrored his rhythm.
The thought that another’s image might be fueling his desire gnawed at me. Who did he think of in these stolen moments? Was it a woman from one of his fantasies? A figure plucked from the forbidden fruits of adult films? The question clawed at me, a beast of jealousy and longing. The idea that I was not the one he pictured in his mind’s eye was a bitter pill to swallow, a revelation that ignited a fire of possessive need within me.
The sight of Eli reaching his climax was an exquisite torment, his body arched, a vision of sublime release. I could almost feel the shudder that rippled through him, the way ecstasy painted his features with a vulnerability that was utterly captivating. I felt the echo of his pleasure like a phantom caress, a rush of heat that pooled in my chest and spread like wildfire. The desire to be the one to wring such pleasure from him was overwhelming. I longed to claim him, to mark him as mine in the most primal of ways, to feel him surrender beneath me as I drove him to the brink of rapture.
But I knew the danger of such thoughts. Eli was a skittish creature, a moth drawn to the flame of my attention but likely to bolt at the slightest hint of darkness. The idea of him fleeing from me, repulsed by the intensity of my desires, of him being torn from my grasp, was intolerable. I had to maintain the delicate balance between protector and possessor, to ensure that he remained by my side, within my reach.
I closed the app with a swipe, my chest heaving with restrained hunger, the image of Eli lost in the throes of passion seared into my memory. I would carry it with me as I navigated the power plays of the boardroom. The knowledge that I could watch him at any moment was a double-edged sword, a source of comfort and a wellspring of torment.
The morning had slipped into afternoon, and the demands of my empire had consumed my attention. Contracts needed my signature, negotiations my unwavering focus. Yet as the clock struck one, my thoughts, as they often did, drifted to Eli again. The ritual of checking the camera feed had become a compulsion, a necessary indulgence that allowed me to maintain the illusion of control over his well-being.
I retreated to my private office, the cityscape a backdrop to my dual life. With a few clicks, I accessed the sanctuary I had crafted for him—a gilded cage that ensured his dependence on me. The kitchen camera offered a view of Eli sitting at the breakfast bar, a picture of innocence amid the gleam of modern appliances.
I had prepared his meal earlier that morning, before the sun had even risen, taking pleasure in the act of caring for him in this most basic yet intimate way. It was a control I relished, the assurance that he was nourished by my hand alone. The plate before him was a study in contrast to the power lunches I indulged in with my colleagues.
The dish was a simple one, a culinary embrace—a chicken Caesar salad with crisp romaine leaves, tender strips of grilled chicken breast seasoned with herbs from the balcony garden, a sprinkle of parmesan, and croutons toasted to a golden perfection. The dressing, a creamy concoction of my own making, was drizzled with precision, the tang of lemon and the rich hint of anchovy mingling together. It was a meal designed to appeal to his delicate palate, to not only offer comfort and sustenance but reinforce his reliance on me, to remind him of the care I lavished upon him.
Eli finally picked up his fork, his movements tentative, almost reverent, as if each bite was a silent thank you. I felt a surge of satisfaction, a dark pleasure in knowing that he depended on me for such fundamental needs.
As he ate, he was transfixed by the television, his attention consumed by a cartoon playing on the screen. It was a child’s show, vibrant and nonsensical, but it brought a smile to his face—a fleeting moment of joy that I cherished. His free hand clutched the large teddy bear I had gifted him on his nineteenth birthday, the very first gift I had given him. The sight of him hugging it, his cheek pressed against the plush fabric, filled me with a warmth that bordered on the possessive. It was the first present he had ever received, a fact that both horrified and delighted me. The innocence it represented, the way it tethered him to me, was intoxicating.
I remembered the way his eyes had lit up when he saw it, a tangible proof of affection that he had never received before. The sight of this grown young man, still so childlike in his innocence, clutching the bear with such earnestness was a reminder of the neglect he had suffered. The fact that he had been so deprived, so unloved, that a simple gift could elicit such joy, was a bitter reflection of the world I had rescued him from. It stoked a fire within me, a mix of righteous fury and a possessive pleasure. It was a world that had failed him, leaving him ripe for my intervention.
As the afternoon waned, I found myself checking the feed once more. It was nearing four, and the sight of Eli pacing the living room, his body language taut with impatience, and his glances toward the door sent a thrill through me, his movements a silent mantra calling me home. His anxiety was palpable, his anticipation of my return evident in each restless step. The power I held over him was exhilarating, a drug that I could not—would not—resist.
The decision to stage another late return was effortless. The pleasure it would bring, the way it would reinforce his need for me, was too potent a lure to ignore. I needed to see him unravel a bit more, to remind him—and myself—of the depth of his reliance on me.
I picked up my phone, the screen lighting up at my touch. The call connected almost immediately, Eli’s voice a mix of relief and trepidation.
“Vince?” he answered, hope threading through his tone.
“Eli, I’ll be home late tonight,” I informed him, my tone carrying the weight of regret that I knew he longed to hear, betraying none of the satisfaction I felt.
Through the camera, I watched the impact of my words. His shoulders slumped, the teddy bear held tighter against his chest as if it could shield him from his rising panic. “It’s okay, I understand. Work is… work,” he stammered, his voice strained.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” I assured him, the lie rolling off my tongue like honey.
With a resigned sigh, he agreed, and I ended the call. The screen showed him collapsing onto the sofa, the teddy bear a buffer against the solitude that my absence brought. The image of him waiting, his world on pause until my return, filled me with a sense of invincibility.
The hours crept by, and as seven o’clock approached, I finally decided to make my way home. The city lights blurred into streaks of color as I navigated the familiar route back to our shared sanctuary. I stopped along the way, selecting a meal from one of his favorite take-out places—a small concession to the guilt that gnawed at the edges of my conscience.
The front door creaked open, and there he was, his face lighting up with a joy that was reserved for me alone. He launched himself into my arms, his body a lithe weight against mine. The pleasure that coursed through me at that moment was a potent cocktail of triumph and desire. He was mine, completely and utterly, and nothing in this world could tear him away from me. Not even the shadow of a doubt that lingered in the depths of my dark, obsessive heart.
Tags: bl romance novel, mm romance, boys love, yaoi, billionaire romance, steamy romance, smut, dark romance, age gap, emotional dependency romance, step-brothers romance, complex power dynamics romance
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