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One Night with Him
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One Night with Him
Compra ahora por 15,99 €
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Narrado por:
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Jo Raylan
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Christian Fox
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De:
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CD Reiss
THE HIT USA TODAY BESTSELLER and AUDIE AWARD NOMINEE
Jonathan Drazen’s my billionaire boss. Or he was, until he fired me.
Now he wants to make a bet.
If I win, he’ll give me enough money to not care about this waitressing job.
If he wins, I’m completely and utterly his for the night.
Since a bad breakup, I’ve sworn off men, but I’ll take this wager. He’s hot enough to break some rules over. Besides, he’s still hung up on his ex-wife. There’s no chance he’ll want more after the sun comes up.
Just one night, and I walk away from his dark past and his hot demands.
I shouldn’t walk away in the morning though. I should run right now.
Turns out, when Jonathan Drazen wants something, he gets it, and after our one night, he wants me.”
The problem isn’t that the relationship is toxic—dark romance lives on that—it’s that the novel never seems to realize that it is. We have two characters with serious mental health issues, and the author treats them as sexy traits rather than as anything real. No one, at any point, considers seeking psychological or psychiatric help. Gabbi’s depression and suicide function purely as an emotional catalyst for the protagonist: decorative pain, with no weight, no consequences the story is willing to sit with.
Then there’s the BDSM. And I’m speaking here as a reader of the genre, not as someone clutching pearls: BDSM done right is built on negotiation, informed consent, and aftercare. The hero never once makes his intentions clear before pulling the heroine into that kind of play. And there’s no aftercare. Ever. In a single scene. To anyone unfamiliar with the genre that might sound like a technicality, but it’s the exact opposite: aftercare is what makes a D/s dynamic a relationship and not abuse with a nice aesthetic. It’s the moment the dom holds, contains, and cares for the sub after taking them somewhere vulnerable. Its complete absence isn’t an oversight on the author’s part—it’s proof that this relationship was never D/s in any real sense: it was coercion sold as romance. There’s an enormous difference between a dom who is frightening on purpose within a framework of consent and care, and a man who simply doesn’t tell her what she’s getting into and then leaves her alone with the consequences.
And the scene where she has an orgasm at her best friend’s funeral… no. I understand the device the author was reaching for —pleasure and pain, the body betraying the mind in the middle of grief— but it’s so poorly executed and so unaware of the weight of what just happened that all it produces is revulsion. I almost threw up.
I love the dark when there’s intention behind it, when the author knows exactly what she’s showing and why. Here the darkness feels like a marketing effect, not a narrative choice. It romanticizes mental illness, it romanticizes abuse, it romanticizes violence, and it never offers a single line of counterweight.
Too much and not in the good way.
This isn’t submission. It’s Abuse with a nice aesthetic.
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