Dark Desires (Dark Romance Boxed Set)

by Cerys du Lys

  “You are very bad, Noah,” she says, but she smiles when she says it.

  Her eyes fucking twinkle. Fuck. I love her eyes. Her smile, too. It’s real and genuine, not forced. I do, I want to fucking kiss her gently. I move towards her and press my lips to hers. She’s soft and warm. This isn’t fucking wild or rough or dirty. We just kiss, sweet and soft and nice.

  “Do you love me?” she asks.

  I stare at her quietly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  She smiles and seems happy with that answer. I’m not. What the fuck am I doing here? Why the fuck do I keep doing this?

  “No,” I say. “Stop. Just wait a fucking second, alright?”

  She frowns at me, perplexed. Get that fucking frown off your face, you gorgeous bitch. I kiss it away.

  “I do,” I say. “I fucking love you. You’re fucked up, Ange. You’re a little crazy and twisted and I’m fucked up, too, and I’m really fucking bad at this shit. I love you. Seriously. I love you so much. I’ve loved you for so long. I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I thought you were going to die. You woke me up, but I dreamed you were dead. I thought you were gone and it hurt so fucking bad. I love you. I don’t know what else to say now. Do you love me, too? Is that even fucking possible? Can we love each other? I don’t fucking know. Somebody please fucking tell me.”

  Somebody does. Somebody fucking tells me. It’s Angeline.

  “Yes,” she says.

  It’s just one word, but there’s some insane fucking power behind it. I don’t know why. Why the fuck am I crying? I don’t know why I’m doing that, either. I kiss her again. I pull her close and hold her tight and she fidgets and squirms. Fuck, that’s her bandage.

  “Sorry, love,” I say.

  “It is fine, let me just...” She readjusts her position. Her head’s on my chest now. We’re cuddling. I fucking love it.

  “I love you, too,” she says.

  “I love you,” I say.

  “I love you, Noah.”

  “Angeline, I seriously fucking love you.”

  I think we keep doing that for awhile, but I lose track. This is nice. We’re just laying there, two people. I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing, because I don’t think we can keep doing this forever, but I’m pretty fucking happy to be doing it right now.

  *** Angeline

  Noah and I spent the day in my bed together. That is what I remember. We ate food when necessary, because our stomachs demanded it. I do not remember to eat food all the time. I do not know how it happens, but sometimes I forget until a surge of hunger overcomes me and I would do anything in order to feast. I would eat anything, I would...

  I remember the day in the church when Noah freed me. I do not know if that is where this painful hunger comes from, but I was hungry then, too. I needed food. You do not understand how hungry you can become when you are deprived anything more than a handful of crumbs for days on end. You do not realize what you are capable of until it is too late and all rational thought leaves your mind.

  I do not know if I am sorry for what I have done, because everything I have done has seemed necessary. I do not know if I should have taken Noah the way I did. Why did I not reach out to him years ago? I have seen him and watched him. I watch many people, but Noah is the only one I have watched in order to get a better personal understanding of him. I watch the others for other reasons. They are important, but they are not special to me the way Noah is.

  I do not always understand everything. I do not understand because it is hard. Why do we do the things we do? I do not know. When we are hungry, we eat. That is what we are supposed to do, correct? When we are thirsty, we drink. When we are cold, we seek warmth, and when we are too warm, we try to find a cool place to retire to. Everything we do is a reaction to something else.

  These concepts sound simple, but I do not think they are. What do we do when we love? Or hate? What is the correct reaction? I am unsure if there is one. I know that many times when people love, they become obsessed with passion, or they become shy and affected, or else they become lonely and lost if the object of their affections is in love with someone else. Which of those is correct?

  When we hate, we also can become obsessed with passion. Is that negative? It is the same reaction as love, is it not? When we hate, we can become lonely and lost. We can strive to stay away from the person or place or thing that we hate, as well, which is similar to becoming shy and affected. Does that mean hate is love, or are all of these reactions wrong? If they are wrong, why do we continue to react in the same way?

  I do not know. I do not understand. This is why I enjoy computers. They do not feel or hate or think or love. They do as you request. Their reactions are pre-destined according to what you wish of them. If I search on the internet for a specific piece of information, I will receive varying accounts of that information in different forms. This does not change. It is always the same, no matter what.

  I wish that I could be as simple as that. I wish that I knew what reactions were required for specific situations. It is confusing, though. It is hard to me. It is especially difficult because nobody wants to be friends with a computer. Nobody wishes to fall in love with an internet search term. That is foolish and silly.

  Does that mean I am good, then? Is it good that I do not know everything, that I do not know how to react? It does not seem good. I want friendship and love and passion and affection, and I also wish to understand hate and sadness and anger.

  I want Noah to be my best friend. I wish for him to love me and feel passionate about me. I like when he shows me affection. I do not want him to hate me, nor do I wish to make him sad or angry.

  Noah is not a computer, either, though. He does not always follow specific rules of reaction. We are imperfect and broken and I do not understand him and I do not think he understands me, but I think that is acceptable. I do not know for sure if it is, but if it is not, I think it should be.

  I love you, Noah. I do not know what your reaction to that will be. You love me, too. I am not certain how I should react to you.

  Currently, it makes me happy. When I smile, it is not a smile I think I should make based on outside evidence, but one I make without thinking. When we kiss, I feel brilliant and bright. When we are together, I feel strong.

  Unfortunately, I think life is more complicated than that. Maybe it is not. Maybe it is simple and I do not realize it. Maybe I have been searching for the answer to a problem that does not exist. Maybe love is as easy as just loving, with no requirements for thought or rhyme or reason behind it.

  *** Angeline?

  I wake up in my bed and my hands are sticky. I am holding something. It is dark and I cannot see. I scramble towards the bedside table to turn on the lights, but something is beneath me. What is happening? What is going on?

  It is dark. I am confused. Am I afraid? I do not know.

  I climb over the lump on my bed and finally reach the lamp on my bedside table. I pull the chain to illuminate the room with soft light. My eyes clench shut, momentarily blinded by the sudden onslaught of colors being added to my darkness.

  I blink and my eyes become accustomed to the light. I look at my hand to see what I am holding.

  It is a knife. It is my knife, the one I keep on the bedside table in case of an intruder. No one is allowed in my bedroom except me. No one. It is unacceptable. I will kill them if they enter. I will hurt them. This room is mine. Do you understand? Mine.

  There is blood on the knife. It appears fresh. It is running down the blade and dripping onto my bed. I follow the drops as they crash onto my blankets and sheets. There is more blood on my bed, as well. My eyes follow the spread of blood until I find myself glancing between my legs. I am straddling the lump now. I do not know what it is. The blood centers around it. The blankets beneath me conceal it.

  I latch onto the end of the blankets and peel them back. A person is there, dead and bloody and gone. I do not know why there is a person in my bed. I stare at them, but they a
re difficult to recognize. A bloody slash goes from the top of their right eye, leaving a gash through their nose, and down to the left edge of their mouth. Their chest is dotted with constant stab wounds. The person appears to be more broken and shredded apart than not.

  Inadvertently and without thinking, I lean down and lick at the soft, sticky blood on their lips. My mouth touches this unknown person’s lips. I taste him and I kiss him and I see his eyes. He is looking at me, confused. I recognize him. I recognize the taste of his blood. I...

  No. No, no, no. Nonononononono.

  I scream out and cry and wail at the night sky. Why? NO! This is not possible! Why? Why are you... what did I do? What happened?

  No one is allowed in my room, but I have allowed Noah in my room. I want Noah in my room. This is Noah. I have killed him. I do not remember doing it. How did this happen? I try to think and remember, but I cannot. He must have startled me in my sleep and without thinking, barely awake, I reached for my knife and I attacked him, and...

  Noah... no. Noah, please. I am sorry. I did not mean to. I kiss him over and over. I feel his blood on my tongue and my lips and I kiss him and I taste his life, but he does not kiss me back.

  Noah, please? Noah, I am sorry. Kiss me, Noah. You must wake up now. This is not funny. I do not like this joke. What are you doing? Noah, wake up. Noah...

  He does not wake up. Why will he not wake up? Please, Noah? I am angry. I have my knife. I stab him in the chest again, because I am mad at him. No! What am I doing? Stop. Stop that.

  “I am sorry,” I say. I kiss him again. I kiss him more. “I did not mean to do that. I am sorry.”

  I begin to cry and Noah still will not wake up. Why do you not love me, Noah? Why are you doing this to me? I hold the blade of the knife against his throat, threatening him with it, but still he does not move. I press it lightly against his skin until I see him bleed.

  Do you see? You are bleeding, Noah. That means you are alive. Dead people do not bleed. Right? That means...

  I stop and I press my ear against Noah’s wound-riddled chest. I listen for his heartbeat and his breathing. I wait. I hear a heartbeat, but it is my own. I hear my own breathing, frantic and fast. I hear it, but I do not hear Noah. Noah, what happened to your heartbeat and your breath? Where did they go? Why are you not breathing, Noah?

  I cry and I beg and I plead with him to stop. Stop this. Why? No. Please. Stop...

  I cannot move. I cannot think. I try to run away, but something is holding me down. Why will you not let me go? I need to go. I will find someone to help Noah. Noah needs help. Why do you not understand? Why are you doing this? Why?

  I open my eyes and Noah is beneath me, but he is not bloody or wounded or bleeding. He is holding me tight against his chest and he is staring at me with a strange look in his eyes.

  “Noah?” I ask. I feel the salty sting of tears on my lips. “Is that you?”

  He kisses me. He is careful not to hurt my wounded side and he rolls me onto my back and he kisses me. Our bodies are tight together and I can feel all of his weight. He is heavy, but I like it. I cannot breathe or think or feel anything except for him. His lips crush mine in tangled passion. He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and bites it hard. I cry out, but he sucks my cry into his mouth, taking it away from me.

  He lets loose my lip and I snap to grab his. I want to taste it. I want to bite him and make him bleed and taste him. I try, but he evades me.

  “I want you,” I say. I do not know when it happened, but I can feel Noah’s erection pressing hard against my stomach.

  “Angeline, love, we can’t,” he says. “Your bandages. And we don’t have any condoms yet.”

  “I do not care,” I say. “Noah, I need you inside me.”

  “We can’t fucking... we can’t do this, love.”

  “In,” I say. “Me. Now.”

  “Fuck off,” he says.

  “Noah, please, I...”

  It does not matter. He is already struggling to pull down my pajama pants with one hand while he keeps me pinned to the bed with the other. Once he has managed that, he pulls down his own, as well. It is not ideal, but it does not matter because we are well-suited to one another. His harsh, throbbing erection pushes into me in one smooth, sharp motion.

  I let out a gasp as he fills me. “Yesss...”

  He stays there. He does not move. His body crushes mine and I am nothing. He is me, he is mine, and I am him and his. We are inseparable. Nothing can divide us. We are a single, joyous entity.

  “I love you,” I say. “Do you love me?”

  “I love you,” he says. “What the fuck were you dreaming about?”

  It is not completely dark. I believe it is early morning. I can see small strands of light piercing through the horizon and settling into my room. My knife lays on the bedside table. I look at it and shudder.

  “I killed you,” I say. “I did not mean to. Please, Noah, forgive me. I killed you because I do not invite people into my room and it was an accident. I did not realize it. I did not. I...”

  I am frantic and scared. I did not! I did not mean to. Please, Noah, forgive me? Please understand?

  “Shh, love,” he says. “I’m not dead. It was just a dream. Just some shitty fucking dream. I’m fine. We’re both here.”

  “Will you love me forever?” I ask. “I do not know if you should, but will you? I do not want to kill you, Noah. I am sorry for dreaming it. I do not know why I did that.”

  “Shh,” he says again. “It’s just a dream, love. I’ve already loved you forever. You don’t have to apologize.”

  “If you have loved me forever already, then do we not love each other anymore?” I ask.

  He is inside of me and we are not moving, but soon he pulls out of me and then slowly pushes back in. We move like this, soft and slow, in a gentle, rhythmic motion.

  “No,” he says. “Forever is bullshit. Forever is something people say, but they never mean it. I’ll love you longer than that.”

  “What is longer than forever?” I ask. My body warms to his and I feel my breath quicken.

  “Fuck, I don’t know,” he says. “Always? Eternity?”

  “You will love me forever and for always and for eternity?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. “And more.”

  I sample the thought by whispering it to myself. “For forever and for always and for eternity and for more...”

  “Angeline, I need to stop,” he says.

  “No!” I try to grab him and wrap my arms around him and hold him tight against me, but he is holding my wrists and pinning me down. “No, Noah, do not stop. Please do not stop. I need you.”

  “Fucking...” His face contorts with some emotion I do not even know the name of. “Love, we can’t fucking do this shit right now. It’s not a good idea. It’s a real fucking bad idea.”

  “No,” I say. “Stay. Please. Stay in me. In me, Noah. I need you inside me. Please do not stop. Please do not leave me.”

  He does not stop. I feel his cock inside of me, flexing and twitching. My body welcomes him and clenches against him. I feel warmth and softness and comfort.

  Noah grunts and pushes all the way inside of me, then he slows to a stop. I feel him releasing his seed. He must have been excited. Is he excited because of me? I like that idea. It is warm and nice, the same as the feeling of him being inside of me is. I know this is not a good thing, but I do not care right now. I want it. I want him. I want to know that he is alive and I did not hurt him and that we will be together. I want to love him for forever and for always and for eternity and for more, too. I do not just want it, I need it. It is my reaction to his existence. I am unable to do anything else. I will always be this way.

  He does not leave me once he is finished. He stays. I kiss him. He kisses me back. I feel him twitching and flexing inside of me.

  “Are you...?” I ask. I do not know what question I am asking him, though. “Do you wish to continue?”

  “Look,” he
says. “Angeline. I want to fuck you senseless. You gorgeous fucking beautiful bitch. You’re seriously fucking insane and I want to fuck you forever and always and for eternity and more.”

  “That is how long you will love me,” I say, assured.

  “Yeah,” he says, smirking. “It is. It’s how long I’m going to want to make fucking love to you, too.”

  “Make... love?” I ask.

  He begins to pull out of me, then pushes back in. This interests me.

  “I want to orgasm this time,” I tell him.

  “I’m going to make you fucking orgasm whether you want to or not,” he says.

  “Will you?” I ask. Oh, if he continues like this, yes, I think he will.

  He slams hard into me and breathes into my ear, growling whispered words at me. “You dirty fucking slut,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you until you cum around my cock. You’re going to be so fucking wet. I’m going to keep fucking you until you squirt, you beautiful bitch. The sheets are going to be fucking drenched and it’s all going to be from you, love.”

  “You are sexy,” I say, but my words come out between ragged breaths. I want to say more. I want to talk dirty like Noah does. I like it.

  “Tell me you want it,” he says.

  “I want it,” I say.

  He bites my ear hard and I gasp out in pain. “Not like that, you whore. Tell me how much you fucking want it. Tell me what you want. Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

  Can I do that? I do not know. That seems inappropriate, but...

  “I... I want it,” I say. “I want you. I want you to... to fuck me. Fuck me with your cock, Noah.”

  “We’re going to have to work on your dirty talk,” he says with a smirk.

  I do not think anymore. I do not speak. I kiss him and feel his body grinding against mine and his erection pressing deep inside of me. Soon. More. Give me. I need it. Noah, please? Yes...

  *** Noah

  Fuck. Fucking fuck. She’s good. That was the stupidest fucking thing to do, but she’s good, and fuck. Fuck. Holy fucking shit.