Stalkers: A Dark Romance Anthology

by Ally Vance

  I’ll never be able to protect myself. I’ll always be trying to escape.

  I rip open my drawer. An orange bottle of prescription pills rolls around inside, moving so much easier now that my knife is gone. I snatch it up, the pills inside rattling as my handshakes.

  You can do this, Charlotte. Be brave.

  It’s the only way. You want this to stop, don’t you?

  One. Last. Escape.

  Chapter Nine

  Charlotte wasn’t in class today. Since I visited her on Saturday night, her apartment lights haven’t come on. I’m fighting with myself not to go there and knock on her door. I know she won’t want to see me.

  I crossed the line.

  Twice.

  I don’t deserve to see her again. I know this. I’ve come to terms with it. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about her.

  Worried?

  I snort quietly to myself and shift on the driver’s seat. It’s the middle of the day—I shouldn’t be here. But I guess I’m past the point of logic right now. Nothing matters but Charlotte.

  How do I fix this? How do I go back in time and undo what I did? How can I stop myself getting into my car every day, every night, and driving out here, and sitting in my fucking car?

  Watching her.

  Guarding her.

  My steering wheel creaks as I tighten my hands on the leather. Guard her? From what? I hurt her. Not physically, emotionally.

  I’m not an idiot. I know what that could do to someone like her. Someone who’s been through her ordeal. But I did it anyway because that’s how obsessed I am.

  She could go to the police. They’ll revoke my license. I’ll lose my job.

  And I don’t give a fuck.

  I still want her.

  More.

  Every inch.

  I laugh, the sound echoing comically in the confines of my cab. Sometimes I think it’s a curse that I went into my profession. But curiosity was what got me here in the first place. I wanted to know why I was so different from everyone else. Why everyone I knew could feel all these things that I couldn’t. How they could form healthy bonds with each other.

  Somewhere behind me, a car alarm goes off. My eyes instantly move to Charlotte’s window.

  Nothing.

  I can’t take this. I have to know if she’s okay. If that triggers something, I’m okay with that.

  As long as I know she’s okay.

  Chapter Ten

  “Charlotte!”

  Blood sings in my ears. It drowns out all the sounds around me—my frantic panting, the shuffle of my suddenly heavy feet on the floorboards.

  She tried to make it to the bathroom, but it was too far. She’s laying on her back, a streak of vomit down the side of her face, more in her hair. My hands are shaking so hard I’m scared I’ll hurt her as I hurriedly turn her onto her side, dragging her leg up so she’s in a recovery position.

  I press fingers to her neck.

  Breath only enters my lungs again when I feel that faint, almost indistinguishable thrum of a pulse under my fingertips.

  Relief washes through me in a prickle of hot and cold. I sink back on my heels and wipe my hair out of my face as I stare down at her.

  In a flash, my eyes dart up to her bedroom door.

  Those fucking pills.

  I saw them the first night I broke into her apartment. I’m thorough. They disturbed me back then, and now I know why.

  Too strong.

  Too tempting.

  They give her the peace of sleep, but she sleeps like the fucking dead when she’s taken them. Dangerous. She never even knew I came to visit her. Even when her eyes flickered open and she saw me standing by her bed, there was no recognition in her eyes.

  Even when I slid my hands under the covers, she couldn’t resist. I didn’t dare penetrate her back then—but she’d moan when I touched her tits and when I stroked her pussy through her underwear.

  Those sounds were the only thing that kept me going. They helped me endure the torture of seeing her in my class and not being able to touch her. Not being allowed to kiss her.

  But it all became too much. When she kissed me, the dam broke. There was no stopping that tsunami of passion.

  Love.

  For the first time in my life, I understood.

  Even now, staring down at her comatose body, her pale, puke-streaked face…I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

  “I love you, Charlotte,” I murmur, wiping a strand of hair from her face. “I love you more than you’ll ever know. And I need you in my life. Now, forever.”

  A fond smile curls up the corners of my mouth.

  “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

  Now. Forever.

  Chapter Eleven

  Professor Fyre looks so handsome today. He’s wearing a tan blazer that brings out his olive skin and dark hair, and every time he smiles, he flashes his perfect teeth at me.

  Okay, maybe not just at me.

  A pang of jealousy hits me at the thought I’m sharing Fyre’s adoration right alongside Fredericka or Graham.

  But I’m a big girl.

  I can handle it.

  There’s a lot of shit I can handle these days. Maybe my suicide attempt did something to reset my brain.

  My mouth shifts to the side as Fyre beams at Fredericka’s project. He crouches beside her chair just like he did with me a few weeks ago, nodding enthusiastically as she explains the deep meaning in her playdough creation.

  The dreams have stopped.

  I’m wondering if they were caused by the pills I took every night. I thought I lost them sometime between downing half the bottle and waking up in my bed, freshly scrubbed, a day later, but they turned up on the kitchen table the one morning.

  I have a guardian angel. That, or I’ve started sleepwalking.

  What else could explain how clean my apartment was when I woke up out of my Zoloft induced Sleeping Beauty like slumber? I remember getting sick multiple times—on my bed, on the floor—as I crawled toward the bathroom.

  I thought it was over, then. I was in agony. Miserable. It had to be the end.

  But it wasn’t.

  I lost consciousness and woke up to a new world. Like a switch had been turned on. There was color. There was music and laughter and love and joy.

  I thought it might have been Mrs. Crawford from next door. That she might have snapped out of her feline obsession long enough to notice I wasn’t doing well. Maybe she was the one who found me, who cleaned me up.

  But that doesn’t explain the fresh peonies I wake up to every morning. Someone leaves them in a vase on the kitchen table right next to a steaming cup of coffee.

  Something bugs me, though.

  My pills.

  It’s weird. The bottle’s the same, but the pills look different. And although I do fall asleep like before, it’s not the same. I wake up fresh and bright. Yeah, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed if you want the truth of it.

  Fyre straightens and glances around the class as if he’s trying to spot which project he hasn’t had a look at yet.

  Me! Look at me!

  As if he hears my desperate demand, Professor Fyre turns and looks right at me.

  An arrow pierces my heart, and I know that fat little baby with the diaper and tiny pair of wings is to blame. My unrequited love for Fyre has grown so much the last fortnight. I want to burst into flames every time I see him. Implode. Explode. I don’t know which, but it’s glorious and violent, and I can barely contain myself when he looks at me.

  I squirm in my seat as he moves near, his easy smile growing an extra inch as he comes up to me.

  “What do you have for me, Charlotte?”

  Everything. My heart, my soul—

  I clear my throat and slowly turn around the piece of paper on my desk. I expect Fyre’s eyes to go to it immediately—he must be curious, right?—but instead he just keeps staring at me.

  My insides pool.<
br />
  How is it possible for a single look like that to make my panties wet?

  “Absolute perfection,” he murmurs, still with his eyes on me.

  Shock turns my skin pale and cold. “Wh-what?”

  Finally, ruefully, his eyes slide away from my face and settle on the paper in front of me. He stands there for the longest time, his mere presence igniting a million different nerve points through my body.

  “Is it okay?” I ask, glancing between him and my drawing with mounting panic.

  I should have used color. I should have tried to paint something. It’s horrible. He hates it. Why did I—?

  “A gift,” he says.

  It’s insane, but at that moment, I’m convinced he’s talking about the peonies that fill my home with their sweet fragrance every morning.

  “You have a gift, Charlotte.”

  “Really?” My heart wants to explode out of my chest with pride. “It’s that good?”

  His hand slides onto my shoulder. I jolt at the touch, but then I lean into it, barely restraining myself from resting my head against his arm. “You certainly have talent. Come see me after class. I want to discuss something with you.”

  My heart climbs up my throat and lodges itself there. I’m aware I’m staring at Fyre’s back as he makes his way to the front of the class, but I can’t help myself.

  I look down at my drawing.

  It’s a still life. A single peony positioned just-so on my bedroom pillow. One petal came loose and lies beside the flower. I left it there because it looked…right.

  The last ten minutes of class flows by like a glacier. I’m coming out of my skin by the time the bell rings and Fyre moves to stand by the door as he greets every one of his students.

  It’s the last time he’ll be seeing them, after all.

  I take my time packing up and leave the picture for last. Lifting it, I hold it carefully and step out behind my desk.

  Across the classroom, Fyre greets the last student, steps outside into the hall, checks left and right, and then steps back inside.

  My stomach flutters.

  And then drops to my feet when he pulls the classroom door closed and locks it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fyre stalks over to me with a grim expression on his face.

  Oh my God. He’s angry with me. But why? What did I do? How did I fuck this up?

  The hand holding my drawing begins to tremble.

  “Sir?” My voice is weak, quivering.

  He doesn’t answer me.

  I start backing up, my legs bumping against easels and workbenches as I retreat from his looming shape.

  Panic has me in its teeth, shaking me like a dog with a rat.

  A second before I hit the back wall of the class, Fyre catches up to me. He rips the drawing from my fingers and slaps it down on the desk beside us.

  I open my mouth to try and apologize, to explain, but there’s no time.

  Fyre grabs my hips and hoists me up. His body slams into mine, pinning me to the wall. I wore a dress today, and maybe that’s why everything happens so fast. There’s no fussing with buttons, no tugging at zips.

  Fyre crushes his mouth against mine hard enough to make me gasp. He rips up the hem of my dress, baring my underwear to the classroom’s cool air. With a yank that leaves fabric burn on my skin, my panties are now tangled around my upper thighs.

  Strong fingers graze my pussy. Gideon groans against my mouth, breaking our kiss just long enough to murmur, “You’re fucking dripping for me.”

  I want to say something, but I only have one second to stare up into his dark eyes before he darts forward and snatches up my lips with his.

  There’s a metallic clank as he rips open his belt, the rasp of a zipper.

  My legs wrap around his waist, and he takes it as an invitation.

  Fyre parts my pussy with deft fingers before forcing the first inch of his cock inside me.

  I moan, gripping his waist tighter, kissing him harder. My hands are around his shoulders, one hand fisted in his hair. I twist that grip, desperate to hold on as he forces another inch of his thick cock into me.

  I’m splitting open. Tearing apart. Pleasure and pain mingle into an indecipherable cocktail of sensation that rushes through me in a hot, aching wave.

  He thrusts the last of his cock inside me, forcing my ass hard against the wall.

  Filling me entirely. Possessively.

  I wriggle and moan and nip at his mouth, furious at him for stopping. But I have no control over him. No control over myself.

  He breaks our kiss. Moves his lips to my ear. “Why are forbidden fruit always so goddamn sweet?”

  I choke instead of replying. My mind is such a mess I doubt I could form a sentence. All I manage is a pathetic, “Please.”

  “Please what, Charlotte?” he demands in a rough voice. “Please stop? Please fuck you harder?”

  “Harder,” I whimper.

  He growls, and again I’m convinced he’s furious at me. There’s a snarl on his face when he pulls back and studies me with a condescending flick of his eyes. “You should be telling me to stop,” he says. “You should be screaming for help.”

  I shake my head. Nip at my bottom lip. “No. I want this. I want…you.”

  There’s a flurry of movement, then I’m on my back on the desk beside us. My dress is gathered at my waist, my underwear on the floor. Those black eyes scour me with painful intensity as Fyre grabs the straps of my dress and tugs the fabric down over my breasts.

  My nipples were already hard, but they constrict into little nubs at his hungry gaze. And when that dark gaze slides down, down…my pussy clenches.

  His lips part, an almost-sigh whispering out of his mouth as he drags a knuckle over my pussy. “You do want me, don’t you?” He lifts his hand, his eyes locked on mine as he sucks on his bent knuckle.

  I start to sit up, but his hand darts out and closes around my throat as he pushes me back onto the desk. A dark, twisted reverie flashes into my mind. I gape, blinking fast as I try and make sense of it.

  Fyre shoves two fingers deep inside me, his palm slamming against my clit.

  “You!” The grip around my throat is too tight for there to be much vehemence in my words, but something in my voice makes him pause.

  He studies me, a smile growing on his lips. “Me,” he whispers.

  Then he bends over me, digs the tip of his dick into my pussy, and thrusts in balls deep.

  My eyes squeeze closed as I let out a strangled yelp. I try and push him away, but he’s too big, too heavy, too determined.

  And when he starts fucking me, I’m too paralyzed by the intoxicating mix of pleasure and fear to keep fighting him.

  Fyre peppers my jaw and lips with tiny kisses, his breath puffing over my skin with every furious thrust. My nails dig into his jacket, trying to get at his flesh, but it’s too thick for me to penetrate.

  My tense body melts under the force of his passion until it’s only the grip around my throat keeping me in place for him.

  “You were in my house,” I say.

  Fyre pauses only long enough to swipe his tongue over my chin and give me a hard kiss before he picks up pace again. “I had to keep you safe.”

  “You touched me while I was sleeping.”

  He makes a strange sound—a laugh, a grunt, I don’t know—and leans back. His hips slow until I can feel every inch of his hard cock moving in and out of my dripping pussy. “Does that sicken you?” he asks.

  I open my mouth to tell him it does—that he sickens me—but then his thumb makes contact with my clit. My protest becomes a moan as I arch up off the desk.

  “Spread those pretty legs of yours,” he commands.

  And for some reason, I obey.

  He tears his eyes away from me, staring down where he’s penetrating me with an impossibly large cock. “I can’t control myself around you,” he says. He massages my clit hard enough to make me ache. “You break me down. Tear me to shreds. You
rip away everything that makes me human until there’s nothing left but this…” He grimaces, grabs my hips, and rams himself into me so hard that I let out a breathless cry. “This animal.”

  His gaze travels to my breasts, my mouth, my eyes. “But the more I try and stay away from you, the more I think about you. The more I want to do these nasty things to you.”

  I squirm when he touches my clit again, and let out an indignant gasp when his other hand slides down and starts stroking my backdoor. “No! Professor, please—”

  “Gideon,” he growls. “You will call me Gideon.”

  “Please...Gideon.” His name feels strange on my tongue. Taboo. Erotic. Dirty.

  And oh so fucking good.

  But even though I used his name, Gideon doesn’t stop. Because he isn’t here anymore. It’s just his spirit animal. And that beast doesn’t give a fuck about my feelings or my innocence. It wants to claim every inch of me—from the sweet to the depraved.

  I sob out a gasp when he forces the tip of his finger into me. My back arches a second before I wrap my legs around his waist. I hold him in place, his cock buried as deep as it can go as he begins to finger-fuck my backdoor, sending electric thrills through my entire body.

  My climax is iridescent, transcendent.

  I yell out his name, my hips bucking against him as if I can somehow wedge his cock in another inch without him splitting me open. As I unravel, I’m distantly aware of his groans, of the hand around my throat tightening, tightening.

  Blackness edges my vision when my eyes eventually fly open, vignetting Gideon’s carnal grimace. His eyes are on mine, locked on so hard it’s as if he can see right through to my soul.

  His cock pumps deep inside me, filling me with his seed. There’s so much it oozes out as he starts slowly fucking me through his orgasm. It drips between my legs and down my crack, lubricating the finger he’s still thrusting in and out of my backdoor.

  “Christ, Charlotte,” he growls. “You’re holding me like a fucking fist.”

  And that’s because he hasn’t stopped. He’s still fucking me with his dick and his finger, and it’s too much. I’m coming again, and this time it’s with a silent scream that clutches my body like a vise.