Stalkers: A Dark Romance Anthology

by Ally Vance

  Gideon pulls out of me, and then something hot and wet closes over my clit.

  I see stars when he sucks.

  An entire galaxy opens up and swallows me whole.

  “Stop, please,” I whimper.

  He licks me slow and hard as if he’ll disobey. But then he kisses the inside of my thigh, my knee.

  Gideon leans over me, finally taking his hand off my throat, and smooths back a chunk of hair from my sweat-misted face. “I love you, Charlotte Ash. Just in case there was any doubt left in your mind.”

  I let what he says soak in as I lay there trembling under his strong body. Then I lick my lips, shake my head.

  He blinks, straightens. Waits.

  I push onto my elbows and manage to come to a seat. There’s a mess on the desk under my ass, and it makes the surface slippery. I grab onto him for support as I tug my straps back onto my shoulders, as I smooth my dress down my shaking legs.

  With a hard swallow, I finally force the words past my throat. “What you did was…wrong. So, so wrong.”

  His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t defend himself.

  I pull my leg back, maneuvering it around him so I can slip off the table. I can barely stand, but I make my spine straight and I take my hands off him, and I stare up at him until my neck feels like it will break.

  “I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

  His head tilts ever so slightly, and in just that slight gesture, I see a vast change in him. Suddenly I’m not facing my sexy therapist…I’m staring up at a darkly dangerous man.

  I take a step back, my stomach bottoming out in terror, but he grabs me by the throat again. Pushes me against the wall. His lips twitch as if he’s battling something, but whether it’s a smile or a snarl, I can’t tell.

  “I don’t want your forgiveness,” he says. “But there is no fighting this.” He leans into me. “No fighting me.”

  I open my mouth, but he doesn’t give me a chance to speak.

  “We were meant to be together, Charlotte. If you need me to prove that to you, then so be it.”

  He releases me, steps back. His eyes go to the drawing on the desk. Somehow it escaped our wild fucking undamaged. He rolls it up and drops his head to smell the paper. When his eyes flicker up to me, my body responds with a host of confusing signals. My mouth dries in terror, my pussy clenches in excitement, and my heart thuds, thuds, thuds like a drum.

  “Goodbye, Miss Ash.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rain patters on the roof of my sedan. This is my favorite type of weather. Rain decreases visibility, allows people like me to blend into the shadows. And I can’t have anyone spot me.

  Not tonight.

  It’s been three weeks since I said goodbye to Charlotte, and my heart hasn’t stopped aching since. I barely eat. Sleep is but a fond memory. My every thought, both waking and those in limbo, are of her.

  The way her lips formed my name. The feel of her clamping over my cock. The taste of her arousal on my fingers.

  I haven’t been to see her since that day in my classroom. I knew it would happen again—that I would take her whether she wanted me to or not. She already hates me. She’s already terrified of me. I can’t push her further away.

  What I now need to do is prove to her how great my love is. The lengths I will go to for her.

  See, Charlotte Ash doesn’t know me. She knows only Professor Fyre. Her teacher. Her therapist. It’s past time I introduced her to Gideon Fyre, the man who will be at her side for eternity.

  I already knew what to do before she strutted out of my classroom without looking back. But it’s taken me three weeks to get here.

  The point of no return.

  I snort quietly to myself as I study the apartment building up ahead. It’s uncanny that this man dug out his burrow so close to my Charlotte. I don’t think for a second it’s a coincidence.

  Neither is the weight of his phone in my pocket.

  There’s nothing mysterious about the Universe. There’s a logical explanation for everything if you know where to look.

  We’re not alike, but we do have something in common. This man is obsessed with Charlotte.

  But not as much as I am. And I’m about to prove it.

  Someone slinks out of the apartment building, a hoody pulled over his head. Cigarette smoke puffs out from those shadowy depths before he climbs into the once-red pickup truck I followed here.

  Headlamps flash on. Warm yellow light blooms. There’s a grate as the driver misses putting the car into gear, and then he’s off.

  I don’t follow.

  He is not my prey.

  It’s the man he came to see who I’m after.

  My lips curl up in a smile. I slide a hand in my jacket to feel for the cool, hard length of my hunting knife. Its solidity lends me focus. Strength. Determination.

  I can’t wait to show Charlotte my knife. To leave its wet, cross-hatched marks over her pale skin.

  I will take her to my hunting lodge. I’ve wanted to since the day she kissed me. But it’s not the right time. It must be snowing, and from the reports I receive in my emails, the first snows haven’t fallen yet.

  Pushing the thought of her soft skin and those big, expressive eyes from my mind, I climb out of my car and head for the apartment block. I don’t bother about keeping the rain from my head—I love the feeling of those hard drops slamming onto my face. The cold and the wet keeps me on edge.

  His name is on the label for apartment twelve. How fucking stupid.

  I buzz.

  He answers.

  I don’t say anything.

  He lets me in any way.

  People are so careless. That’s why I have nothing more in common with this man than his fixation with my Charlotte.

  I’m careful. I’m intelligent. And, as he proves a few minutes later, I care so much more for Charlotte than he ever could.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rain waters down my tears until I barely taste them. I should have my hood up, but the sting of the cold drops are the only thing stopping me from returning to my apartment and ending it.

  Everything.

  The first few days, I didn’t miss the peonies. Not one bit. But before the end of the week, their absence became a black void in my mind.

  If I’d had friends, I would have turned to them for comfort. Had my parents not died a few years ago, I’d have called them.

  But I have no one. Charlotte Ash is alone in this world, and as the days dragged on that black void began consuming the tattered shreds of my soul until there was nothing left but a hollow vessel, waiting to be filled.

  Try as I might, however, nothing fills it.

  I shouldn’t be out this late at night, but I’m hoping the diner is still open. I’m hoping I can take a seat, order something, and it will fill me. Even though I can’t taste anything, hunger still gnaws at me.

  The street is empty. I’m the only one who’s dared to come out on such a shitty night.

  Until I hear the splash of footsteps behind me.

  My heart leaps into my throat, strangling me. I speed up, but my pursuer keeps pace effortlessly. I don’t dare look back in case the sight of my stalker makes me freeze up. Instead, I scan the street ahead for help.

  But there’s no one to help. No buildings to dart into. Just solid brick walls left and right. One stationary car a few yards up the road—unoccupied.

  I can’t run. Not yet. I’ll just start a chase. But if I could slip out of sight and then sprint away...?

  The element of surprise is all I have.

  And when I see an alley mouth gaping black ahead, I take it.

  The splash-thud of my footsteps is all I can hear. That and my own frantic breathing.

  I’ve lost them.

  Relief washes over me—even icier than the rain hurtling down into the narrow alley.

  But it vanishes an instant later when I realize the darkness ahead isn’t an empty void like me. There’s substance to it.
>
  I barely get my hands out in time. I crash into a wall, the bricks scraping over my palms, slicing deep. I spin around, already knowing what I’ll see.

  A silhouette watches me from the mouth of the blind alley. It watches me for long, rain-pounding seconds, and then moves closer. Not hurrying. Just walking.

  The closer they get, the tighter my chest becomes. The more my fingers dig into the bricks behind me, as if testing their solidity.

  And then I recognize him.

  Gideon Fyre.

  My relief is nothing but a brief, warm wave. Because the closer he gets, the more real he becomes. Memories of him fill my mind, mocking me for feeling hope.

  I’m trembling by the time he stops in front of me.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” I wish my voice didn’t quaver.

  I also wish I hadn’t left my apartment tonight.

  “I have a present for you,” he says.

  I try to scowl at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Gideon reaches into his pocket.

  My heart climbs up my throat, followed by a rush of warm, acidic bile.

  This is it. It’s finally over.

  I squeeze my eyes closed so I can’t see the knife or the gun or whatever it is he’s going to kill me with.

  Light bathes the back of my eyelids. I struggle to keep them closed, but finally, they pop open.

  I’m staring at a cellphone. There’s an image on the screen. For a second, I have no idea what I’m looking at.

  And then the bile that was sitting in the back of my throat, kept in place by my pounding heart, gushes into my mouth. I turn my head, puking violently onto the filthy ground beside me.

  "He’ll never hurt you again, Charlotte. He’ll never touch anyone ever again.”

  My stomach contracts, but there’s nothing left. All that was in there was that one burst of stomach acid—I haven’t eaten in days. I push myself up using the bricks as support and lean my head back against their rough surface.

  “And now it’s my turn?” I whisper.

  Gideon cocks his head. A strange smile plays on his lips. “You don’t recognize him,” he muses quietly. “It’s understandable. Death changes everything.” He looks at the phone, then juggles it in his hand. When he turns it to face me, I instantly look away, squeezing my eyes shut with a terrified whimper. “Look at him, Charlotte. Who do you see?”

  Gideon needs to be humored. Perhaps, if I do what he says, he’ll let me go. So I look. And I do my best to forget that the image I’m looking at is a severed head. Gideon helps—his finger is obscuring the bottom of the image. I’m left with a view of a man’s face from the chin up.

  Slack. Distended. Mouth gaping. Eyes open, but empty and sad.

  I blink, and suddenly it’s not just a head. Not just a dead person.

  I recognize his nose. The shape of his eyes.

  A gasp rattles in my throat. I wrench the phone from Gideon’s hand and stare at it with bug eyes.

  Peter Monroe.

  “How…”

  Gentle fingers take the phone out of my hand. Gideon grabs my chin and tips my head up. Then he strokes the side of my face, his knuckles drawing warm tingles over my skin.

  “He suffered for hours.” Gideon puts his mouth by my ear. “Not nearly as long as he made you suffer, but my time with him was limited.” He kisses my neck, his voice still managing to reach me over the roar of blood in my ears.

  “Seven hours for seven days, my girl.” Another kiss, this one even softer than the last.

  Questions flood my mind. How did he know about Peter Monroe? How did he find him? Why would he—

  “I love you, Charlotte Ash.” Gideon draws back, cups my face in his hands. “And in time, you’ll come to love me too.”

  We stare at each other as the rain drums down around us. I feel weightless and so heavy at the same time. Clear-headed, but foggy. I have no words for what Gideon did for me.

  It’s criminal. Psychotic. And so fucking heroic, my chest is too tight to breathe.

  I dart forward, grabbing him up in a fierce hug. “Thank you,” I mumble against his damp jacket. He slides his arms around my shoulders, hugging me back just as hard.

  “My pleasure,” he says, stroking my head. “Now how about we get you someplace dry?”

  I nod, but it’s impossible to let go of him. Where my head is, I can hear his heart beating.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  And I know, somehow, that it beats for me.

  Me…and only me.

  The End

  Want more of Charlotte and Gideon? Click the link below to preorder your copy of Under Fyre, book two in the Fyre & Ashes series.

  UNDER FYRE: https://smarturl.it/Fyre-and-Ashes-2

  Limerence

  Alice La Roux

  "Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself."

  Anais Nin.

  Chapter One

  Carter

  “Mmmm, yeah, like this?” Ruby moans, sliding two fingers into herself.

  I feel my jaw clenching as I drink in the sight of her, kneeling back on the bed in a ruffled maid’s outfit, skirt pushed up around her waist. The lacing at the top of the cheap satin fabric has been undone, and she practically spills out of the costume every time she moves, creamy skin shining under the lights.

  I lift my hand and signal to her that there are only three minutes left, to which she moans and cups her breast with her free hand, kneading as she moves her fingers faster.

  Rocking from one foot to the other, I’m mesmerised as she starts to come, her orgasm written clearly on her face. Ruby is unique, the fantasy she sells is almost too good to be true, with her hourglass figure and bright cherry lips. But she’s real. A real beauty, and the gold mask and black wig she wears does nothing to detract that.

  The guttural groan that’s pulled from her lips makes my dick twitch, and I curse silently. I’m hard, which isn’t unusual, but it’s getting harder to hold back. I want to touch her. To taste her. To hear her moaning my name in that breathy voice of hers. To watch her burst open at the seams under me.

  Raising my hand again, I let her know that there’s only one minute left, to which she smiles seductively. Leaning forward so the top of her rosy nipples are on display, she purrs, “If you enjoyed the show, don’t forget to subscribe.”

  She blows a kiss and winks, and it’s like a jolt to my chest. With that, I reach across and turn off the live stream. A quick glance over at the laptop reveals that this was one of her most popular broadcasts yet, with lots of comments and hearts. For some reason, the tamer shows seem to bring in more viewers. They like to be teased, seduced. They’re obsessed with her. Like I am.

  “Carter, how’d we do?” she asks as she shuffles off the bed and pulls off her maid’s outfit, tossing it on the bed.

  “You received over 1,000 comments, and you made a small fortune, as per usual.” Each heart she receives is a donation, of varying amounts from the people watching.

  “Show me the money, baby,” she laughs as she rips the cheap wig from her head, revealing beautiful honey-blonde hair. After pulling on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt, she heads over to the bathroom, where she pops out her brown contact lenses.

  “I still don’t understand why you go to such lengths…” I comment as I begin to pack up the camera. Her blue eyes are gorgeous, and the blonde bombshell look would get her more attention—and in turn more money.

  Sighing, she crosses her arms and gives me a look. “Because I’m in college. And university boys are dicks. Could you ever imagine if they found out what I do? How I fund my degree?”

  She seems uneasy talking about school and how she covers her fees, so I don’t bring it up often. Pushing my glasses back up my nose, I return her expression. “There’s nothing wrong with sex work.”

  I’d been working for DIX Entertainment for three years now, and the pay was great. Steady. I’d been a photographer before...I was still a photographer, but this was re
gular paid work. And once the initial thrill wore off, you realised that sex was sex. A body was a body, and nothing fazed me anymore, that was until I met Ruby.

  She’s crouched down, lacing her sneakers now, which means she’ll be gone soon, but I’m not ready for that. I want her to stay. I never want her to leave.

  “No, there isn’t. But I don’t want to do this forever, and would you trust a doctor who used to masturbate on camera for money?” Ruby scoffs, there’s something in the way she refuses to meet my eye as she says it, but I put it down to embarrassment.

  “Yes,” I answer honestly. We’ve had all sorts of people in the DIX studios, artists, students, a lawyer or two and a few teachers in training. Selling sex is the oldest profession. We all need to make money, it's what makes the world go round after all. Sex is raw, it’s visceral, there’s a realness to a climax that can only be captured through the lens because it’s like a snowflake, melting in an instant.

  That’s why DIX recruited me. I was a photography student, and for my first public exhibition, I had showcased a collection I’d titled ‘Uninhibited.’ I’d spent months collecting the images, playing with light and textures as well as mixing up the subjects as I tried to capture that crucial ‘O’ moment before it faded. My lecturer had called it ‘pornographic perfection,’ but it had been slammed by critics as being a self-indulgent teenage fantasy. Hugh Trent, the CEO of DIX, happened to have seen the review and came to the gallery the following night. He’d taken one walk around the room before handing me his card and promising me a job if I expanded my skill set into film.

  In return for filming some of the Cam girls for his website and taking their photos for their calendars, prints and advertising, I made good money, and he provided a studio and apartment I could use as I wished. He also allowed me to explore…my other interests on the side. Currently, I only have three girls on my books, but across town, there’s another photographer, Lance, with a similar setup—except he’s into the more hardcore imagery. I also know Hugh has plans to branch out so that DIX is more inclusive, offering a something for everyone kind of approach.