Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  “You blackmailed them to keep us in the same class?”

  “All’s fair in love and war.” He gives me that cocky grin again.

  I raise my hand to slap his cheek.

  He flinches and closes his eyes, but my hand never lands. It hovers in the air, stuck in a Catch-22 of indecision. To slap or not to slap? That is the motherfucking question.

  Finally, I give in to better sense. “You’re the one that set up the partners for the project, aren’t you?”

  He opens his eyes. “I don’t know about that. I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “Sure.”

  He shrugs. “Believe what you want. See you Friday.” Then he strolls back the way he came.

  I’m stuck with one of the biggest asshole on campus, and I don’t know why he won’t leave me alone. He didn’t used to be that way.

  Not with me...

  Three years earlier

  My phone chirps with a text message alert, and I scoop it from the counter, the thrill setting my whole body on edge.

  Mom’s gone. Be there in ten.

  I dash to my bathroom to double check my pill pack. Don’t want any unexpected Kensington-Cargill babies running around our gated communities. I grin. At least not yet anyway. Then I brush my hair and re-curl my lashes.

  Andrew will be here any minute. His mom has a meeting with lawyers about his father’s will, and his brothers are out for the day. Andrew is coming by to pick me up for a belated birthday girl celebration. He says he has something special for me.

  “Siri, what time is it?” I ask, slicking another layer of scented lotion on my hands and arms.

  “3:45 PM,” my phone answers.

  When I slip my feet into my shoes, my phone chimes again.

  I’m here. Come on.

  I’m out my bedroom and bounding down the grand staircase in three seconds flat. In the slanting November light, everything glitters gold, and I couldn’t be happier with the world.

  “I’m going out, Mom,” my yell bounces off the marble floor and echoes through the foyer.

  “With who?” I can’t tell where she is. Probably in her office, pecking away at her novel that never ends.

  “Friends,” I yell back.

  “But who—”

  I burst outside without answering. The bang of the door behind me cuts off anything else my mother has to say. Andrew waits at the curb in his charcoal Dodge Challenger, the throaty purr summons a gleeful giggle from me as I dash across the front yard.

  I don’t relish lying to my mom, so I never tell her when I’m out with Andrew. More questions means more lies, and we don’t want anybody to know we’re together. Too many questions. Fuck that noise. We’re going to wait until he turns eighteen.

  For now, we are our own secret. We’re best friends... with benefits.

  He drives me back to his mom’s house. He plays angry bitch music, and I dance in the passenger seat while he tries to watch and drive. His dad passed away less than two months ago, and the family is heartbroken. He’s cried on my shoulder more often than he probably remembers. I love him so much.

  We hurry through the garage and up to his room. It’s just us inside the million-dollar mansion.

  He closes the oversized door and leans against it. We stare at each other. My pulse pounds in my ears. I’m already so turned on, I’m dripping.

  “Shall we?” he says, faking a proper accent.

  I snort and dash toward the back of his house.

  “Hey, wait up,” he yells after me, but I’ve always been able to outrun him.

  I take the back staircase, two steps at a time up to his room. I’m stripped and wrapped in his silky green sheets by the time he gets there.

  “That was naughty,” he huffs.

  Sticking out my tongue, I shake my shoulders. “What are you going to do, spank me?”

  An evil smile slowly splits his face. His hard-on is apparent. “I might,” he says, drawing out the word in a way that makes me shiver. He points to me. “Let me see.”

  “Let you see what?”

  “Let me see you, please?”

  Slowly, carefully, I unwrap the emerald fabric while he watches. It slips to the floor at my feet, and he’s enraptured. Every inch of skin prickles, and flesh hums beneath his gaze. I never feel sexier as when he stares at me like that.

  He undresses, his eyes on mine. Then he crouches on the floor in front of me.

  “What are you doing?” I have an idea, but we’ve never done that before. I bite my bottom lip and bend down to join him.

  He shoves me away and glares at me through half-open eyes. “No, stand up. I want to taste you.”

  My legs cross. “You want to what?”

  He laces his fingers through mine. “You might like it.”

  It’s so... intimate. His face... down there. I twist in place, undecided. “What if you don’t like it?”

  He beams up at me. “I promise I will.”

  I step closer and drag my fingers over his chest. “I could do you. You like that.”

  He shakes his head. “Whitney. Stop stalling.”

  I take a tiny step forward, but we’re still two steps apart. “If you’re sure.”

  He grabs my hips and pulls me forward. He says nothing, but takes a deep breath. Then he traces the sensitive places my legs meet my hips. “Spread your legs for me,” he whispers.

  My cheeks catch fire at his request, but I comply.

  He ducks lower and drags the flat of his tongue across my center. “Mmmm,” he moans against me. “I’ve wanted to taste you like this for weeks, Whitney.”

  He tickles my clit with the tip of his tongue, and my knees give out. But he keeps me upright and I take hold of the back of his head. He consumes me as though he’s been famished for his whole life. He devours me until I don’t know my own name. There’s nothing in the world, but the man between my legs.

  When he moves away, his face is wet from my sex. It thrills me, but I want to feel him. I want him to bury his cock inside me. I whimper and try to pull him back.

  “What do you want, Whitney?” he asks. He knows I struggle to say it out loud, but he likes to hear it. He loves to hear the words.

  I dance in place. I’m so close to something I’ve never had before. “Can I sit on you? Like we did before?” I swallow, keeping my eyes on the ground. “It felt so good. Please?”

  He shudders, and his fingernails dig into my ass. “Whitney.” Then, still on his knees in the kneeling position in front of me, he leans back slightly.

  I ease down over him, spreading my legs to straddle him. The soles of my feet rest against the floor. His dick throbs against my slit, and I hesitate. “Are you sure your legs aren’t going to sleep like that?”

  “Whitney,” he growls, grabbing my waist and guiding me down. “Sit on my dick.”

  I giggle, but all laughter disappears the moment I shift forward, and he slides inside me. He’s so big, and sex is so new to me, it stretches. I twist my hips one way then the other.

  “Oh, god, Andrew,” I gasp as my muscles relax around him. It’s been three weeks since the first time, but I’m still not used to it.

  Pushing off the ground with my feet, I come down hard. I throw my head back and my eyes slip closed. Heat rushes through me.

  He trembles and lays his forehead against my collarbone. “Do that much more, and it’ll be over before it starts.”

  I lick his earlobe, and his cheek is rough against mine. “It’s still my favorite thing in the world.”

  He groans. Every muscle in his body is taut. He’s struggling to keep control, and I know he’s waiting for me. I push off and come down the length of him. His thighs are drenched.

  The muscles work in his cheeks. “Keep going, Whitney. I want you to come.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  He takes hold of my hips, lifts me up and forces me down. Then he rocks my hips back and forth. His dick rubs my clit, and everything throbs.

  “Like that,�
� he whispers through clenched teeth.

  I hook my hands behind his neck. Back and forth. Up and down. Over and over. I’m chasing something I’ve never had before. I can’t even articulate what it is. In and out. Up and down. He holds completely still while I ride him hard and fast.

  The edge of the precipice rushes forward. I’m going over. He leans forward and catches my nipple in his mouth, sucking and nipping across my chest.

  My heart pounds in my chest. Desire coils in my belly, a tight spring ready to release. “Oh, god, Andrew. Oh, god. Fuck me,” I whimper.

  He thrusts against me, twice. “Whitney,” he groans. “I’ve wanted to fuck you all day. I can’t wait.”

  My toes curl into the thick shag carpet. A wave rolls through me. Something gives way, and colors explode. The sensation wrenches a high-pitched squeal from my throat, and I’m soaring.

  Higher than I’ve ever been. Farther than I knew existed. My heart pounds against my ribcage, and I come crashing over the edge. For the first time.

  Then Andrew bellows my name, and warmth explodes inside me. He crushes me against him, and we fall to the side, gasping and panting... utterly spent.

  Sometime later, we climb into his bed, bringing the sheet with us. I scoot close to him.

  “I didn’t know it could be like that,” I whisper over my shoulder.

  He sighs a rumbly sigh, satisfied. “It’s only going to get better, Squeaks.”

  We fell asleep like that, tangled together.

  We thought we were the king and queen of our lives...

  Present Day

  I drop on the couch in the library. After my other Wednesday classes, I made a trip to the Administration and registrar building. After trying online and encountering error after error, I spent the whole afternoon trying to get my classes switched.

  I shove my backpack. Turns out, Andrew wasn’t lying. Nobody in administration would help me drop the Intro to Art class. How the hell did Andrew get them all under his thumb, too scared to move?

  Because his mom runs the place. Who shits on the hand that feeds them? It’s fucking illegal, but it’s the kind of power money buys. Rules don’t apply to moneyed. It’s as true as it’s ever been.

  To top that, I’ve been thinking about my first orgasm all day. I hate that it’s not ever been as good as Andrew gave it. Frustration courses through me. We never had closure. I ran out and never called him again.

  He tried to contact me. By phone. By email. By throwing rocks at my second story sitting room. But I always ignored him. Then, one day, he wasn’t there anymore.

  I move to the study table and drag the heavy ass Art textbook onto the table. The syllabus lists the class readings, so I flip to the page and start reading.

  “Any luck?” Andrew asks, nearly sending me rocketing out of my chair.

  My pulse pounds in my neck, but I hope he doesn’t notice.

  He comes around and pulls out the seat beside me. He helps himself to the space that’s nearly in mine. “Well?” he prompts.

  I show my teeth. Maybe he’ll think I’m rabid and leave.

  He doesn’t budge.

  “You know the answer to that. I’m stuck in the class,” I snarl.

  Two heads appear at the ends of the rows of bookshelves.

  “So, now you know, you’re stuck with me. You’re mine. Not Adam’s.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why do you want me so badly? Why do you want to be stuck with somebody who hates you?”

  Three more faces appear. The librarian joins them. She wrings her hands. We’re gathering an audience, but I don’t care.

  Andrew leans forward and strokes my knee beneath the table. He smirks as though he hasn’t heard me. “Talk dirty to me, baby.”

  I slap his hand away. “What is your problem?”

  He lunges toward me. “You’re stuck with me, Whitney. Whether you like it or not, you belong to me. Not him.”

  Somebody gasps, and whispers come from the aisles.

  “Dream on, asshole. I’ll never belong to you.” I shove his chair with my foot and it tips backwards, throwing him to the floor.

  A smattering of applause rolls through the crowd.

  “Ssssshhh,” the librarian interrupts. “Please refrain from raising your voices. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  He leaps up and kicks the metal chair across the room. The leg leaves a ding in the wall. “You think you have any control over what happens to you?” he bellows.

  “Fight, fight, fight,” the chant rolls through the library.

  I rush him then, colliding with him so hard I knock us both to the floor. We’re scuffling and rolling over the floor. I land two jabs before Andrew captures my wrists. I can’t swing my hands or scratch out his eyes. He’s got my hands locked in place.

  A siren warbles outside, and students start pulling us apart.

  “Come on,” somebody says in my ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  But I don’t listen. Instead, I slip out of the chair, spin away, dart to the other side of the study table, and whirl to face him. “Why are you here? Why? You could have gone anywhere else? Why are you attending Lonestar Private College? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  His face twists and then hardens. “Leave it alone.”

  “You’re supposed to be in an Ivy League school. That was always the plan. Why are you here?”

  He climbs to his feet and heads for the exit.

  I frown. There’s something there. I’ve hit a nerve. Jogging after him, I tug on his elbow before he makes it out. “What is it?”

  His bicep flexes beneath my hand. Then he yanks his arm away. “Leave it alone, squeaks.”

  The nickname nearly stops me from following, but I get the impression he’s only using it to run me off. He’s trapped here somehow, and I’m not letting it go. He won’t leave me alone. I might as well return the favor.

  “Fat chance,” I say. “If I’m stuck with you, you are definitely stuck with me. We already hate each other. What do I have to lose?”

  He grunts, but he doesn’t slow down.

  We get all the way to the wagon wheel before he turns to confront me. “Go home, Whitney.” He’s gruff, but it’s not anger that roughs his voice. It’s anguish.

  “No, Andrew. I’m not leaving until you answer my question. What’s going on?”

  He doesn’t answer but picks up his pace toward his house. I jog after him, taking two steps to his every one.

  When we finally reach the house, I’ve just about given up hope. How do I force him to tell me why he’s at a state college rather than Harvard? That’s when it hits me, and I start kicking myself mentally.

  I pause at the porch. Why did I bother to chase him the whole way? This is the stupidest shit. Angry tears well in my eyes. I can’t think around him. It’s as simple and as fucked as that.

  With a sigh, Andrew stops at the top step. “Adam’s not here to fuck, Whitney. He’s in class, and I’m not going to invite you in.”

  The words sting, and I hate that I’m crying. What weak-ass wimp shit is this? He used to be so much kinder. We used to tell each other everything. I wipe the moisture from my cheeks. What happened to us?

  He gives me a long look, filled with a million things I can’t figure out. It’s as hateful as it is warm. Then he crosses the porch without another backward glance.

  I don’t move. I don’t know what to do.

  He inserts his key in the lock and then he pauses. “My dad died and left us enough debt to bankrupt a small nation-state. We’re broke, Whitney.” His whole body sags as though his hand on the door is the only thing holding him up.

  He sighs, but he doesn’t turn around. “That’s why we’re all here. That’s why we’re in the same class, on the same project, and together whether we like it or not.”

  He slips inside and shoves the door closed behind him.

  7

  Fuck that Noise

  I can’t believe I told her. Loose lips sink ships.

  The
old saying rolls around my brain while I rummage through our fridge, searching for something—anything—to take away the sting of reality.

  Atticus must fuck an older woman because I find a mostly full bottle of wine behind the condiment jars and empty take-out containers. None of us are old enough to buy booze yet. I dump half what’s left in a plastic cup and knock it back.

  I can’t get Whitney out of my head. She’s under my skin.

  Whitney’s hovering unnerved me. Last time we were together, we didn’t know yet, or I probably would have told her then. Regardless, now she knows why my mother is working so hard to get her precious boys married off to rich women.

  Mom would kill me if she knew Whitney knew our dirty little secret. Keeping up appearances is more important to mom than anything else. Her job is keeping our family afloat while we sort our lives out. Who would send their kids to a woman that doesn’t have her life together? So mom says.

  A figure strolls by the porch window. I groan. Can’t be any of my brothers. They’ve both got classes right now. Whitney should be gone already. Maybe she won’t notice I’m in here.

  Her tastes haven’t changed. She’s fucking a guy who looks exactly like me. If that doesn’t give me lingering issues with women, I don’t what else will. If she likes our look so much, why not come to me?

  We’re lovers turned enemies. Nothing salvageable left. Even as I think it, an ache like I’ve never felt before starts in my toes and works its way up through me.

  A moment later, there’s a soft knock at the door. I ignore it. Surely, she’s the most stubborn woman.

  “Are you in there?” a woman calls. But the voice isn’t Whitney’s.

  Fuck. It must be visit angry Andrew day on campus. I yank on the doorknob and the whole thing batters the wall behind it, harder than I mean to.

  The visitor gasps. “Oh, wow, hello,” she says. Instead of Whitney, Marissa waits there. She gives me a hesitant smile. She’s holding a plate full of cookies. “I came by to apologize for my behavior.”

  I gape at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  She shoves the cookies toward me, but I push them back. “No, it’s fine. I’m the one that should apologize.”

  “It’s okay, Andrew.”

  It’s not. I don’t know why she’s saying it is. She should be angry.