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

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  When I get to the ground floor, Luca is chatting with one of the triple A’s. A blonde woman hovers beside his desk. She’s probably trying to get into Luca’s good graces for one reason or another.

  Luca glances at me, but keeps talking to the friendly resident assistant. When I get close enough to figure out which one it is, I consider running back upstairs.

  Instead, I tap Luca on the shoulder. “Where’s the driver?”

  Luca gestures to Andrew. “Right here.”

  I scowl at Luca. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  He shrugs. “Andrew, here, thought you wouldn’t talk to him if you knew who was asking for you.”

  Crossing my arms, I glare at them both. “He’s probably correct.”

  “Hear him out,” Luca says and trots back to his desk. He sits down in his seat, props his elbows on his desk, puts his chin his palms, and starts staring at us. He’s expecting juicy talk.

  Shit. I don’t want my private business all over the campus. I turn to Andrew. “Want to see my dorm room? It’s probably more private.”

  “Sure,” he says.

  Luca winks at Andrew as we stroll by the front desk, and I get the impression I’ve fallen prey to an intentional setup. I shake my finger at Luca, and he takes on an innocent look.

  Dude’s going to pay. I’ll figure out.

  That’s when I notice the blonde Amazon is still floating around Luca’s desk, working to get his special Luca honey, I’d bet.

  I gesture to Luca. “Don’t you worry about that rash, Luca. I’m sure it’ll clear up real soon and the doc will let you have sex again.”

  Luca’s eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. It opens and closes like a goldfish, breathing under water.

  Beside him, the woman’s face twists in horror, and I swear her eyes roll back in her head. She stutters something about checking her syllabus and dashes off.

  Andrew’s uncontrolled laughter fills the stairwell.

  “You’re next,” I snap.

  He gives an apologetic shrug, and I glare, wishing his head would spontaneously combust. He shouldn’t be happy.

  I’ve been miserable for weeks. Why the hell is he so... I squint at him. Giddy. Is he fucking giddy? He’s that glad I’m leaving. What the hell? Effing A. What a douche.

  My dorm room is as ugly as when I moved in. I didn’t bother fixing anything. I’ve been doing my best in my classes and counting the days until my freedom.

  Valentine’s Day. Today.

  He glances around, his expression slightly pained.

  “Not what you expected, is it?”

  “It’s so... institutional.” His gaze moves over the surroundings and stop at my bed. “Except your sheets. Those look nice.”

  I shrug. “I never wanted to be here. I only want my inheritance, so I can travel. I want to work in orphanages and soup kitchens all over the world. I don’t need a degree for that, just money to survive.”

  He doesn’t say anything. It’s like it’s the first time his eyes have been open enough to see the me I am now. It’s intimate, too intimate for exes, and the air is filled with some tension I can’t define.

  Clearing my throat, I busy myself snapping my suitcases closed. “So, why are you here?”

  He steps forward, into my personal space—the bubble I keep between me and everybody else, and his cologne drags everything I’ve tried to forget to the front of my mind.

  “I don’t want you to go,” he says, the edges of his voice jagged.

  The world tilts, and I want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but I’m not his personal pinball. Taking a breath, I close my eyes.

  “I can’t stay,” I whisper. “College isn’t for me.” I don’t even know if he is for me. “I’m not your average heiress. I don’t want what everyone else wants.”

  His fingers graze my hand. “Stay with me. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

  “What do you want, Andrew?” I can’t look at him. He makes me question everything that comes next.

  Why? In my head, I’m screaming at him. Why did you come to do this today? I’m down to literal hours before I get on a plane and fly half-way around the world to explore what comes next for me.

  “I want you,” he whispers. His breath stirs the hair around my face. He smells of cinnamon.

  My eyes pop open, and he’s right there, so close and yet so far. His eyes catch the light that streams in through the windows. My insides twist.

  “Came to fuck up my plan, did you? Did my aunt send you?”

  He yanks his hand back. Hurt flares in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  My frustrated sigh is half-growl and half-groan. I don’t know what to tell him. Do I want him? Hell, yes. I thought he wanted me. After the last month, I’m not so sure. I refuse to be put aside every time shit gets hard or weird or whenever he feels like it.

  “I can’t stay here,” I say. “What does that mean for us?”

  He shoves his hand through his hair and over the back of his neck. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He takes a breath and releases it slowly. “What do you want me to say? I want you, Whitney Cargill. I want you all the time. Do you want me?”

  Grabbing the bottom hem of his shirt, I slip it over his head. Dammit. He’s got pectoral muscles for days, and the definition in his six-pack makes me want to trace each single muscle with the tip of my tongue.

  I want him forever. I always have. I traces kisses down his sternum. I unbutton his pants and drag them down his legs. His underwear follow. Shit. I’ve missed this.

  He grunts with each touch of my lips and then pulls me down onto my skinny-ass bed. He positions his back against the wall.

  We’re face to face, sharing the same space. He stares into my eyes, and my heart thuds in my ear. He’s the best at loving me. Any minute, things will kick into overdrive, and we might catch the whole building on fire.

  He reaches between us, his fingers slipping beneath the band of my yoga pants, but I catch his wrist.

  “Who said you could do that yet?” I ask.

  He raises an eyebrow and withdraws his hand. “I thought we’re making up.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “What?” he sounds choked. “I’m naked.”

  I have to hide my smile. I’m not the girl I used to be. I’m his equal, and he has to get used to it. I tap his chest. “I didn’t give you permission. There’s time enough, but we’ve got to get a couple things hammered out.”

  He props his head on his hand and beams at me. “This is new.”

  “Get used to it.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “I might like it.”

  “Might as well shake things up,” I say. The twinkle in his eye nearly makes me forget what I want to say. A tightness builds between my legs. If I stay here in his arms, I’m going to climb on top and ride him until I come.

  We have to get started on the right foot.

  He reaches for me, but I need space enough to keep my head clear, so I roll away from him and climb to my feet. Crossing the room, I turn to face him. “Why didn’t you talk to me after we slept together?”

  He winces. “It’s bad enough we’re secretly broke. It embarrasses my mother, and she’s pushing all three of us to marry rich women. I don’t want to saddle you with our mess. I didn’t want to marry you.”

  I shake my head. Of course he would think that. “Ego, much?”

  He frowns and puts his legs over the edge of my twin-sized bed, his confusion apparent. “What do you mean?”

  “Who said I wanted to marry you?”

  “I thoughts that’s what we planned.”

  “We planned that three years ago. We’re different people now.”

  “I assumed...”

  “You know what they say about that.” I lick my lips. “Listen. No matter what happens for us. I’m going to Tibet. That has to be clear.”

  His eyebro
ws drop low over his eyes, and his mouth turns down. “Still?”

  “Of course. It’s a short visit. Couple weeks.” At his look, I pause. “What?”

  “My dick will get cold.”

  I make a face. “I’m sure you can handle that.”

  “Naturally.” He chuckles, but his eyes widen.

  “What is it?”

  “Fucking Adam. He told me your trip was the beginning of forever, and I would have known that if I’d asked you about it.”

  That makes me laugh, too. Hard-ass matchmaker Adam. “I’m not going to finish this semester. I don’t like it, and I didn’t enroll here to obtain a degree. I only gave it a try so I could get my inheritance money early.”

  He puts his chin in his palm. “What does that make us?”

  I sit down beside him. “Best friends... with exclusive benefits, I guess. What else should we be? We have lots of time to decide. Can you handle not knowing whether forever is in our plans yet?”

  He thinks a minute and then nods. “Will we tell anybody about us?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. If they ask. Between my aunt and your mom, it might be better to keep it to ourselves.”

  “But you’re plans aren’t changing?”

  I shake my head, keeping my expression straight. “Not even for Andrew Kensington. I’m not hinging all my dreams on anybody else again.”

  He pauses. “Seems fair.”

  I wink. “I’ll leave college, and I’m still going to visit Tibet.”

  “I miss you,” he says.

  “I’m not gone yet.”

  “I wasted a month.”

  “You’re still wasting it, asshole.”

  He lunges for me then, and I jump away. He catches me in his arms and drags me back to my bed. “Come on in,” he says. “The sheets are nice.”

  He helps me out of my shirt, dropping kisses over every inch he uncovers. I lay down beside him. There’s too many questions to hammer out now, and I don’t want to. I’m tired of waiting. We can figure out everything tomorrow. There’s not ever been anybody else in my head or my heart. Not seriously.

  He hugs me close. “Nobody compares to you, Whitney Cargill. Do you know that?”

  My narrow bed isn’t anything like his king-sized nest.

  I lift my hips, and he pulls my yoga pants down over my legs. He bends over me, flicking his tongue against my belly button piercing. Then he works his way down until he buries his face in my pussy, consuming me like a man starved. My hands fist in his hair. He kneads my breasts and twists my nipples, expertly balancing on the edge between pain and pleasure.

  I arch against him, working my clit against his tongue. Over and over.

  Whimpering, I tug at him, not ready to give in to orgasm yet. I want to go together.

  “No,” he growls. “Come on my mouth, Whitney. I want to taste your orgasm against my tongue.”

  A thousand memories flood my mind, and my heart clenches. I want to be linked to him, connected, in the way only two lovers can. There’s nobody else for me but him. We’re together as we were always meant to be.

  Anticipation builds in my center. He’s the best I’ve ever had. Perfect for me.

  “You’re gorgeous, Whitney. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he breathes. “And I love you.”

  Before I can answer, he props my thighs on his shoulder, redoubling his ministrations, and I’m rocketing toward climax, lost in the tsunami of sensations that rush through me.

  He works the tip of his tongue, and I explode over the edge, screaming his name. He holds me tight against him as the aftershocks subside. Finally, he kisses my trembling, inner thigh.

  He positions himself over me, his hands on either side of me. He leans forward until his dick presses against my throbbing folds. I rock my hips back and forth, relishing the rub of his tip against my clit.

  “I’ve wanted you every night,” he says. Then he gives me half-a-grin. “I still can’t quite believe you’re here.”

  “I’m here, and I’m yours.”

  His expression turns somber. “As I am yours.” Ever so gently, he eases inside me. His nostrils flare, and he shudders as I take in the length of him. An approving rumble starts somewhere in his middle and spills out of him. His whole body is taut in concentration, but I’m tired of careful. I’m tired of safe.

  I wrap my legs around him and yank him close. So fast, so hard. “Fuck me, Andrew,” I say in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

  He sinks into me, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

  “God. I love you, Andrew,” I gasp.

  He hesitates, and for the briefest moment, I’m terrified I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “Look at me, Whitney,” he whispers.

  I force my eyes open to meet his gaze.

  He trembles. “Tell me again.”

  I have nowhere to hide, and I whimper. There’s nothing between us, only the depths of me staring into the depths of him. I’m not sure I can.

  “Tell me,” he demands.

  “I love you.”

  He shudders, and a groan rumbles through him. thrusts deeper, and I ride each wave of pleasure as it rolls through me.

  “I love you, Whitney,” he repeats the words I’ve waited so long to hear. Drags his tongue down my neck, and nips at my earlobes.

  The world catches fire and the heat pours through. I drag my nails down his back, and he sucks at my neck. He gently takes my nipples between his teeth, driving me wild. He pounds into me, again and again. He drags my hips toward him and pushes them away until sweat slicks us both.

  Finally, he roars my name, and we climax together, and he collapses on top of me. I bask in the aftermath, love unfurling in my middle.

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

  He sighs a rumbly sigh, satisfied. “It’s only going to get better, Whitney, and, this time, I’m never letting you go.” He pauses. “Well, except to Tibet and wherever else you decide you want to go.”

  I snort at that. “I love you, Andrew Kensington.”

  “I love you, too. I always have. There’s never been anybody else that compares to you.”

  I lay my ear against his chest, listening to his heart. “My plane leaves tomorrow,” I say. “I planned to stay in a hotel. I think Luca’s throwing another dorm party tonight.”

  “We should go to that,” Andrew murmurs, already sounding sleepy.

  We drift off together. The next year will be interesting as hell. We’ve got to get Adam and Atticus paired off. Atticus might need two women. The thought makes me grin. We can take over the whole damn world, if we want to.

  After all, the Cargill-Kensington empire needs a fucking queen and king, and nobody can stand in our way.

  11

  Fish in the Sea

  Adam Kensington

  This is bullshit. The whole thing.

  I expected it to take twice as long. Now, they’re back together without much intervention at all. Now, I’m seething with jealousy over their happiness. It’s ridiculous of me. Happily ever afters aren’t supposed to make bystanders angry.

  I twist the top off my flask and take a long swig of the whiskey I stole from the liquor cabinet in my mother’s office. At least it’s the good stuff. I’m perched on a tall stool in the shadowed corner. The darkness suits my blackened mood.

  I sneer at my brother, Andrew, as he drags Whitney off the dance floor and up the stairs. If I’d tried, Whitney could have been mine. But, even as I think it, I know I’m lying to myself. There’s no way Whitney would have chosen me over Andrew.

  I’m happy for them, but pissed for me. Envy doesn’t make sense, but I haven’t been able to talk myself out of it.

  Luca stands off to the side of the dance floor, applauding the shenanigans and beaming at them like some Italian godfather-matchmaker asshole. He raises a red solo cup to me, and I raise my silver flask. Mentally, I recite a toast to my favorite Italian R.A. Luca still knows how to throw the best dorm party. We both t
ake long drinks.

  Freshmen women bump and grind against each other, and the disco ball reflects all over everything. Music thumps over the pumped-up crowd. People wander from pace to place and room to room with chips, salsa, and queso.

  A girl bounces up and dashes toward me. “Wanna dance?” She’s altogether to bright-eyed and cheerful.

  “No, thanks, cupcake.”

  She giggles and bounds off to find her next conquest. She must get a yes because she drags some poor, unsuspecting fool onto the dance floor.

  Andrew fucked up beyond belief, but he still gets his happily ever after. He’s got the girl he wants, and I’m stuck trying to outrun Marissa Bradford. Atticus is fucking every co-ed he can get his hands on, and I get to hear the acrobatics every night. He’s a fucking three-ring man-whore circus, and he’s working on sleeping his way through the freshman class.

  I don’t know if he’ll ever meet the woman to end his streak. How does he keep the names straight when he’s fucking them? Andrew couldn’t even do that.

  On the other side of the room, a woman in leather pants and an athletic t-shirt works her way across the floor, peering at the surface of the linoleum tiles. Her hair is arranged in a hot pink Viking braid/faux hawk combo. I can’t figure out what she’s hunting for. She doesn’t pick anything up, and she keeps searching.

  When she finally works her way over the space and bumps into me, she spins around as though shocked anybody else in the world existed.

  I don’t buy it, but I decide to play along.

  “Oh, sorry,” she says, standing up. “I dropped a quarter, and I was trying to figure out which way it rolled.” She’s as tall as I am.

  A bit of metal glints near my toes. I crouch down to retrieve it, but only come up with a penny. I hold it out. “Not a quarter, but it’s a penny. Maybe it’s—”

  “Lucky,” she finished for me. She plucks it from my fingers. “I’ll take that luck. I could use it.” She’s got a beer bottle in one hand.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m sorry?” She leans closer. Her shirt hides some ink. I only catch a glimpse, but it looks like the design runs down her sides.

  I tap her shoulder, and I appreciate how evenly sized we are. She’s eye-level in her flats. “Why do you need luck?”