Cruel Black Hearts: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance

by Candace Wondrak

  “Fine,” she whispered, sounding almost bored. Emotionless. As if she didn’t care either way. “Then go ahead.” Resigned, almost.

  She wanted to play the cold, distant bitch? That was just fine with me. I didn’t need her participation; the damned restraints always got in the way of that anyway. All I needed was her sweet pussy.

  I wanted to make this bitch scream.

  Grabbing myself, I set my tip right against her hole, still oozing with spent cum. She’d be leaking with mine soon. I pushed inside of her, grunting as I filled her up. I was longer than Ed, a bit thicker, too. She did her best not to move as I rammed inside, but she did let out a soft moan, almost like she wanted more.

  So the distant, cold bitch was all an act, was it? It didn’t matter. I’d fill her up with my cock and my cum, make it so she hurt when she walked. This woman wasn’t my obsession; she was Ed’s. I didn’t care about her at all. She was just a means to an end, a way to milk my dick.

  As my hips started to thrust and I pulled my full length in and out of her, Ed said, “Be gentle with her, Lincoln.”

  I jammed myself inside of her harshly, eliciting a cry from her and a glare from Ed. I did not enjoy being told what to do—I’d fuck her how I wanted to fuck her, and Ed would watch and jack off like he always did.

  This Stella chick wasn’t special, even with her damned eyes. Just another cunt, and she’d end up like all the others.

  “Don’t tell me how to fuck her,” I growled out. Just for that, I’d make sure to be even rougher with her. If she didn’t bleed, I’d know I wasn’t nearly as rough and wild as I should’ve been.

  When I started to move my hips again, as I savagely dragged myself in and out of her, I watched her chest, watched her breasts bounce with each thrust, her nipples hardened points. She was tight around me, so fucking tight, even though Ed had just been inside of her—and that said nothing about how wet she was. Ed had her good, got her nice and ready for me.

  I refused to look at her eyes. I wouldn’t do it. I knew other people probably went on and on about her eyes, but I hated them with a passion. It was like her genetics couldn’t just pick one like the rest of ours had. No—Stella, the little journalist, had to be special.

  I realized Stella was busy kissing Ed, even as I pounded into her. No, no that wouldn’t work for me.

  Once I saw what was happening, I fell on top of her, pushing Ed away. The minute I broke their lip lock, I grabbed her face hard, forcing her head to face the other direction, to stare at the wall, so all she could focus on was the feeling of my prick inside of her, filling her up again and again.

  Ed didn’t argue. He moved to kneel beside her, running his hand over his dick, which had gotten hard again.

  I kept holding her face, refusing to let either of us stare into those damned eyes. If there was a blindfold handy, I would’ve used it. But holding her head at an awkward and uncomfortable angle was good enough for me. I wanted her to know she was nothing special to either of us. Just a cunt to fuck. Just a pussy to wet our dicks with. Nothing special at all. Something to be used and discarded, like trash.

  The first time I came, the orgasm ripped through me, forcing me to arch my back and tense my ass cheeks as my dick spilled inside of her. Knowing she was full of both Ed and mine’s cum—the thought always got me hard. Or kept me hard. However you wanted to look at it.

  I wasn’t done with this woman yet.

  I resumed thrusting, going a bit slower now, though I still held her face to the side. Instead of watching her chest bouncing, my eyes drew to Ed, who was lost in himself. One of his hands ran along his dick while the other cupped his balls. Again and again his hand ran over his length, gaining momentum until he ejaculated. I moved, still pounding away at her, watching as his cum shot across her stomach and her breasts. White and sticky.

  She looked better covered in his seed. I wondered how she’d look with mine.

  So that’s what I did: the next time I felt an orgasm building, I pulled out of her and spilled it all on her belly.

  Ed and I were like animals, just like we always were when we had someone tied to one of our beds. The hours passed, and eventually we grew tired. Stella had actually fallen asleep, even with her wrists bound and her naked body covered in semen. Spent, worn out, used to the extreme.

  I was in the shower, and Ed was at the sink, rubbing shaving cream on his face. Shaving, even though it was two o’clock in the morning. I was no better; my dick was hard again, and I was jacking off as I remembered watching Ed have his way with Stella. She did have a nice, lithe and petite body. I had to give her that. But her eyes? Still hated those fucking things.

  It was only because she was tied to the bed and passed out that I asked, “So, when are we going to kill her?” I said it half-jokingly and half serious, because I knew Ed was obsessed with her, but I also knew his obsession wouldn’t last. They never did. The longest one had lasted was a month, maybe.

  “We’re not going to kill her,” Ed said, barely blinking an eye at my question. He ran the razor down his cheek slowly.

  “We’re not?”

  “No. I really like her, Lincoln,” he went on, cleaning off the razor before doing another line down his face. “You didn’t talk to her.”

  “Sure I did,” I said, remembering her acceptance. The way she’d told me to go ahead. There was nothing better than a woman who gave herself up to be used. “I talked to her plenty.” The hand pumping my dick started to work harder, and my hips began to thrust as I felt my balls tighten.

  Outside of the shower, Ed shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t see what I saw at the bar. There’s something different about her—” It was literally what he said about all of his preoccupations. “—something off. I think she might be like us, or at least more like us than everyone else. She writes about serial killers, for fuck’s sake. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

  As he spoke, I felt my knees give out a little, and a few shots of cum shot out of my dick, landing in the same place it had the last time I was in the shower. And, just like before, I left it. I’d clean it later.

  I turned the water off, flinging open the curtain and glaring at him. “So, by that logic, we should also get newscasters in here, and a lot of the FBI too—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Ed cut in, throwing me an exasperated look. Well, he wasn’t the only one fed up with this conversation. “Have you read any of her articles? They’re…just different than anything I’ve ever read about serial killers before. She’s different, Lincoln, I swear it.”

  I wasn’t really sure what I could do with his so-called swearing on it. Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed my towel and muttered, “I give her a week, tops.”

  Ed’s stare turned icy.

  “What? You’ll get bored, Ed. You will. You always do—not that I’m complaining, because I like what comes after, but her days are numbered, now that she’s met us. Don’t deny it.” I was always a fan of telling the truth, never beating around the bush. Flowery language and meaningless compliments weren’t my style.

  All Ed said before he finished shaving was, “I’ll prove you wrong this time.”

  I held in a laugh, because I didn’t believe him at all.

  Stella would die in a week, mark my words.

  Chapter Eight - Stella

  I must’ve fallen asleep sometime after Lincoln came. I couldn’t remember him leaving, but I did remember him being a grade-A asshole, nowhere near as nice as Ed. I remembered him pushing inside of me with a dick that my vagina practically shook her head at, wordlessly daring the man to get every inch of himself in me. He was thicker and longer, and when he’d been inside, it was both painful and pleasurable.

  I suppose I could have been more vehement in telling him no, or even asking him to stop—not that I’d thought he would, either way. From his posture, from the venom laced with his words, I knew Lincoln was not the kind of man who’d listen to someone like me, so it just felt easier
to nod and accept whatever he wanted to do to me.

  Plus, I was already tied to the bed and worked up. Might as well go all out tonight, right? That’s what I had thought at the time, at least.

  The men were practically insatiable. I didn’t realize men could come so often; I had thought they had limits, or at least had to rest between ejaculations. Their stamina was…amazing. Legendary. There were no other words for it.

  And then, sometime during the night, I’d fallen asleep, with my wrists still bound. I’d probably have some bad rugburns in the morning, but I’d deal with them when I got to them. Right now, I was happy in my sex-ridden stupor and dreamless sleep.

  In all my life, I’d never dreamt. Or maybe I did, and I just never remembered what the dreams were after waking up. Growing up, I’d heard that was normal. Or Callie would say something along the lines of I had a crazy dream last night, but now I can’t remember it. My nights could be full of dreams, and I couldn’t remember them. But, somehow, I had the feeling I didn’t have them at all—because after all, what were the odds I dreamt every night and forgot them all the instant I woke up?

  When I compared myself to other people, I always felt weird. Different. My parents had said being different was not necessarily a bad thing, but they had to say things like that; they were parents. It was their job to comfort their child.

  Although, after growing up and moving out, comforting me and even being a part of my adult life was not on their to-do list anymore. They hardly spoke to me, hardly talked to me. Never called me. Only when it involved Bree and the upcoming wedding.

  I didn’t even want to think about the damned wedding.

  I turned to my side before I remembered I was tied up, but no ropes held my wrists, and I was able to flip to my side and bury my face in the pillow I was on. It wasn’t my pillow, but it still was fluffy and comfy. It smelled like sweat and skin, and I breathed it in deeply, filling my lungs with it. It was a nice smell, even if other women had played a part in making it.

  Men like Edward and Lincoln? They probably had new women in their beds every night, since they were so keen on sharing. I mean, Edward had ropes permanently tied to his bedposts, so the writing was already on the wall. I was just reading it.

  I was slow to open my eyes, realizing daylight flooded through the windows. I should get home and change. I had to be in the office by noon for a four-hour shift, and I had a blog post to edit before posting. I had to get up.

  Sitting, I surveyed the room. I was alone on Edward’s bed, my wrists untied and my clothes folded and piled neatly on the nightstand. After scooting to the edge of the bed, I felt something hard and crusty on my stomach and my chest. Couldn’t say why it took me so long to remember both men shooting their loads on me, but it did, and when I realized it, I knew I had to shower right away. I couldn’t sit in a car for thirty minutes while feeling like this.

  So I got up and left the bedroom, still naked, and headed into the bathroom across the hall. I showered using whatever soap was nearest, rinsing off the dried-up cum on my body. It was almost like I was rising every bit of Edward and Lincoln away—which made me strangely sad. I didn’t want to forget last night.

  It was…well, it was fun, even when it was Lincoln inside me, even when he’d grabbed my face and forced me away from Edward. Callie was going to be so jealous once I told her I’d basically had a threesome.

  When I was finished, I stepped out and grabbed whatever towel was nearest, drying off my body. I went back into the bedroom and changed into my clothes, checking my cell before sliding it back into my pocket. One message from my mom, who not-so-kindly demanded to know when I had off next week for the damned dress fitting.

  My phone was almost dead, so I’d text her back later.

  As I meandered downstairs, the smell of bacon and other morning foods wafted to my nose, and I suddenly realized I was so hungry. Did I eat dinner last night? I couldn’t remember. At the bar, I’d had nuts, half a dozen refills of my pop, and then…a night full of sex. No food.

  Huh. Amazing what your body could go through because it was preoccupied with other things.

  Edward was in the kitchen, hard at work over the stove, while Lincoln sat on the couch, sprawled out in front of the TV. It was on the early morning news, big red banners on the top and bottom that said BREAKING NEWS. I could see his bare shoulders, defined and wide as they were, and I knew he was shirtless.

  “Stella, if you have nowhere to be, take a seat. I’m making breakfast. I’ll take you back after. You should replenish your body after last night, you’re too skinny,” Edward rattled off, sounding almost like a parent. It would’ve been comforting, had Lincoln not chosen that exact moment to throw me a glare.

  The second man really did not like me, but that was fine. Most people didn’t, once they got to know me. It didn’t bother me, and it clearly hadn’t bothered him when he was shoving himself between my legs.

  I glanced at the clock in the kitchen, finding it was just seven. Still had quite some time before I had to be at work, and if I was honest, I didn’t mind spending more time with Edward and his grumpy, pissed-off companion.

  Shrugging, I went into the living room, sitting on the couch near Lincoln. The man eyed me all the while, glaring. I did my best to ignore him, but it didn’t last long—he was not the type of man to be ignored. Too tall, too thick and muscular, too handsome and too mean.

  “I hate your eyes,” Lincoln muttered.

  At that, I stared squarely at him, waiting for him to explain. In all of my life, I’d never been given that reaction before, and I was curious as to why he was so against them.

  Not that I could change them, of course. They were not something about me I could change, unless I wanted colored contacts, in which case the mere thought of sticking something on my eyeballs made me nauseous.

  “Lincoln,” Edward chimed in from the kitchen, “be nice.”

  Lincoln, however, would not be nice. He met my stare—my stare which he hated—and said, “It’s like I’m staring at two different people, like you’re hiding something. I can’t tell which one of you is lying.”

  That was…I didn’t know how to respond to him. “I—what makes you think I’m hiding anything?” He thought I hid something just because of my different colored eyes? Heterochromia did not make anyone liars by nature.

  “Oh,” he said, leaning closer to me. “I’m sure you are. I’m sure you act like a good little girl during the day, but at night you like it rough. You like to be fucked into submission.” He grinned, but it was not like the easy smiles Edward had given me. Lincoln’s smile was cruel, sadistic, nothing happy about it at all.

  It was a smile I kind of liked, in spite of myself.

  “You can’t play the nice card when I know how naughty you can be,” he went on, still leaning closer. It was at that time I realized he only wore athletic shorts, the flimsy kind you got from a sporting goods store—and nothing underneath. His impressive dick was getting hard.

  I wondered how in the hell it wasn’t sore after last night, because I sure as heck was. Not that I was complaining, because it had been fun in the strangest of ways, but it was like his dick didn’t know what a break meant.

  I was here as Edward’s guest. Surely Lincoln wouldn’t just push me down right here and have his way with me while Edward was in the kitchen, slaving away over breakfast? Was it what these guys did? Heat crept up my back at the thought.

  What had gotten into me?

  “I’m not playing anything,” I managed to whisper, turning my head to the floor. Lincoln’s face was mere inches from mine, and I didn’t quite know what to do. What was acceptable. It wasn’t like I was dating Edward or anything, so if something more happened between Lincoln and me, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Plus, after last night, there were hardly any more lines to cross.

  “Really?” Lincoln didn’t sound impressed or like he believed me. “So if I went underneath those pants, you’d be dry as a bone?”

&
nbsp; I nodded, feeling feisty.

  “I don’t believe you,” he whispered, leaning down over me. My back hit the couch’s arm, arching me to him. Lincoln placed one hand beside me on the hard couch arm, between me and my escape, and used his other to unbutton my pants like a pro. “I think I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

  As he sluggishly unzipped my jeans, I muttered, “What lesson is that?”

  “It’s pointless to lie to me,” Lincoln said, his lips near my ear, his breath hot on my neck. His hand slipped down, between my underwear and my skin, and I felt him curve along with my body, digging into the pink folds that I knew ached for a certain kind of touch. A kind of touch I had no knowledge of before last night.

  My breath caught in my throat, and his lips tickled my neck as his fingers slid along me. Easily, effortlessly, with absolutely no resistance. My entire body responded to his cruel smirk and the cold look in his dark eyes. He looked almost maniacal, and it was an expression I craved.

  “Wet,” Lincoln whispered, unsurprised. “So wet.” As he spoke, he slid a finger inside of me, and I let out a moan. “You liked being used last night, didn’t you? Because that’s what it was—we used you up, fucked you over and over until you were delirious. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want more right now. Tell me this—” He paused as his palm pressed against my clit, the pressure agonizing. “—doesn’t make you want more.”

  “I’m not a liar,” I said, glad I was able to at least say something, even though my mind was practically out of my body. He was right. I wanted more. I liked being used. Maybe I wasn’t all here, maybe there was a part of me missing, but these guys made me forget all about it.

  “Then what do you want?” He wanted to make me say it, and I was about to—had my mouth open and everything, but any words I was about to say caught in my throat when my eyes focused on the TV screen.

  More specifically, what was being played on it.

  Lincoln did not let my silence discourage him, and he swiftly pulled out his hand from my pants, tugging them down with vigor and eagerness. Just to my knees, just enough so he could access the important part. The part of me that would satisfy his desire.