The Disciples: A Dark Romance Collection

by Sweet, Izzy

  “I’m home, baby, let’s go to our bed.”

  10

  Amy

  I shouldn’t feel relieved to wake up with Andrew’s arms around me, but I do.

  And it scares the shit out of me.

  I don’t want to like him, and I don’t want to feel anything for him, but my body isn’t giving me a choice.

  This chemistry between us doesn’t make any damn sense. It’s completely illogical and utterly insane. I’m terrified of this man yet something is drawing me to him against my better judgment.

  I wish I could just turn it off, and as he carries me into his room and lowers me to his bed, I try to do just that.

  I will all my parts to feel numb. I will myself to feel nothing for him.

  His hands pull away and he straightens. Looming over me in the darkness.

  I shiver at the loss of his heat. At the loss of him.

  Already, I’m losing this battle I’m fighting.

  In the moonlight, I can see his dark eyes gleaming down at me. The way he looks at me, like he wants me, like he owns me, is fucking terrifying.

  Immediately, I scoot away. I need some distance between us.

  “I want to leave,” I say, finding my voice, but even to me I sound unsure and weak. He makes me so fucking weak and a part of me hates him for that.

  He shakes his head.

  “I want to sleep with Abigail tonight.”

  “No,” he says as if that’s the end of it.

  “But—”

  “Your place is with me, in this bed.”

  He’s crazy. How do I even argue with him?

  Pressing up against the headboard of his bed, I watch him with a mixture of fear and fascination as he begins to undress.

  He loosens the tie around his neck, slides it out of his collar and drops it to the floor. Slowly, as if he’s in no rush, he unbuttons his shirt. His eyes never leaving me as his nimble fingers work their way down.

  I have to put a stop to this. I have to find a way to make him understand… before he undoes his pants.

  “Please,” I beg quietly, hating myself a little for it. “Please don’t do this.”

  Reaching the bottom button of his shirt, his fingers pause. “Do what?”

  I have to look away. I have to take a deep breath before I answer him. “What you’re doing to me. It isn’t right.”

  He’s so still, for a moment I’m hopeful that I’ve gotten through to him. But then I look back, noticing movement.

  He pushes his shirt off of his shoulders. “What am I doing to you, Amy?”

  I do my best to keep my eyes locked on his face. I won’t look down. I refuse to admire all the rippling muscles he was hiding under that crisp, white fabric.

  I stare so long, so hard into his face, I forget to answer him.

  “What am I doing to you?” he repeats, demanding an answer.

  “You’re confusing me,” I answer him honestly.

  He grins, seemingly pleased by my admission.

  “I appreciate your protection,” I further explain. “I really do. But you can’t keep me… us…”

  “I can’t?” he challenges, the grin fading. He looks angry again.

  My throat tightens up from the look on his face, and I shake my head.

  His voice is as sharp as a bite as he asks, “Who’s going to stop me?”

  I struggle to answer at first. The law? No, I’m not that naïve or foolish. My family? All I have is my aunt and I don’t want to get her mixed up in this. She’s elderly and would probably just expect the authorities to handle it. Abigail’s father? He’s never given a shit.

  “Who’s going to stop me, Amy?” he repeats, demanding an answer.

  For as long as I can remember I’ve been alone. It’s all been on me. Paying all the bills. Being both mother and father for Abigail. I’ve always shouldered all the burdens and this time is no different. I have no one but myself.

  Lifting my chin, I say, “I will.”

  Of course he finds my answer amusing. Hands hovering over his belt, he tips his head back and laughs.

  Filling with righteous indignation, I stiffen against the headboard.

  “I will,” I repeat angrily.

  Anger is good. Anger drowns out the fear. I stoke the fire. I embrace it. “You can’t keep us.”

  “I can,” he counters and quickly unbuckles his pants.

  I lean my head back and squeeze my eyes shut as his pants start sliding towards the floor. Under normal circumstances, me being dressed and him being pantless would put me at an advantage… but not in this case.

  The bed dips and I panic. He’s going to touch me and I just know I’m going to like it. Once again my body will betray me, making me want things I shouldn’t want.

  “Why do you want someone who doesn’t want you?” I lash out at him, hoping to push him away. “Can’t you get a woman without resorting to this?”

  I don’t have to open my eyes to be chilled by his reaction. I can feel it. I can sense it. I can fucking taste it. But I’ve come too far now to go back.

  I can’t let him touch me. I can’t let him get me pregnant.

  “Do you always have to use force or—”

  My ankles are grabbed and I’m yanked down the bed before I get to finish. His mouth smashes against my mouth, devouring the scream that escapes my lips.

  I push at him. My hands shoving into his shoulders then pounding at his chest.

  He doesn’t budge an inch. If anything, my struggle only seems to spur him on, increasing the fervor of his kiss.

  His tongue lashes at my tongue, attempting to whip me into submission.

  I try to bring my knees up, aiming for that gigantic dick of his. Sensing the danger, he suddenly shifts. His massive legs move on top of my legs, weighing me down. Pinning me to the bed.

  I feel tears of frustration stinging my eyes as the seconds tick by and my arms begin to tire from hitting him. My knuckles are bruising, and all this effort, all this violence, hasn’t made a lick of difference.

  His kiss begins to soften as if he’s trying to soothe me. I fight him, hitting him until my arms are exhausted.

  Then I just stop, giving up. Why keep fighting? He’s bigger. Stronger.

  Meaner.

  It’s all a waste of energy. Utterly useless.

  His kiss deepens. His hands caress me, lulling me into compliance.

  I feel drained. Empty.

  Physically spent.

  He shifts above me, removing some of the weight on top of my legs. His hands roam down then he pulls back just enough to pull my shirt over my head, breaking our kiss.

  I stare up at him.

  He looks down at me, and those dark, gleaming eyes of his soften. His hand comes back down, cupping my face.

  “Why?” I ask, my voice sounding so small. Beneath him I feel so tiny.

  “Don’t you feel it?” he asks.

  Slowly, I shake my head, lying to myself. Lying to him. I feel something, like a warmth swelling inside of my chest, but I don’t know how to explain it, and certainly don’t know what it is.

  “It’s destiny,” he says huskily, his thumb dragging across my bottom lip.

  “Destiny?” I repeat with a little snort of derision.

  “Fate,” he clarifies.

  I roll my eyes up at him.

  He just grins. “You can keep fighting it, Amy, but it always wins in the end.”

  “You’re crazy,” I say as his hands slide down, slipping behind me, unsnapping my bra.

  “I’m not the one fighting battles I can’t win.”

  Tensing up, I try to cross my arms to keep him from removing my bra but he just pries them apart. He slides the straps down my hands, tosses the bra to the side, then stares hungrily at breasts.

  Under his gaze, my breasts begin to feel warm and heavy. My nipples tingle and tighten.

  God, I hate my reaction to him.

  Once more I attempt to cover myself but he just pries my arms open again.
>
  “See,” he says with some amusement. “Still fighting.”

  “I can’t help it,” I groan as his hands let go of my arms so he can fondle and caress my breasts.

  “I know,” he says, his fingers wrapping around me, deliciously squeezing me. “But you’re only fighting yourself…”

  I open my mouth to explain I’m not fighting myself, I’m fighting him, but then his mouth covers me. Sucking my nipple into his wet, hot mouth.

  All thoughts go flying out of my head.

  He moves side to side, cupping me, suckling on me. Worshipping each breast equally with his hands and tongue.

  At first I try to ignore it. I try to shut down my senses but it just feels too damn good. Each suck, each pull, echoes in my core.

  I start to squirm beneath him and grab the back of his head. I try to direct him, to show him what I want, but he won’t be rushed.

  He takes his time. Sucking me into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around and around then pulling back with a hard suckle.

  The more and more he sucks and licks on me, the more and more I pulse and throb. I suffer it for what feels like a torturous eternity before I can take no more.

  “Andrew,” I groan.

  I rub my legs against his legs, feeling hollow and empty.

  “Mmm?” he hums, his lips vibrating against me.

  I need to be filled.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sucking on my tits,” he murmurs.

  “Your tits?!” I repeat incredulously and try to push up.

  He pushes me back down and growls. “Yes, these are my tits and I’m enjoying them.”

  I shake my head, even now clenching down on emptiness. “They’re not your breasts, they’re mine,” I moan.

  He ignores me, suckling hard.

  I cry out at the hard pull on my nipple and start to panic when he doesn’t stop.

  “Andrew,” I gasp, tugging on his hair, trying to pull him off.

  He just keeps sucking and sucking, until it starts to hurt. He doesn’t let up until I whimper and try to shove him off.

  My breast comes out of his mouth with a wet pop. His eyes roll up to stare at me as his tongue laps at me, soothing the hurt.

  “These are my tits,” he growls.

  I open my mouth to argue with him some more but the dark, possessive way he looks at me causes the words to stick in my throat.

  “This is my stomach,” he says, his mouth sliding down, his teeth nibbling at my skin. “These are my hips.”

  He grabs me hard by the hips and pushes my ass into the bed.

  “This is my pussy,” he purrs, shoving down my sleep pants with my panties trapped inside them.

  “No,” I protest, sitting up and reaching for the waistband.

  “Yes,” he says forcefully, pushing me back down.

  He yanks hard on the pants, forcing my ass up and off the bed.

  I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know what’s caused this sudden change in him. For a few moments there, while he was sucking on my breasts, I foolishly felt safe.

  I even allowed myself to want him.

  But I’m not safe. I’ll never be safe with this man.

  As my pants reach my feet, I react instinctively, taking a little kick at him. He grabs my ankle, his grip tight, bruising.

  “Amy,” he says ominously. “That was a very bad idea.”

  I’m already fucked so I think what the hell and kick my other foot at him. I know it’s pointless. I’m completely naked and at his mercy, but I want to hurt him.

  Just a little bit.

  My little kick gets him in the chest and he growls viciously, causing all the little hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

  Grabbing the foot that just kicked him, he roughly shoves my legs apart, spreading me wide open for him.

  Desperately, I try to close my legs but I’m no match for his strength. I start to sit up and he yanks on my legs, sending me back down to the bed.

  “Stop, please,” I beg, sounding weak and pathetic.

  He slides up and glares down at me from between my open thighs, slowly shaking his head. “I tried. God knows I tried to take it slow with you, but that’s not what you want. That’s not what you need, is it?”

  He stares down at me and my fear begins to morph into anger again. I wrap the emotion around me like a warm, comforting blanket.

  What’s the worse he can do to me? My angry mind rationalizes. Hurt me some more? Or fuck me with that big dick of his?

  “You know what I need?” I say, glaring defiantly up at him. “I need my freedom! I need my choices back!”

  His fingers begin to loosen around my left leg and I seize upon the opportunity, kicking out at him.

  He takes the kick to his thigh and grunts.

  I try to ignore the painful tingling in my toes. I don’t want to regret the kick but kicking his thigh felt like kicking a column of bricks.

  He grabs my knee, shoving my legs wide open again.

  “You had freedom,” he sneers down at me. “And look what you did with it… You fucking squandered it.”

  I reel back, feeling like he just slapped me.

  “You had choices,” he goes on, his weight coming down on top of me. “And the choices you made brought you here. Your choices put you in my bed.”

  I take a swing at him. Wanting to slap that knowing sneer off of his face. Wanting to hurt him because his words hurt me.

  This isn’t my fault, it isn’t, I tell myself.

  But a part of me feels like it is.

  My hand connects with his cheek and I don’t know who’s more shocked, him or me. I stare at him, my eyes widening with horror. He stares down at me, his eyes blackening with anger.

  He releases his grip on my legs and I immediately flinch, expecting him to hit me back.

  Instead, he grabs my hands and yanks my arms painfully up, pinning them above my head.

  “I’m sorry,” I groan, tears blurring my eyes as I arch my back off the bed, even now trying to yank my wrists from his grip.

  “Oh, you’re going to be,” he snickers, and my heart lurches with fear. What’s he going to do to me now? How is he going to repay me for that slap?

  “Please, don’t hurt me,” I plead as he settles his weight on top of me.

  His hard cock digs into my thigh and the weight of his stomach anchors me to the bed.

  “To answer your earlier question,” he says, shifting both of my wrists into one of his hands. “I’ve never had to use force before…”

  One hand now free, he drags it down my body and pushes it between my legs. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

  Self-preservation kicks back in. I twist and pull on my arms as his fingers push through my folds.

  “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re soaking wet.”

  Shame blooms inside of me and my face feels like it is on fire. My skin burns with my humiliation.

  Even now, completely at his mercy, with the threat of him just taking what he wants hanging over my head, I want him. I fucking ache for him.

  I’m so fucking sick.

  His fingers slide through me, thick and slick with my wetness.

  His head drops down and his lips push against my ear. “I’m going to force you, Amy. I’m going to force you to beg me for it,” he whispers.

  He leans back and looks into my eyes, savoring my reaction as his words sink in.

  “I fucking hate you,” I hiss, and I mean it. I so mean it. I hate him for what he’s doing, but most of all I hate him because I want him.

  Fat, glittering tears roll down my cheeks and he leans down again, his soft lips catching them.

  “Love and hate… it’s all the fucking same to me,” he admits, and then his mouth smashes against mine in a soul-crushing kiss.

  I taste the salt of my sadness upon his lips. I taste his desire mixing with it. His fingers continue to slide through me, circling my clit but never touching it as he kisses me.


  His tongue plunges into my mouth and I consider trying to bite the fucker off.

  But what will that get me? How will that help me and my situation?

  Last night I gave in because it felt good and I hoped that maybe, just maybe, it would give me a little more power back. I had hoped that if I slept with him, perhaps he would be more inclined to spare me instead of killing me once they’ve got what they want from Ivan.

  I never dreamed he didn’t intend to kill me at all…

  “You taste so fucking good,” he groans into my mouth, and I can’t stop myself from arching up.

  From seeking relief from this growing, insistent throb.

  His fingers circle, around and around. Gliding through my wetness. Slick with my juices.

  So close but never touching me there, where I need it.

  The swelling, the pulsing, it starts to drive me to distraction. I try to deepen the kiss. I try to make him forget the whole begging thing but he must sense my intention.

  He breaks the kiss and starts stamping his lips down my neck. My pussy clenches down on emptiness.

  “Andrew, please…” I groan, my fingers curling, my nails sinking into my palms.

  “Please, what?” he breathes against my throat, his mouth hovering over the spot he just kissed.

  I press my lips together, unable to resort to begging just yet.

  He chuckles and then his teeth sink into my flesh. I feel that bite resonating in the depths of my fucking soul.

  “Amy,” he purrs, pulling back. “All you have to do is give in and this will all be over.”

  I shake my head. I can’t, I just can’t…

  But something inside of me is already breaking. My will is cracked.

  He chuckles and begins to circle his fingers harder, faster.

  I rock my hips up, moving in rhythm with his circles. If I could just position myself the right way, I could get his fingers exactly where I need them...

  I suddenly jerk my hips up and the tips of his fingers drag across my clit.

  It’s just a brush, nothing more, but the sensation is so fucking wonderful. It’s exactly what I crave, exactly what I need, but it’s also too fleeting.

  The pleasure fades quickly and somehow, I’m left even more needy. I want more. So much more…