12 Days: A Dark Reverse Harem Christmas Romance

by Dark Angel

  ‘In class today, why did you write something personal? If you didn’t write something you consider personal, explain why it is.’

  I can almost hear Ethan’s voice asking me, “Emmaline, why is it personal?” I can practically feel his eyes on me, like they were when he opened the car door for me.

  Ethan

  Touching her, and not kissing her … that’s the most willpower I think I’ve ever exerted in my life. I barely fucking know Emmaline, but I’m stalking her. There’s no other word for it. Today, I planned to run into her, knowing she was taking a jog because I saw her today between classes, getting tense. I knew she wanted to let off steam. I saw her planner when she was doing notes between classes, and her little routine included running. I figured I’d get to see her again…and I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.

  Today, after I looked her up, I knew I was going to poke around campus.

  Planning to run into her, well, they say your willpower lessens later in the day.

  But then she ran into me. Emmaline Travers, the student, the daughter of the woman it took me years to get over. I got irrationally fucking angry about the boys who were going to hurt her…I don’t know Emmaline.

  But I really fucking want to.

  I’m pulling up to my gate, almost entering my own damn code wrong because I’m so distracted. The moving iron gates take a few seconds longer than I’d like, but I’ve got to get inside. I need a shower. I’m sweating, and I didn’t get my dog a run in today, but I know he’ll happily sleep when we go inside.

  Which is good, because I’m going to wash off all this sweat and stroke the throbbing erection tenting my pants right now.

  I’m like a fucking teenager, sweating over a 19-year-old and hurrying back home so that I can jerk off thinking about her.

  Well, when I step into the palatial home that’s just my dog and I, and Victor, well, I’m not so much the teenager.

  I’m just obsessed. Stalking her the way I did today — looking her up online, making sure to take turns around campus between my classes that would lead me to her getting out of hers. This is exactly the kind of psycho killer shit that made me come on too damn strong to Joelle. This is different, already, though.

  I couldn’t keep my fucking hands off of Emmaline. Touching her hair, inhaling the scent of her so close to me. The way she leaned into me when I held her arms … Emmaline looks at me with an unmistakable return of my own attraction.

  This is nothing like what happened with Joelle. I was an overbearing ass as a friend, controlling, possessive, and that shit turned Joelle off. But Emmaline … she likes this about me. Well, she did ask how I knew where she lived. I didn’t answer. But the fact that she’s attracted to me makes my own growing obsession that much more dangerous. It would be just me that got hurt if she wasn’t interested and I had to do the smart thing and ignore it. But how do I ignore a sweet little girl that fucking wants me too?

  That rage that made me punch all those cocky little shits into hamburger, that rage is a product of my desire for Emmaline. But I’m already fucking in too deep.

  It reminds me of another night that went a little differently than this one, but I think of it all the same. I head down my hallway, to my massive library, fingering stack after stack of leather-bound books, and pour myself a drink. I need to dull the ache within me now. The first sip burns good going down, but I can’t swallow back the memories.

  ***

  I see Joelle’s form fading behind the crackling bonfire. She’s wandered off with some guy that’s not her friend. He’ll probably be her boyfriend, and after the way that I looked at Joelle at lunch yesterday, I could tell she knew how I felt about her.

  I know that she doesn’t feel that way. I know that we’re friends, and I’m still being a fucking creep.

  But I follow her, not so close that she knows.

  When they start to kiss, I expect to feel jealousy. Instead, my cock starts to stiffen. Fuck, I’m disgusting. I keep watching though, because it does turn me on.

  They’re kissing, pawing each other over their clothes. I shouldn’t watch, but I keep looking. I won’t stop looking, either, when I notice that Joelle’s lips are not actually kissing this jackass’s back. He’s pawing her, but her hands are trying to push him away.

  I tense up. He better get his fucking hands off of her.

  “Hey,” Joelle says, finally breaking away from him. “That’s enough. I just wanna slow down a little,” she says. The nervous trill in her voice makes me furious for her.

  “Don’t be such a tease, bitch,” the asshole says.

  “Fuck you, Ronald, we're fucking through!” Joelle gives him the finger. She turns to walk away. Her path won’t cross mine, but I have to stay put because if this goddamn Ronald tries anything, I’ll fucking pulverize him.

  “Bitch, everyone knows you’re the slow down queen. You don’t give it to that asshole you hang out with, but I can tell everyone you gave it up for me,” Ronald threatens.

  Yeah, I'm about to be the asshole. I bust out from my hiding place and I punch Ronald’s dumb fucking face like I’m trying to erase his nose with my fist as the delete key.

  Joelle gasps. When she realizes what’s happening, she tries to pull me off of him.

  Ronald jabs out an arm and knocks Joelle over, and that moves my focus over to her. Ronald dusts himself off and touches his bloody nose with a yelp. “You fucking pyscho,” he says, spitting in my direction.

  I don’t care though. I’m trying to help Joelle up. She doesn’t want my help, and gets up on her own. “I don’t belong to you!” she shouts, storming off.

  ***

  Joelle never belonged to me.

  I sent Emmaline away because I didn’t want her to see what I would do. Do, for her.

  But the way Emmaline responded to my order … I swallow down my drink, pour another, swallow that down.

  It goes down sweet and warm, just like her soft little breathing as she listened. Obeyed me. Without question. Trusted me to protect her.

  When I got back in that car, blood on my hand and anger still coursing through my veins, I wanted to fuck Emmamline right there in the car.

  That’s fucked up. I mean, she’s too young for me. So what if she’s attracted to me. Students have always been interested. I never have been. I knew that wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t want to be that guy, no matter how much attention I got. No matter how much young pussy I could have, that wasn’t going to be me.

  And even though I don’t know Emmaline, I think this is different with her. I know it is. Fuck. I put my glass down before I throw it, and grip the desk. I squeeze it harder, my fingers pressing into the unforgiving wood, thinking about how I’d love to spread her legs wide over the edge of this desk and lick her thighs, slowly, until I got to her pussy. I want to bury my face inside of her and feel the world disappear around us. Tangle us in sighs and screams, whimpers, and lust-filled screams. I want to taste the moan on her skin.

  I head back toward the hall, across the house to the kitchen. I have a wine fridge for things I want to keep in ready circulation, and the rest of my stock in the cellar. I grab a bottle of my favorite, leathery red. I pour a glass and think about pressing Emmaline up against the fridge and slamming my cock into her. I want to split that sweet little girl in half with my cock. I know she’s never had a cock like mine.

  It would kill all those panting students to know that I’m built like a monster, a huge, long, thick cock that’s been too much for plenty of women. Some of them have taken a lot of lube and a lot more cock. Some of them, I’ve understood and headed back to my place.

  I’ve never brought a girl back to my place, and now I’m thinking about every room, every expensive piece of furniture or fine marble countertops…and I’d like to fuck Emmaline on all of them.

  Even if she thought my cock was too big for her, I’d take all night to warm her up to it. I’d eat her pussy for hours, finger her and stretch her good.
If I didn’t need to feel her on me more than anything, I might fuck her with dildos until I built her up to the size of my cock. But, no, I’d finger her, stretch her, and get her ready to feel me fill up her.

  I remember seeing those chocolate waves of her hair, those doe eyes. They reminded me so much of Joelle. Joelle’s soft lips make my cock hard, but then I remember Emmaline’s tongue licking over her lower lip when she looked at me. Fuck, that’s what’s got me hard right now.

  Joelle never looked at me that way.

  And all these years I wanted Joelle, and I’ve just met Emmaline, and I want her more than I’ve ever wanted her mother. I drink more of my wine, thinking about taking a sip of this, then kissing Emmaline. She’s too young to drink, so mostly I’d want the taste on her lips to shock her. The strength of it, as I dip my hands to the curve of her breasts, and trail my fingertips along the swell. Take a sip of the chilled drink, and then run my tongue slowly along her nipple. Feel Emmaline arch into my mouth. I want to know what her little whimper sounds like.

  I finish my wine, walking through several more rooms of my house. Thinking about bending her over on my couch. Holding her on top of me in my chaise.

  More than anything, having her in my bed. I want to fuck her so damn bad that my cock is harder than titanium, but those doe eyes, trusting me, make me want to hold her close against my cock in my bed and feel my cock slide through the seam of her ass. Just touching her before I fuck her is enough to make me wanna burst. I fist my cock over my pants. I slide out of my clothes and head for the shower.

  I was glad that I didn’t fuck her tonight. Maybe I could have. But that’s not the right thing, it really isn’t. So instead I’m going to choke my cock so hard, blow about a gallon of cum down my shower drain, and try not to ruin my sheets when I dream about her tonight anyway.

  Ethan

  Emmaline walks into my class late, and I chastise her. Then…I see her. I have to deal with that…did I mention that her eyes make my cock jump against my fucking thigh?

  I had to come to see her. I’m fucking glad I did, because those assholes were going to fucking touch her. But I had to follow her around, get to know more about her and basically fucking stalk her.

  I barely know her, and I can’t resist her.

  That will be the death of me — needing to save Emmaline from some asshole that thinks being a skeevy asshole toward her should lead to fucking. I save her from him and his idiot friends…and I have to cope with how she looks at me afterward. I know that her face was a reaction to mine.

  I’m normally so good at ignoring students.

  If I want to hide something, like my attraction, then I normally can. But when I looked at her, I wanted to let her see just how much I fucking wanted her.

  I squeeze my cock, my other palm pressed hard against the shower wall. The steam is rising around me, but the only touch I want is Emmaline’s. Her little Bambi eyes were big, full of adoration and arousal. I kept her safe, and she didn’t go on about how I don’t belong to her. That sting makes me stroke up and down the length of my cock, pumping faster. I remember Joelle’s face, and my cock jumps. I think about Emmaline’s, and I pump harder in furious strokes. I torment my cock with the twisted images of them. My past denies me. My present should stop me in my tracks.

  But those soft eyes, those pink lips. I want to kiss them. My hands should be on her body, feeling how soft and curvy she is. Her skintight workout leggings showed me the curve of her ass in a way that I’ll never forget. I could smell her sweat, her fear. I want to have her in this shower, washing them off and then erase her pain with kisses all over her body. I want to erase that anguish and bring her pure ecstasy.

  My balls load up at the way I’m torturing them, and little flashes in my mind of Emmaline now, in her shower, naked, wet, shimmering for me.

  Joelle knew she wasn’t what I wanted.

  Why do I feel like Emmaline could? I should tell myself not to be so foolish, but I really fucking think Emmaline could want to belong to me, the way that no woman ever has. I could possess her completely, and she’d love every second of it.

  I know she likes me having authority over her. I saw that thrill in her eyes when I towered over her. Even through her fear, when she read into me, she was aroused. And through her adrenaline, her shock, her arousal, when I gave her an order, she obeyed.

  Emmaline asked me how I knew where she lives, but she didn’t press when I didn’t answer.

  She’s smart as hell. Her paper was a delicious taste of how strong she is. I’m going to bring the fucking thing to bed tonight, after I cum in here thinking about painting her pretty body with it. Because no matter what I found out about her online, nothing compares to her words, written by her hand, telling what she wanted to me.

  Have you thought about me, baby girl? Are you thinking about me now?

  I think about Emmaline, fist my cock, and keep pulling while jets of cum shoot through the water and down the shower drain. I groan hard, imagining touching her. My legs actually shake a little, but I don’t lose purchase with my palm still on the shower wall. Fuck, I came so damn hard. I must've shot out a gallon.

  I remember her story, reading it before I read all the other papers, and grading those others thinking about how I wanted to read Emmaline’s paper again. I needed to read her words again. Thinking about her soft little voice reading those words to me. Her looking up at me.

  I want to see her look up at me from her knees. Look at this cock and see those eyes go wide again when she realizes that I’m going to have her.

  Every hole, hours of claiming her and covering her in my cum, her cum. Oh, I want to make Emmaline cum so fucking hard she blacks out from the pleasure when we’re finally done. Then I’ll take her to the bath, clean her soft body, dry her off, lotion her up, and hold her tight in my arms until we wake up and do it again. I want to hold her all night like she’s a bird with a broken wing that I can’t let fly away.

  The soft scent of her, like lemons and honeysuckle, is all around me, even though I’m using my own shampoo right now. The mint in the air, against the lemon scent of her in my mind, tangles with my thoughts and I feel my cock hardening all over again.

  I ignore it, rinsing the shampoo from my hair. I finish washing up and towel off. Wrapping the towel around my middle, I head back to the kitchen to make something to eat. I have to put the wine on top of something, and I’m finishing the bottle while I cook. I decide against having another bottle, though, because the warmth of the alcohol isn’t dulling my senses, it's dulling my willpower.

  I might call Emmaline if I keep drinking. And like she needs some drunk asshole calling her and asking her what she’s wearing.

  Maybe she has just stepped out of her shower now. She’s probably carrying a little basket back from her dorm bathroom. Emmaline, wrapped in towel, her chocolate hair darker and wet. Going back to her room, and putting something comfy on. A little drawstring I’d like to tug on to see what her panties look like.

  Fuck, I’m a dirty old man, sitting over here drinking wine and making a steak. I pop some green bean pods in half. Put some peppercorns into my mortar and pestle. I wonder what atrocious college food she’s eating right now. I’d like to be making this steak for her. Picking out a wine that would pair well and make the food sing in her mouth. I’m lucky enough to be from old money. I remember how Joelle and I became friends after I threw her shitty sandwich in the garbage. We were just kids, but I had alfredo and couldn’t imagine anyone eating that shitty looking sandwich. As a kid, of course, it was gross. I think I wanted to take care of her, even then.

  I finish the last of my wine and let the memories and the loneliness I suddenly feel sting together.

  I've been fine with the bachelor life for so long. Didn’t care that my relationships never went anywhere. That no one ever interested me. I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself if that changed.

  How would I ever find someone appropriate when I wanted Emmaline? Even if da
ting a student could work, that was really the least of my concerns. Fucking Joelle would skin me alive if she knew I was over here thinking about pawing her daughter.

  Of course, that’s all assuming that I could date Emmaline. I’m thinking about fucking her…and suddenly I want to feed her dinner? Date her? Have a future with her? I’m just about the clingiest fucking creep there’s ever been. Give me a day and I’m going to be thinking about getting her pregnant.

  Yeah…that offhand thought makes me nearly burn myself on the stovetop. Christ almighty, I never thought I’d have a kid of my own. But Emmaline, I can’t write her future for her, shit.

  I shouldn’t see Emmaline until class in a few days. I need to give all of this insanity some mental space.

  I finish my dinner and pour over The Mary Shelley Reader. My well-worn copy has such a frequent place at my table that I have bookends centering my table. Her concern with the results of emotional drama, well, they are my concerns now.

  I’m one of those dramatic, literary obsessed types. That’s why I teach English courses in a college rather than running any of the media conglomerate that pays my bills. They called Mary a hack, they made fun of her, but Shelley was wise and gifted as her contemporaries. I wrote about her as much as I wanted during my time in school, and my family money, well, that meant I had certain loyalties in those that were supposed to be my teachers.

  It's no wonder that my respect for authority has already shattered. I would abuse my authority to have Emmaline. I know about the artifice of academia, and if I did leave this world because I wanted to be with Emmaline, well, that’s my business.

  Such grandiose ideas for a man who has never even kissed the woman he wants to sign his life away for.

  I flip through the reader, enjoying Mary’s letter to Byron. She looked up at the Italian sky and saw only change.

  Yes, that’s the way it works sometimes.

  I punched out some shitty kids and I jerked off thinking about the girl they wanted to attack. I drank her weight in whiskey and wine, and ate a steak that cost more than her whole meal allowance for the month at the campus dining hall…but I know that the winds of change are all there is to see now.