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

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  She glances at me and I nod my head imperceptibly and she continues, “fine Alessio. You will be paid but we will have nothing more to do with you. I have no father and you have no daughter. Take him and Giovanni away. I never want to see them again.”

  “Bella.” He protests his voice thundering through the room as he’s dragged out.

  “Baby.” I coo to her as I take her quivering body into my arms as she breaks down crying her despair.

  I nod to my men and my aunt knowing they will take care of everything as Aunt Rosa shoos me away and I bend slightly to sweep Ginevra off her feet to carry her to our suite.

  She continues to cry about the loss of her father but I’m sure this won’t be the last we’ve seen of him. An Italian mob boss won’t give up his only daughter so easily even if he sold her to me but that we will worry about at a later date.

  Now I need to worry about my future wife and mother to my children and the mess outside.

  I lay her down on the massive bed as she sobs leaving her for a minute to get a hot washcloth to wipe her face with. She’s still wearing my old shirt and sweatpants. I can’t believe so much has happened in less than twenty-four hours.

  It’s late at night now and her sobs slowly lessen as she falls to an exhausted sleep the bruises on the side of her face darker and more visible now than earlier. I should go downstairs to the basement and kill Ryan right now but it will wait. He’s not going anywhere.

  I remove the clothes from her gently and pull the covers over her before I go to a window which I open slightly pulling out a thin cigar which I light.

  Staring at the end absently for a moment place it into my mouth pulling the smoke into my lungs clenching the cigar between my teeth. I didn’t smoke often but now appeared like a good moment to.

  “You smoke?” Her voice almost startled me but not much did.

  “I thought you were sleeping mi dulce.” My voice soft and indulgent. Relaxed for the first time in. Forever.

  “I must have for a few minutes but I couldn’t stay asleep. Too much has happened for me to sleep.” Her soft naked skin silky against my back. Right now my dick is as hard as steel and getting harder as her hand reaches around my front to stroke me through my jeans. Up and down as my pants get tighter as she slithers around to my front continuing her ministrations. I groan and throw my head back as the zipper rips down slowly allowing my cock to burst free. What is this girl doing to me?

  Her hands slide my jeans down until their bundled at my feet one hand taking hold of my dick while the other gently grabs hold of my balls rolling them between her fingers before leaning down to take one into her mouth. “Holy fuck!”

  She can only take my testicle halfway into her mouth but as she licks and sucks she moves her hand up and down onto my cock as I widen my stance allowing her more room.

  Ginevra decides to change over because she pops my ball out of her mouth to lick at my cock head as she grips my base sucking and licking as my hands grip the base of her head holding her hair into a ponytail as she begins to go down on me. My balls become a swirling mass of pain as I hold off my orgasm as long as I can because the cavern of her mouth is pure heaven but I can’t hold off any longer, “mi querida. My dear. Please stop. I’m going to come.”

  She pops off of me, an evil twist to her lips, “but that’s what I want my Carlos.”

  I lift her up by her armpits tossing her onto the bed where she giggles and I swoop onto her taking a nipple into my mouth biting down on the tip as she gasps at the momentary pain.

  The ridge of my cock rubs against her clit and her wetness coats me getting me ready for me to enter her. She is more than willing already.

  I can’t wait any longer and thrust into her balls deep, the tightness making me groan in ecstasy.

  Pounding into her over and over I know my orgasm isn’t far off. I’m not going to last long this time. The fear of possibly losing her makes me primal and possessive. I need to fill her and mark her with my come.

  She cries out her release and the keen of her makes my own release thundering. I cuddle her into my arms ignoring my responsibilities for my aunt to handle for the first time leaving the problems of the night for later. For now it was just the two of us in our own little world.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed the stories in this book please leave a review!!

  Coming this Summer Book 2 in the Bully Best Friends Series: MY BULLY PROFESSOR

  Look for it!!

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  CLASSMATE

  Triple A’s Book One

  J.A. Wing

  About Classmate

  Whitney Cargill doesn’t want to attend college, but her aunt won’t sign over control of Whitney’s inheritance until Whitney tries at least one semester.

  Andrew Kensington hasn’t been able to get over his high school flame. When he bumps into her at Lonestar Private College, sparks fly as their hate burns almost as hot as their lust.

  Can the feuding exes find their way back to happily ever after?

  1

  Hook ‘Em

  Lonestar Private College

  Near Austin, Texas

  I shove the campus map in my pocket and yank my knit hat farther down my head. I stand at the center of a starburst of sidewalks. Somebody got artsy with their campus layout, and it’s confuses the hell out of me. The best I can tell, I’m closest to Breyer Hall. It houses the art department.

  The auditorium for the school is across the campus... ahead of me, I think. I chew on my bottom lip, trying to make heads or tails of the information.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty. Navigating isn’t a skill I possess.

  My mother’s sister (and my custodian), Aunt Nancy, can take a flying leap. As much as I appreciate her teaching me about free love and the sweeping changes of the 1960’s and 1970’s, she really needs to figure out that I’m not college material.

  Squaring my shoulders, I brush my fingers against the embroidered crown on my pom-pom winter hat. It had become my good luck charm over the last few months.

  I kick the drifts of disappearing snow. Since the breakup, I don’t give two shits about fitting into the fake world where all the pretty princes and princesses get whatever they want without any work or consequences whatsoever. I despise my gilded cage. Money doesn’t make us any better than anybody else, and I’m ready to get the hell out.

  Naked trees line the sidewalks and the once-green lawns have gone dormant for the winter. The breeze has the bite of more snow in it. Though, the weatherman calls for an overnight, Texas-style warm up.

  A crowd of giggling “perfects” hurry by, and I tuck my disgust behind a façade. I hate the place already, and the brochure isn’t much help yet.

  Mid-year freshman check-in day is a pep rally joke, and it’s already grating on my nerves. I have to show my face to the President of the college first, but I’d rather be unpacking in the co-ed dorms.

  According to Nancy, I have to make it to Valentine’s Day before I am allowed to swear off college completely. That was our New Year’s deal. I don’t want to be here. Thank god the triple A’s have been shipped off to Ivy League schools around the country. I don’t have to see my ex, and that makes the situation marginally more bearable.

  Keeping to the sidewalk, I push my John Lennon shades up my nose and take the next left, trailing after another crowd of laughing, chatting students. Expensive cologne fills the air and inspires memories of teenage parties.

  Aunt Nancy demands a one-semester try before she’ll sign control of my money over to me, and I can take off for Tibet. My passport’s all ready for the stamping.

  Otherwise, I can’t have it until I’m twenty-one. Since I haven’t married the bachelor she’d picked out for me, Aunt Nancy seems convinced my lack of college degree from her alma mater is what stands between me and a regular 9-5 noose that would give me purpose as a “normal” person. She has the idea I need better work
ethic.

  Fuck that noise.

  Work ethic isn’t my problem. A superficial life irritates the shit out of me.

  I shift my backpack on my shoulder. After the morning ceremonies, the students have the rest of the day off. Tuesday—tomorrow—begins the first full day of classes. My schedule doesn’t begin until Wednesday.

  With any luck, I’ll leave Lonestar Private College on Valentine’s Day. That’s my plan. Get enough of the semester over with as soon as I can, demand my money, and get a lawyer if she won’t concede. If the administration suspends me, Nancy can’t break her word, can she? I’ll have tried. College isn’t for everybody, and I’m not about to get shackled into living like a lazy-ass, double comma, trust fund baby.

  At the entrance to the Freshman Day event, a peppy cheerleader bounces up and down, cheering for students as they make their way through the aisle of Welcome Day booths. It’s cold enough to make her perky nipples stand out beneath her lettermen sweater.

  Groups of incoming jocks ogle her tits. They leer at the curve of her ass beneath her pleated skirt, and I can’t blame them. It’s pretty spectacular. A half-dozen loiter, no doubt hoping for a gust of wind to show off the remainder of her goods. The rest move on, scavenging each booth for snacks. At least the cheerleader’s female admirers have the decency to be a little more circumspect about their adoration for her pompoms.

  Shaking my head, I follow the crowd down the red carpet into the auditorium for the mandatory welcome ceremony for the winter semester kickoff. Forty days. That’s all. I can put up with anything for five and a half weeks.

  I take my seat on the nearest bleacher, settling in the front row to the right of the stage. A tall woman lingers at the far side. She checks her broach clock twice and then steps out. I hope nobody can see how hard my eyes roll.

  Elizabeth Kensington is the president of the college and my aunt’s best friend. She approaches the lectern. Impeccably dressed in a skirt suit with her graying hair in a tight bun at the top of her head, she scans the crowd, waiting for the students to settle down. A minute later, a bell rings, and she clears her throat. A hush settles over the attendees.

  I’ve known President Kensington long enough to know she embodies all the fakery I want to leave behind. She’s everything my aunt wants me to be.

  That shit is not happening.

  The president smiles at the student body, her bright red lips a stark contrast to her whitened teeth. She practically beams at her charges. “To all of the returning students, welcome back to Lonestar Private College. To our handful of new students, welcome. We hope you’ll flourish here.”

  I study the well-dressed woman a moment longer. Long legs, thin waist, she’s sexy in a get-important-shit-done way. She’s probably given this address a dozen times before. The woman imagines herself some kind of collegiate-level Mary Poppins. Why does it feel like she’s talking to me specifically?

  I grimace. Probably because she’s best friends with my aunt and personally facilitated my last-minute enrollment against my will. I tug the map out of my pocket and tune out the rest of the twenty-minute talk. I have to decipher where the dorms are in relation to the auditorium and if my clothes have been delivered.

  I nearly jump off the bench when the student next to me let out a loud “whoop!” and the air around us reverberates with applause.

  Ms. Kensington raises her hands, and the volume in the gigantic room drops dramatically. “As is our first day tradition, you’re all invited to attend Lonestar’s welcome breakfast.”

  More clapping fills the drafty auditorium. The jocks yell and holler, and the cheerleaders bounce in place. Everybody’s happy to be here.

  Except me.

  A movement at the far end of the stage catches my eye. Three identical men appear at the entrance and Ms. Kensington welcomes them onto the stage.

  My heart pounds in my ears, and my throat dries. The world stops as I drink in their high cheeks, their haphazard hair, and their rakish grins.

  Shit. The Kensington Triplets—or the triple A’s—shouldn’t be here. Why hadn’t anybody mentioned that to me? Why hadn’t my aunt mentioned it while she went on and on about the Beatles and John Lennon? Scheming bitch. She still hopes I’ll change my mind about Andrew.

  They aren’t supposed to be students at this private college. They’re supposed to be at Harvard or Stanford. Instead, the three saunter in, high-fiving and fist-bumping as they go. They strut across the stage like minor celebrities. Big, sexy fish on a small campus, flashing drop-dead smiles, tight t-shirts showing off the bulges of their pecs and biceps.

  One of them stops at titty, pom-pom girl and kisses her on the mouth. She rubs her chest against his. They’re going to have to call the janitor to mop all the envious jock drool that’s dribbling on the floor.

  The whole damn cheerleading squad swoons, and half the crowd yell their approval. One brave soul demands to see her tits. My eyes drop to the khaki slacks they all wear. Rock hard asses flex beneath the fabric. They’re as tight and sexy as they used to me.

  “Mmmm,” I murmur to myself and scan the crowd behind me. Despite my irritation about being forced to attend, they are some incredible studs around.

  The girl next to me rams her elbow into my side. She doesn’t even bother to turn to look at me. “Do you see them?” she whispers.

  “Who?”

  “The triplets.”

  “Sure,” I grunted. How could I miss them? The chestnut hair flecked with blond and red, the Nordic features, and the athletic bodies would be hard to miss. X 3. Still as delectably gorgeous as I remembered.

  She clutches her hands in front of her chest. “Do you think they all look the same when they’re naked?”

  I consider them. They had reasonably similar buff Legolas physiques, but my experience is limited to one of the three. “Probably,” I say.

  I don’t want to tell her about the chest hair that dusts an incredible chest and trails down his abdomen to disappear beneath his waist band... or the way I used to drag my tongue across the birthmark on his thigh. Or any of the other memories bombarding my brain.

  “How do you know?” she asks, breathless and giddy. She reminds me of the old motion pictures of the Beatles craze.

  I tip my head to the side. “They’re triplets. They’re as alike as anybody else on the planet. Can’t get much more alike, right?”

  She nods emphatically, but adds nothing else.

  Theoretically, when you’ve see one, you’ve seen them all, right? But I don’t want to say that aloud either. If she gives them enough time, one or more of them will probably make their way around to her.

  Ms. Kensington gestures once more, interrupting anything else my seatmate might have to say. As one, the entire student body stands to wait for dismissal.

  “See you in the student hall,” Ms. Kensington announces.

  From my place in the audience, I can’t tell which one he is, but one of them is my ex-asshole, Andrew Kensington. I’m pretty sure it’s the nearest one, but it’s been a long time since we’ve been an item.

  We’d been hot and heavy as teenagers. Nobody knew about it, though, and it fell apart when I caught him fucking a couple of his brother’s girlfriends.

  Students file out of the bleachers, and I grab my bag. A svelte young man in a maroon blazer jogs toward me, the Lonestar College crest emblazed over the left breast. The gold thread glints in the lights. Ignoring him, I start to move away, hoping he’s aimed at someone else.

  “Miss Cargill? Miss Whitney Cargill.”

  Dammit. That’s me. I stop and turn back. “Yes?”

  “President Kensington has requested your presence at her breakfast table.”

  Of course she had.

  “Thanks,” I hiss, hoping the expression I plaster on my face resembles a smile.

  “You’re welcome,” he says and offers a slight bow. Then the young man darts off to his next task.

  I stare daggers at the offending woman as she sweeps acros
s the stage toward the exit. Her sons follow her, carrying on an animated conversation. I don’t care if she is the president of the college. It’s a free county, and I don’t have to go, and I won’t. They claim the breakfast is mandatory, but what are they going to do? Expel me for skipping reconstituted scrambled eggs and day-old hash browns?

  Bring it on. Nothing would make me happier.

  One of the triple A’s stops short, stiffens, and then whirls around. He scans the crowd until his eyes met mine. So much for slipping out unnoticed.

  Andrew. It had to be. His name echoes in my head. He’s too far away for me to see the pattern of the freckles on his cheek, but I know it’s not Atticus or Adam. It’s Andrew. His jawline still makes my mouth water, and his jawline still makes my mouth water.

  The knowledge does strange, trembly things to my knees. He starts toward me, his steps strong and determined. His expression stokes the fire in my belly, and heat builds between my legs.

  I grip the bleachers beside me, trying to remember why I hated him, why I could never give into him again.

  His dark eyes glitter, and the pink of his tongue smooths against the mauve of his lips.

  My insides clench. I should run. I should get away. But my feet won’t go. I need to get away, but I can’t remember why. I’m standing here like an idiot, racking my brain.

  Best friend fucker. That’s what he is. That’s why I hate him.

  He comes to a stop in front of me, and I keep my eyes on his. No matter how much I want to look down or brush up against his zipper to see if I’m impacting him as much as he’s impacting me.

  “Whitney,” he says, his voice low and gravely. His cologne wafts over me, dragging memories through my thoughts. His mouth on my breasts, bucking and rolling against his hips in the spare bedrooms and the rush of hiding our relationship from our parents.

  Effing a. He had been my first, and I hadn’t bothered with anything serious since him. My knuckles turn white, and I grit my teeth.