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

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  She inches closer. “Have you pledged a fraternity?”

  “Is this some Greek house shit? Or does your mother want you to marry into the Kensington name?” This fake-ass bull is about to drive me nuts.

  Her eyes widen and her innocent expression is forced. “What do you mean?”

  I scrub my hand over my face. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

  She bats her eyelashes at me. “May I come in?”

  “No.” Maybe the door will be enough to convince her.

  I’m most of the way through another glass of wine when the knob on the front door jiggles. “Marissa, I told you, I’m not inter—”

  But it’s not Marissa that stands on the threshold...it’s much worse. More dangerous.

  On the other side of the threshold, Whitney waits on the porch, her hands clasped in front of her. Her hair floats around her, long strands moving by the cool breeze. She has those John Lennon glasses on. The pom-pom hat is nowhere to be seen, but she’s piled her hair on the crown of her head in a messy bun.

  “I knocked. I guess you didn’t hear me,” she says. Her eyes sparkle, almost.

  “What are you doing here?” Your presence isn’t welcome.

  “I came to check on you.”

  “Why bother checking on me?” Your enemy.

  She flinches as though she heard it. “I suppose I deserve that. I want to talk.”

  “Well, go away.”

  She steps inside our house without waiting for an invitation. “Well, now I’m inside, and I have to talk to Adam.” She kicks the door closed.

  I startle at that. “He’s in class.” She should know that.

  “Then I’ll talk to you while I’m here.”

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I can’t figure out why she’s determined to remain. “I’m tired. I have to study for a paper.” My shoulders creak as I roll them in small circles. I’m wound as tight as a watch spring, and Whitney’s is the key to unwind it.

  Except she’s a forbidden key, capable of changing our shared world until its unrecognizable. It’s something neither of us want. With a grunt, I plop down on the couch.

  She gestures to me. “Sore?”

  “Somebody beat me up earlier.”

  Her cheeks flush. “May I help?”

  When I shrug, she comes close. I brace for her touch, but her breath catches.

  Mine does, too, until I remember to breathe. Stupid fucking Lifetime movie shit.

  I will her to breathe so I can breathe with her. She doesn’t sit, but she reaches over the arm of the couch. The initial contact is as light as butterfly wings.

  The pressure increases little by little. Until finally, without a word, she uses the heel of her palm to work the knot out of my neck. It’s not erotic, but it’s caring, and that’s more disarming than anything else she could have done.

  She steps away. “Does that feel better?”

  When I roll my shoulders, I don’t ache as much as I did before. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  We’re strangers again. Exes in the same room. “Want some wine?” I offer.

  Her shoulders drop slightly. “That would be great.”

  In the kitchen, I dump the remainder of the bottle into the only other clean cup I find in the kitchen. Turning to take it to her, she’s there, blocking my way, her arm outstretched. When I hand it to her, I’m careful to keep from grazing her skin. That would start a fire I’m not confident I could put out.

  She takes a big gulp. In the quiet, her swallowing sounds loud.

  I tug on my collar. When did the kitchen get so small?

  Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Will you be in Figure Drawing tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so.” She doesn’t add anything, so I continue. “I think it’s best for both of us.” Can’t go through that again. She should understand that. Even now, the thought of her undressed on the stage excites me in ways I can’t hide. Insta-hard.

  Maybe she won’t notice.

  But she does, and then she can’t take her eyes off it. It shouldn’t turn me on more, but it does. Hells bells. For my next trick, my balls turn blue, and I die of never finishing. My internal melodrama makes my mouth twitch.

  She keeps staring, and I’m just standing here... a dick on display.

  There’s no fucking way around her. So, we just stand there. She’s eyeing my boner like it might climb out of my zipper, attack her, and drag her straight to hell. I slip my hands into my pockets in an attempt to disguise it. It’s about as effective as mustache glasses.

  “Do you ever think about us? What we were to each other?” I blurt out. Maybe it’s the wine talking. Let’s make it as uncomfortable as possible. Why the hell not?

  “Lovers?” she asks.

  “Best friends,” I say. I compare every woman I meet with her. Laughing at stupid shit on cheesy movies makes me miss her. She’s in my head all the time.

  “Sometimes.” She crosses to the hallway. She gestures to the closest door. “So, that’s Adam’s room?”

  “Yeah.” I don’t know where she’s going with this.

  She points to the one her and Adam had sex in. “That’s Atticus’s room?”

  “Yeah.”

  She leans on the wall. “Where’s yours?”

  “It’s the third door. Only one you haven’t been in so far.”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “Help yourself.”

  She darts off as though visiting my bedroom is on her bucket list. Ten seconds later, something crashes. “What are you doing?”

  She appears in the living room, holding a shattered figurine in her palm. “I’m sorry. I guess I got excited. I barely touched it, and it slipped off the shelf.”

  I don’t even know where the knickknack came from. It might not be mine, but, in an instant, everything hits me all at once. I’m pissed. “Why do you break everything you touch? What is it you used to say?” I sneer at her. “Fuck that noise.”

  I know the words aren’t honest, but I don’t care. She broke my shit, and I want her to hurt. The way I did after she ran out of my life and didn’t look back. The way I did when I saw her from the podium on Monday. The way I did when she dropped the robe and spread her legs for the whole fucking class.

  She flings the bauble across the living room, and it slams against the wall above the couch. “None of this is my fault. You fucked those whores. You didn’t care about me at all.”

  I laugh, then, the sound humorless. “I never did.”

  “You were naked.”

  “Atticus wanted me to.”

  She crosses her arms. “What does that have to do with anything? Besides, he’s your brother. Why would he want that?”

  I snort. “He had some wild, twisted theory about triplets and whether or not women could tell us apart. Until you, nobody ever could.”

  Her nose scrunches like it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

  I sigh. “He wanted to know if we were interchangeable.”

  “What?” Her voice jumps several octaves.

  “Best I can figure is, in a world where two other people have your exact face, how interchangeable are you? Some self-discovery bullshit. It’s as nonsensical as it sounds, but Adam and I half-way went along with it.”

  Her foot taps a staccato rhythm against the floor. “Does he know I figured out how to tell you apart?”

  “I never bothered telling him. Why would I? He fucked up the one good thing in my life.” Now, I’ve started, I’ve got to finish saying the words I’ve kept locked inside for three years. “He took my clothes, thinking it would force the issue since I couldn’t get dressed, but I never did fuck them. I couldn’t. You can ask him. He used me to get out of something he didn’t want to do. But I didn’t have sex with those two.”

  The truth shuts her up. She’s never heard that. She never gave me a chance to say it. She peers at me through narrowed eyes, searching for some tattletale sign of a lie.

  But there’s none.

  “How did
he manage to get you naked?”

  “I was in the upstairs sauna. When I came out, the girls were there, and they already thought I was him.”

  Her eyes widen. “The sauna?”

  I raise my hands and shrug. “The sauna.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “Remembering you.”

  I can’t tell if she believes me or not, but she remembers the sauna that started it all.

  Her face twists. “I thought you were trying to fuck everybody in the world.”

  “I’ve never been like that. I’ve never wanted to be. I only wanted you.”

  It was the first time I told her how I felt. Dad’s death shook everything up, and we’d been best friends so long. It was like losing something I’d grown to depend on... a hand or a leg. When she left, none of my heart remained. All I had was the hole Whitney left behind.

  She chews on her bottom lip. “What if we give ourselves what we never had?”

  “What?” I must be buzzing hard from the wine. Surely, she hadn’t said that.

  “I said...” She pauses long enough to lick her lips, and I can’t drag my eyes away as her tongue completes its task. “What if we give ourselves what we never had?”

  “How do you suggest we do that? Yell it out? They’ll send the campus po-pos.”

  She’s cute when she snickers. “No,” she says. “Not like that. I meant something else.” She strokes the back of my hand.

  “I won’t do that to Adam. He’s my brother. You get that? We don’t share women.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Okay. Besides Atticus, but he’s not right in the head.” I pause, trying to wrap my mind around how she could even suggest such a thing. “What would he say about it?”

  “Nothing.”

  This is getting weirder by the second. I cross and uncross my arms. More wine sounds really great right about now.

  She takes a sip of hers.

  “Isn’t he your boyfriend?” I ask.

  “Not really.”

  It doesn’t make any sense. “How so?”

  She shrugs, her gaze on the ground. “You’re easy to torture.”

  Oh, man. Of course. It wasn’t about Adam, it was about getting back at me. “You hate me, don’t you?”

  She takes a breath. “I don’t... hate you.” She pauses. “It was an easy way to piss you off. We’re not together.”

  Maybe I hate you. Instead, I say, “We still have to work with each for the rest of the semester. We have a project that neither of us can get out of.”

  “We can be grownup about it, right?”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  She runs her fingers through her hair.

  My mind goes blank.

  She’s offering... Well, I’m not sure what she’s offering. Maybe I don’t care. It’s stupid, but I’ve wanted her since I caught sight of her. Everything came rushing back. Every inch of her. I wanted to make her pay for hurting me, for ignoring me, and for leaving. But that’s not what I feel anymore.

  Whatever walls I had are gone, and there’s nothing but Whitney in my mind.

  She places her cup on the side table. When she turns to me, her chin quivers. Her eyes shine with unshed tears.

  It’s the first glimpse of a hope I hadn’t wanted to admit: my presence haunts her nearly as much as hers impacts me.

  “I have to get you out of my head,” she whispers.

  When I reach for her hand, she takes hold of mine, grasping it as though it’s a lifeline to sanity.

  I raise her palm to my mouth and kiss the spot where her hand meets her wrist.

  Whitney climbs to her feet and pulls me after her into the hall. She leads me into my room and eases the door closed behind us. She spins slowly to face me.

  We face off. The air hums with tension. The skin at the base of her neck jumps with every beat of her heart, and mine gallops through my mind. Her chest heaves as though she’s been running.

  “This only ends one way,” I say, afraid to shatter the trance we’re both in.

  She nods once. “The only way it can.”

  We circle each other, slowly drawn together, opponents in a ring. One of us will emerge victorious, freed of our history. She inches closer and closer.

  Until we’re standing together.

  Then she pumps her hips against me, and I can’t make logical sense of what’s happening. It shouldn’t, but here we are. I’m taking the chance that’s ours.

  Her silken hair falls over my arm. The strands catch the light, and I let it slide through my fingers. How long has it been since I’ve been caught in Whitney’s tresses?

  Too long. Three years too long.

  I take the bulk of her hair and drape it over my shoulder. My stomach clenches in anticipation, and a thousand nights of craving spill through me. Then I lift her until we’re face to face, breathing her air as she breathes mine.

  I crush her to me, relishing the sensation of her return. Her breath, wet and heavy with promise, dances across my skin. She whispers my name in my ear. The way she used to.

  It’s molten lava, pouring into my ear, through my veins, and down my neck. Stirring urges I’ve ignored. She’s handing me the forbidden apple. One bite will destroy me, but, God help me, I can’t say no.

  She lays her forehead on my shoulder, and she sighs. I knead her back, working lower and lower, waiting for her to change her mind, waiting for the dream to disintegrate.

  Her moan resonates in my soul, and I ease backwards toward the bed. The king-sized mattress depresses beneath our weight. She presses her palms against my chest, leaning me back. Then she shimmies out of her shirt and tosses it aside.

  She’s not wearing a bra, and her tits are bare. When she arches her back, my shock at her obvious forethought turns to ravenous hunger. She takes my hands in hers and lays them over her breasts.

  “Whitney,” I groan, bucking against her.

  She whimpers.

  I lift my hips. “Do you like that?”

  She twists in place, rubbing against me. “Oh, shit, Andrew. That feels so good.”

  Those three words light the fuse, and we race out of our clothes.

  She traces the new tattoo she hasn’t seen, and I lick her belly button piercing, tongue fucking her, devouring her. I position her on the bed, kissing the private places, tasting her, savoring every inch of her. I’ve been starving since she left.

  She’s everything I remember and more than I could have imagined.

  When I take my place over her, supporting myself. My dick throbs against her slit, straining toward the warmth and the wet.

  “I want you, Whitney.” No, I want to make love to you, capture you, and make you mine again. Somewhere, sometime in the slow shattering of my family, she’s become home. I don’t want to lose her again.

  An unhurried smile spreads across her face, and I brace for the rejection, the end of our fantasy. She turns to my arm beside her head and drags the flat of her tongue over my wrist. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Is this what you want?” I have to be certain. I’m trembling from the strain of waiting. “Us? This? Now?”

  She freezes then, peering up at me. “I want this, Andrew.”

  The words break the wall I’ve built. It breaks into a million shards. Love floods me, overtaking every other feeling that was. Whit-ney. Whit-ney. Her name pulses in my mind like a heartbeat.

  I brush the hair from her face, trying to commit her image to mind. I move the long strands aside to relish the view of her perfect breasts, her nipples tight, her body quivering with desire. For me.

  Whatever comes tomorrow... This, I’ll have. This, I’ll remember.

  I take a deep breath, and she does, too. Two explorers about to dive into deep waters.

  We crash into each other like two tsunami waves, two storm fronts. Hot and cold meet each other in an explosion of sensation. Thunder rolls and lightning bolts through us both. Mouth to mouth, a buzz fills my mind. The world tips sideways, and
we’re tumbling through a thousand could-have-beens.

  I thrust into her, and she whimpers. My name leaks from her lips over and over. Control slips nearly from my grip. But I can’t yet. I want to show her how much I’ve missed her. I’ll burn my name across her soul. We’ll be linked forever.

  At first, our sex heart broken and angry. Our hips meet again and again. We pour every ounce of hurt into every collision. She drags her nails down my back, my chest, and calls my name. With each thrust, my emotional fractures knit back together.

  She comes, thrashing beneath me, shuddering on a wave, her muscles contracting around my dick. She’s slicked in sweat, and the flush in her cheeks makes her eyes sparkle. As the swell ebbs, she watches me from half-closed eyes.

  “What is it?” she whispers. “Why won’t you let go?”

  My legs tremble, taut with the need for release. I won’t give in yet. Whitney Cargill is in my bed once more, and I’m not ready for this to end. Using my fingertips, I draw circles over her chest, circling her breasts until the peaks harden once more. Words won’t hold it all. I can’t articulate everything in my heart.

  Leaning forward and pressing my mouth against her breast, I draw her nipples into my mouth, sucking and licking. I capture her hands in my own, lacing our fingers together. As my tongue works across her skin, she shifts against me, wet once more.

  But I don’t stop. Not yet.

  She growls and taps my side. “I want on top.”

  When we trade places, she straddles middle and slides down over me, settling in place. She throws her head back. Then she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Andrew,” she sighs my name.

  I hold still, careful to keep tight rein on the tenuous control I have. Flicking her nipples, I lift my hips, pitching her forward. She catches herself with her palms, and her smile turns naughty, and her eyes sparkle.

  She raises her hips, hovering on the tip of my cock. Then she slams into me.

  She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. When we peak, we hit together. The ground shakes, and I come, bellowing her name. An explosion of sensations hurtles through me, and pleasure explodes everywhere at once.

  Panting, she falls to the side, patting my chest. She’s pleased with herself. With a grin, I admit I’m fucking pleased with her, too. She’s been the one every other woman compares to. That’s never going to change.