Rowan: Woodsmen and City Girls

by Amber Burns

  “Breath, darling” Thomas whispered the calming words into her ear.

  Placing his hands on her hips, he slowly turned her body and pulled her closer to that she was leaning against his hard chest. He was the anchor she needed to trust if she hoped to survive this night, and enjoying it.

  Both of Thomas’ hands ran up her body, touching her stomach. With the tip of his finger, he circled her navel and thrust lightly into that little hole she never thought would be so sensitive. His hands continued their journey upward until he was cupping both her breasts in his hands. Her heartbeat was so fast and so loud that Enya was sure Thomas could hear it clearly. He squeezed the soft globe in his hand and jolts of pleasure burst inside her body.

  Every little touch felt so much more intense; every puff of his breath on her skin made her jump, making her aware of the hundreds of tiny bumps that rose on her skin; every word he said echoed through her soul and found its reflections in her throbbing clit.

  He unzipped her dress and pushed it down her shoulders. The light fabric caressed her body as it revealed her to him. With it gone, she was standing in front of him in her underwear and the scarf around her eyes. She wondered what he thought, whether he liked her or not. Enya could only guess he did from his heavy, uneven inhales of air.

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  Copyright © 2017 by Amber Burns

  & Scarlet Lantern Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.

  All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  1

  “So, you’re a birthday girl tonight!” The bartender, Chris, winked as he handed Enya her cocktail; it was her fifth of the night.

  Whatever, Enya thought, the night is still young, and what better way is there to dive into the sea of oblivion than emptying one glass of cocktail after another.

  “How old are you? 16? Is it even legal to serve you drinks?” Chris teased.

  This is what Enya got for trusting Lilly with the organization of her birthday party. It was not supposed to be a party at all, just a gathering of four best friends in their favorite bar. How was that not enough fun?

  “61 to be more precise,” Enya rolled her eyes at Chris, who was seriously waiting for an answer from her. She did hate her birthday.

  “You look older,” he shrugged and left to another table, carrying away the tray with cocktails.

  “Hey, hey, give me another one before you go,” Enya called him back. She needed much more than one glass of blueberry margarita to survive this night.

  Six, she numbered the cocktail that Chris placed on the table.

  Chris was her favorite bartender. She had spent more than one night here drinking away her misery. He was almost like family to her. He knew more about her breakups than most of her friends and relatives did. To be fair, Chris knew everybody’s stories: Enya’s, her best friends Lilly’s, Emily’s and Jennifer’s, probably more than half the patrons currently sitting in the bar. Lucky for him, Jenn and Emily had been in committed relationships for years. So unless there was some minor trouble in paradise, they did not trouble him much. Lilly was more like Enya. She had one breakup per year at least, if not more. Unlike Enya, though, the rest of the year she was in some crazy spontaneous relationship. So, it was usually Enya who had to entertain Chris with her hilarious stories of failures and breakups.

  Enya hoped that enough other customers shared their stories that Chris could not keep the track of who told which. Sometimes, Enya was even half-sure that Chris wasn’t even listening to her, just nodding at the right moments.

  Professional instinct or something.

  Tonight was not the case. Chris knew that Enya hated all the fuss around her. Having pity on her, he placed two glasses of the beautiful blue drink in front of her.

  Hello, Seven and Eight, she greeted her drinks.

  “Anything for the birthday girl!” He gave her an air-kiss before turning and rushing away.

  “At least things cannot get any worse,” was the best toast that came to Enya’s already tired mind. “This was supposed to be a small gathering with my three best friends!” she mumbled. “Or at least that was the plan.”

  Enya emptied another glass. Chris couldn’t understand why she hated her birthday. He was in his early twenties, head over heels in love with his gorgeous boyfriend and was having the time of his life in their favorite bar. How could he understand what it was like to be a single thirty-year-old woman, whose three best friends were in happy relationships. Her phone and newsfeeds were filled with smiling faces from weddings and baby births.

  Oh, Thirty-one, Enya corrected herself in her mind.

  Enya stared into her glass, a balloon with ‘31’ reflected in the shiny surface. She sighed into the drink, “Is there a manual on how to make your single best friend’s birthday even more miserable than it already is”?

  Enya was quite sure there was one, and all of her friends had read it. That was how she ended up hosting a party with over thirty guests - most of them showing up with their dates. Perfect!

  At least, her mom and aunts were not there. They avoided crowded places and were sure unimaginable atrocities happened in those bars. They had all called her twice this morning, sent several text messages and emails throughout the day; repeating their birthday wishes so that she did not forget to fulfill them.

  Mom’s and aunties’ most sacred wish was that she found her one and only significant other this year, married him immediately and popped out as many kids as possible at one go. And all of that had to be done this year. As if it was the end of the world. Well, to them, being single, unmarried and already thirty-one was indeed an ‘end of the world’ situation.

  Enya had bitten her lip and offered her favorite ‘I’m married to my work’ excuse. Her mom and aunts never appreciated it, anyway. For them, being a self-employed small business owner was even worse than being unemployed. At least, the unemployed people had more free time to date.

  “You look way too lonely for a birthday girl!” Emily said as she replaced the empty glass of alcohol in Enya’s hand with a new one.

  Nine.

  “Cheer up, girlie, this party can’t be that bad!”

  True, it was not that bad. At least, none of her ex-boyfriends showed up and all of her best friends were having a blast since they had their handsome boyfriends to dance with. Well, two boyfriends and one fiancé to be more precise. Jennifer had been engaged to Simon for a month now and had the giant shiny rock on her finger was the proof of it.

  “It Would’ve been much better if you invited only half of these people,” Enya grumbled.

  “I don’t know most of them, anyway. And I doubt half of them know it’s a birthday they are celebrating.”

  “You could go and meet those you don’t know,” Emily suggested.

  “And even if you don’t know them, who cares? They are just having fun! So should you, babe,” Brandon had obviously overheard their conversation. He hugged Emily’s waist and placed a tender kiss on her temple.

  Enya rolled her eyes but luckily her friends ignored it. Emily and Brandon were high school sweethearts who had been together since forever. They could get so cheesy at times.

  “She did it again, did she not?” Enya heard Lilly and Jennifer yell in unison. “She rolled her eyes at you.”

  Now, all of Enya’s friends, and their boyfriends, were surrounding her. Enya was not ready for the teasing and lecture to come.

  “It’s my birth
day!” Enya had nothing else left but to play the birthday card.

  “Look at that gorgeous guy there,” Jenny pointed at the young man who was standing at the bar stand.

  A bit too old… and too blond… and too tall, Enya judged. Still, she knew better than to comment on their compatibility.

  “He looks alright,” Enya nodded coldly.

  “How about you invite him for a dance?” Lilly suggested.

  “Yup, the birthday girl is supposed to dance,” Nate, as usual, seconded his girlfriend’s suggestion. “One would think after so many empty glasses that’s the only thing you can do!” Nate pointed at all the nine empty glasses on the table.

  “I need another one,” Enya searched for Chris. He was her only hope for rescue when the six of them united against her.

  “No, you need to dance!” Jennifer and Emily spoke together.

  Enya wanted to roll her eyes at them but bit her lip to hold back the temptation. They always struck a nerve when they spoke the same words at the same time.

  “I’m the birthday girl, it’s not me who is supposed to ask guys for a dance,” Enya tried to use her last excuse.

  “Easy!” Lilly happily accepted the challenge and without further delay headed toward the guy at the bar.

  Enya bit her lip again. Her last hope was that the guy refused to dance with her. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Most of the tonight’s guests seemed to have a date.

  Everything that came afterward happened too fast. The too tall and too blond man approached Enya and asked her for a dance in a most elegant manner. Six people out of seven present at the table loudly accepted the invitation. There was nothing else left for Enya than to go for that damned dance.

  Please, let it be a short song… and fast, Enya pleaded, not wanting to get too close to her would be suitor.

  Enya was not a girl to get friendly with strangers easily. She needed time to get to know people. Having her own small business had taught her not to trust people easily. This guy was a stranger, even if was now somehow invited to her party. Enya spent the entire dance wishing for it to be over behind her fake smile. Once the music mercifully ended, she was about to thank him and return to her friends, or even better, devour her tenth blueberry margarita when an unexpected guest stepped into the bar.

  Handsome and so full of himself, It nobody else but her most hated ex; Jake Robins himself. Enya suddenly wished that people didn’t live to be thirty-one years old. Or maybe she had died and was in hell right now. As it turned out, Jake was not alone on this beautiful evening either. An attractive redhead followed him, probably wearing her ten-year-old sister's skirt.

  Enya did not roll her eyes this time. Instead, she grabbed her Mr. Too Tall and Too Blond by the shoulders and practically begged for another dance. Her partner gladly accepted and Enya spend the song planning her escape. She needed a moment to get away from the music and the guests she didn’t know and her so called friends. This was not a birthday, but pure torture and humiliation. She could’ve managed to live through her mom’s, aunts’ and everybody else’s greetings and wishes, but she was no way ready to accept those greetings from Jake. She felt dizzy. Suddenly, there was no enough air to breath.

  “Do you mind walking me to the exit, please?” Enya asked Mr. Too Tall and Too Blond.

  After two dances she still did not know his name, so it was pretty hopeless. Still, the last thing she needed was for everyone to see her leaving alone. Mr. Too Tall could very well serve his purpose pretending that they were going out together. Once they reached the door Enya turned and smiled to her dance partner.

  “Thanks, that’s all I needed,” she thanked her companion once they were outside everyone’s eyesight.

  Enya walked into the cool air, enjoying the cold, dark and solidarity of the city after dark. She took it in with a deep breath, allowing the frustrations and image of Jake’s handsome face to leave her thoughts and slide into the darkness.

  Now, this is the perfect way to spend a birthday.

  2

  Dark L. sounded like a name for a gloomy teenage boy who thought he was confronting the whole world. It felt like a good choice when he was sixteen and started his street art career, signing his works with an “L” letter in black. L. was not a teenager any longer, but his anger at the world had not changed over the years. Nor had the amount of graffiti art he placed on various private and public buildings in the city.

  Despite the hundreds of works he had produced over the years, no relief and no self-understanding were achieved. The only thing L. was gaining was popularity. Ever more rumors seemed to be circulating about the mysterious street artist and his identity. With all the excitement around him, costs of L.’s paintings had gone up at inexplicable rates. It did flatter him, even though he had no idea how one could even want to pay tens of thousands dollars for artwork on a building.

  Those were barren thoughts to entertain his mind. On other nights, creating a piece of an art would’ve calmed him. Tonight, though even satisfied with his work, L. was still too mad at the world to go home and get rest. He was going to face his hateful reality tomorrow and make decisions that his free-spirited street artist alter ego would never accept or understand. He took another look at his nearly finished work.

  Not bad. Not at all.

  L. set back on the pavement, leaning against the wall as he pulled his goggles up from his eyes to rest on his brow. Nothing could replace the calm the night brought to him. The night was his to do as he pleased. L. belonged with its dark tranquility. The feeling of being freed of his daily responsibilities and hard decisions, the weight of his secret, the hectic hours at work... all of that seemed so far away when his only companions were the wind and the street lights. A slight smile crossed L’s lips as he imagined how mad his grandma would be if she saw him sprawled on the cold asphalt with bottles of spray paints all around, creating a mess in the city. She never approved of his way.

  For L. this was not just a way of letting go of his rage. This was so much more, his personal battle against the great all-consuming gray that filled this city during the day. He thought he would sit for another minute and then get up and make a couple of final touches before wrapping up tonight’s session of his private, illegal fun. Right at that moment, something or rather someone tripped over his leg and fell right into his lap. L. was quick to react, catching the falling body before it crashed into him.

  Not that heavy, he thought as he gently lowered her on the asphalt next to him. Probably some drunk chick heading home from some lame party.

  He had been hearing the annoying clicking of her high heels on the asphalt even before she had appeared and literally fell into his arms.

  “You alright there?” L. asked.

  He didn’t really care much about her wellbeing, but if the chick broke a bone and needed an ambulance, that could cause some unwelcome attention to his unfinished artwork. Attention he didn’t need, especially when he still had some final touches to add. Annoyed at her silence, he had to repeat himself.

  “You alive?” he turned to look at the unwelcomed intruder for the first time.

  She was staring at him with her huge eyes. Her auburn hair that hardly reached her shoulders was a mess from the windy night. When she continued staring at him for another long moment, L. realized that she was trembling. He had not yet released her from his tight grip on her shoulders. He realized she was trembling from fear of him, with his black mask and the thick steampunk style goggles he wore to prevent the spray paint from getting in his eyes. Finally, a bandana wrapped across his face completed his criminal look.

  “Relax, I’m not a serial killer or some type of a criminal,” he tried to assure her. “Well… that’s mostly true”.

  L. was committing a crime, technically. According to the city authorities, his art was an act of vandalism. Still, he considered himself a very safe criminal for a young, drunk woman to be around.

  “You look like one,” she finally spoke. “But I can see you aren’t…
it’s in your eyes,” she said with a soft chuckle.

  She has freckles on her nose and cheekbones, L. observed, barely paying attention to her words. Why do I even care? ... But they looked too sweet not to notice. They give her a cute charm, even as she is drunkenly laying on my chest...

  He tried to push her away as soon as he realized that she was too close, but the woman was not as heavy as the alcohol in her system was stubborn.

  “You see that in my eyes huh?” he mused.

  L. knew his eyes were beautiful. No woman could bear that burning emerald green of his eyes. “Too intimidating,” many would’ve said. He was glad that his gaze formed some kind of protective box around him that nobody dared to overstep. Not that it seemed to work on this particular woman, though. She was still holding his gaze; to L.’s shame it was not he who kept her in his captivity, but her keeping him. A scowl formed on L.’s lips at the realization.