Labor of Love Anthology: 10 Anecdotes of Love and the Struggles Within

by Aliyah Burke

  It’s strange to know someone your whole life but not know them at all. We sat out on the dock under the moonlight polishing off the bottle of vodka and a pizza we ordered.

  To be honest, I don’t remember ever feeling so relaxed and talkative with anyone.

  It turns out his childhood was just as fucked up as mine. The death of his uncle and my aunt seemed to pave the way for our paths of destruction. His grandfather used his father as a way to take out his aggression. When his father married his mother, those demons were never exorcized which left Abe’s mother to find solace in a bottle.

  Obviously, he caught the brunt of that shit storm. He went to college but never went on to play pro ball. His own inner demons, which he kept locked away just as I did, stopped that. So, instead, he stayed close to home, worked various jobs with his hands, drank because it was there, and left a string of scorned women due to his unavailable, or should I say, nonexistent, heart. Basically, he was the male version of myself.

  We had a lot more in common than I realized. The only difference was that he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. He wasn’t a fake like I was. He didn’t trust anyone and definitely was not a people person, and if you couldn’t deal with that, oh fucking well.

  It wasn’t until later on the next morning that things, well, picked up right where they left off all those years ago.

  I kicked myself for not digging through the groceries I had delivered to the house before I arrived yesterday. Coffee was the only thing on my mind as my rather hung-over self made its way to down the hallway in just my t-shirt and panties. All I was able to muster at that moment was to brush my teeth.

  There was no sign of Abe, he wouldn’t be here this early in the morning after we spent the night with that bottle, so a pantsless me was the least of my worries. I didn’t even know where they were, or how they came off in the first place.

  I fumbled making the pot of coffee and headed through the living room as I carefully put the soup bowl size coffee mug to my lips.

  “Morning, Sunshine.”

  I froze before turning around. I tugged at my t-shirt to cover my black lace panties.

  “You really need to stop doing that,” I replied with a smirk.

  “A little hung-over, are we?”

  “Shouldn’t you be, as well?” I asked, turning to face him.

  “Hell, no. I’m a professional,” he said, with a smile. I shook my head. I liked his smile.

  “Coffee?”

  “Milk and a little sugar,” he instructed.

  “I was going to say, help yourself.”

  “Why would I do that when I have you to do it for me?”

  “Very funny,” I said, remembering last night’s smartass banter. That seemed to be the way we communicate.

  I prepared his coffee and slid the mug towards him.

  “So, you’re an author. What kind of stuff do you write about?” he asked, as he focused on stirring the spoon in his cup.

  “I’m pretty sure I told you last night. How quickly you forget,” I smirked, sipping my coffee.

  “Did you miss the part about you getting me drunk last night?” he joked.

  “Touché,” I chuckled, as I took another sip.

  “I write paranormal dark romance novels, the graphic kind, the… kinky kind.” He stopped stirring his coffee and looked up at me with those intoxicating blue eyes of his. What the fuck was that? Did my stomach just flip?

  “Why?” he asked dryly.

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t answer a question with a question,” he joked, narrowing his gaze.

  “Because, I’m good at it,” I answered. What the hell kind of response was that? Oh my God, my armpits are sweating! Why the fuck am I on edge? He asked me a simple question that I have been asked a million times before.

  “Really, that’s all you got?” he asked, sipping from his cup.

  “Well, I don’t understand the question. Could you be more specific?”

  “Why is the girl who doesn’t do love or emotions writing about it? The paranormal shit I can understand,” he said with a smile.

  “You could be a character in my next book. I will totally kill you.”

  “On Blue Lake? It’s only fitting.”

  “Duh.”

  “How?” he inquired.

  “Oh, an ice pick, gory as fuck.”

  “While I’m getting laid?”

  “Is there any other way? Then I’ll dump your body in the lake,” I answered sarcastically.

  “You better get writing,” he laughed.

  I tugged at my shirt once again as I continued on through the living room to the glass sliding doors.

  “Any particular reason you keep pulling your shirt down? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” he commented. There it was, the first mention of our sordid past.

  I smiled, and bit the inside of my lip.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I could hear the heavy thud of his work boots coming towards me from behind, and the sound of his coffee cup which he sat on the coffee table next to me. Turn around Shaye, turn around and face him! Nope, I was still facing the view of lake, and nervous as hell. I don’t do nervous, I don’t even remember what nervous felt like.

  The broadness of his chest brushed against my back, his breath on my neck as his lips grazed my earlobe. He was taunting me, just enough to awaken the ache between my legs.

  “I may not have remembered the genre you write, but I do remember what your ass looked like bent over the hood of my car on Bakers Hill,” he whispered. I turned my head slightly, my eyes lowered, afraid to look him in the eye. He didn’t move, he waited, my breath labored as his lips grazed mine.

  I was never one for intimacy but, I don’t know, something was off. I craved his kiss. I felt like I stopped thinking, breathing, and the only thing I could do was to take what he was offering. With every flicker of his tongue, the familiarity of his lips, and the way he tasted, all I wanted was more, more of Abe.

  I pulled him in closer by the back of his neck as his hand slipped into my damp panties. I inhaled from his touch. His fingers were rough against my slickness, it was just what I needed, all that I needed. It had been a long time since I had been worked over by a blue- collar man. I ground my hips against him as he stretched me with one hand and the other slowly inched its way up my shirt. My nipples reacted under his touch.

  There we were against the glass door, Abe finger fucking me, my breasts exposed and neither one of us gave a fuck. Getting it on in public was something we were used to.

  He slowly pulled his fingers from my panties, tore himself away from my lips and sucked at his fingers. I turned to him in silence, and that’s when I attacked him. I ripped my shirt over my head as he did the same. I pulled him into me by his buckle as he grabbed my face and set my lips on fire, once again, with his own.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck as his massive hands grabbed me by my ass and I coiled my legs around his waist like a snake.

  I don’t know what had gotten into me but he was like steel and I was the magnet. I hadn’t landed on the sofa yet before he yanked my panties to the side and he assaulted me with his tongue. The scruff of his beard against the smoothness of my lips curled my fucking toes.

  I’m not sure if it was the way he tongue fucked me and stroked my swollen clit at the same time, or when he sucked it and filled me with his thick fingers, but I was coming undone.

  As he climbed on top of me, I pulled him towards me to taste myself on his lips.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, as I rubbed against his hard cock. It needed to be released, and I was just the one to do it.

  I fumbled with his belt, followed by the button of his jeans until I reached the reward inside.

  I stroked him with a need I couldn’t begin to comprehend. He pulled away from me, shoving his jeans and boxers to the floor. He grabbed at my calf and flipped me over, then pulled me by the waist aggressively, until I was on my kn
ees. He knelt behind me and buried himself inside me.

  Fucking someone you had fucked well over fifteen years ago is euphoric. The chemistry was just as intense as when we were young, but now we were more mature and fully aware of how to please one another.

  The thickness of his cock stretched me, my tightness greeted him like the perfect hostess as he slowly began to rock his hips back and forth. The sounds of my own wetness turned me on even more. I moaned when he grabbed a fist full of my hair and leaned in to kiss me, as he continued to fill me to the hilt. My hand gripped the arm of the sofa, his fingers intertwined with mine as we fucked away our past into the present.

  “Come on my cock,” he groaned, as he let go of my hair and his fingers played my clit like a classically trained pianist tickling the ivories.

  I leaned back in to him to take him in deeper, I felt myself ready to let go, to explode until I gave him exactly what he had asked for. He thrusts became harder, faster, and deeper,

  “Fuck!” he groaned, as he pulled out leaving his deposit on my ass.

  FROM: shayewrites

  TO: Chelsea

  SUBJECT: CHAPTER 3

  “COUNTRY BOYS, BITCHES, AND STUPID SCHOOL GIRLS. OH MY!”

  We had dinner later that night. Was it a date? Hell no! I don’t date and neither does he. But, he was single, I was single and there was no sense in letting a great steak go to waste.

  “Thanks for dinner,” he said, as he helped me clean up.

  “Thanks for the great company,” I responded, stunned for a minute by my quick response.

  “Me? Great company? You’re crazy.”

  “Why would you say that? I had a good time. Didn’t you?”

  “Because there’s nothing great about my company. I have no filter and I’m a dick, remember?”

  “I like your lack of filter, and you’re funny,” I replied, as I placed the last dish in the dishwasher.

  “Like I said, you’re crazy,” he said with a smile. Another awkward silence fell.

  “About earlier, I had a great time but-”, before I could finish he cut me off.

  “Nope, we’re cool. I had fun too but the last thing I want is a woman in my bed.” I laughed uncomfortably at his words.

  “Okay, good. Then we will get along like peas and carrots,” I joked, trying to make light of the conversation.

  “Right, peas and carrots. It’s getting late, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and headed out the front door.

  The next few weeks were a blur of home improvements. I needed the distraction to keep my mind off of my writer’s block that still hadn’t let up. And Abe. Yeah, that whole, “this was fun but I’m good” conversation we had, apparently neither one of us seemed to be present for.

  We’ve been together every day and night since then.

  But it wasn’t about the sex. That was more like an added perk. I have no idea what is going on with me. At first, I thought it was PMS, but I had already had it weeks ago. While I held tight to the “we are just friends” and it’s great to hang out again, I can’t say it didn’t bother me when he would suddenly tell me he had plans with no explanation of who with or why, considering we were together all day, every day. And that was the moment I truly realized I was a girl. I did exactly what every normal, crazy, red blooded American woman would do… I began to overthink.

  He had plans? With who? Why do I care? Why didn’t he mention it before? Back to the why do I care again? That’s how Gram’s garden got done. That was also when I decided that whatever was going on with me needed to stop, meaning this weird “friendship” needed to stop. The next time I saw him I was going to be the icy bitch that I truly was and push him away.

  Well, that was the plan, until he appeared leaning against the railing of the back deck just before sunset. He stood there in all his Grade A, country boy swagger; fitted baseball cap with the bent brim, a dark blue t-shirt, worn-in jeans with work boots, and insatiable blue eyes focused on me.

  I swallowed hard, crossed one bare leg in front of the other, my short dark blue sundress fluttering in the breeze. I exhaled.

  “Follow the plan,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Thought you had something else to do tonight.”

  “I did,” he replied, handing me a beer.

  “Did you have fun?” I asked, trying to sound as bitchy as possible, but I was too busy trying to convince myself that his smile annoyed me. Ugh. What the fuck, Shaye?

  “I did,” he answered, walking down the steps to the private dock, otherwise known as our very own watering hole.

  “How was your afternoon?” he asked.

  “It was good; I worked in Gram’s garden,” I responded, my eyes glued to a small speedboat off in the distance when he suddenly reached over and grabbed my hands.

  “Your thumbs don’t look green to me,” he joked. Instantly I smiled and shook my head.

  I’m not sure what was taking the icy bitch so long to show up. Anytime you’re ready, now.

  “Shut up,” I mumbled, shoving him as I sipped my beer. He gently shoved me back, causing the beer to spill down my chin.

  “Asshole!”

  “Exactly,” he laughed.

  We sat in silence for a while, but this wasn’t the awkward kind like before. This was a comfortable silence; taking in the moment, being here on the dock as the sun set like we did when we were teenagers. I smiled and shook my head.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Being here with you all these years later is just-”

  “Weird,” he laughed, cutting me off.

  “Good weird?” I asked, turning to him as the sky continued to change from burnt orange to hues of pink and purple.

  “Yeah,” he replied, as he leaned in and his lips found mine. This kiss was different from all the others. It was that kiss, the one that every girl or woman hopes to have at least once in her life. The kiss that takes your breath away, the kiss that you know you will never forget, that you felt down to your spine whenever you thought about it.

  He pulled me into him and I straddled his lap, my legs taking their usual position around his waist.

  “Look at me,” he whispered. Eye contact was not my forte. That was a form of intimacy that I couldn’t provide, just like he couldn’t express his emotions. I did what he asked, but just for a second, and then looked away in nervous discomfort.

  “Why can’t you look at me?” he questioned, as I looked past him at the lake.

  “They say the eyes are the window to the soul. That’s way too much for me to handle.”

  “That’s cheesy cliché. You should look people in the eye when you are speaking to them; when you don’t it shows your insecurities.”

  I stopped smiling, absorbing his words, but still not looking at him; it was overwhelming for me. It stripped me of my bitchy exterior. The strong, confident, and talented person that I claimed to be. All that was left was that broken little girl who needed someone to tell her she was going to be okay that she would be protected from the monster under her bed; that after all was said and done she was worthy of being loved.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the caress of his hand on my cheek.

  “Do you want me?” he asked me, in a low tone. I smiled as I looked out over the water.

  “Stop looking away from me. Do you want me?” he asked again.

  I knew deep down that what he was asking me was not a superficial question. He was asking me if I accepted him, his flaws, his broken soul, his inability to connect with anyone.

  There were two simple answers, and I had to choose one. He was putting himself out there and asking me to do the same. I was in awe of him and he didn’t even know it.

  “Yes,” I breathed, focusing my eyes on his, more like I was drawn into them.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I want you,” I whispered, as he kissed me again, just like he had done moments before.

  “I want you all the time. Do you want me?” I asked, between his kisses
. I was frozen inside. Not ice bitch frozen. I was frozen as if I couldn’t move. I was terrified that he was just trying to get me to admit something that I didn’t intend divulging to anyone.

  Although his body language said one thing, my distorted version of myself prevented me from being able to trust or believe what others’ true intentions were.

  “Yes, I do,” he answered. In that moment, something changed. I changed, and I felt it. I have been with other men before who said they wanted me, and it meant absolutely nothing. Those three simple words penetrated through me as if they were real as if I could reach out and touch them. Being wanted by someone was a good thing. But being wanted by him was everything.