A Year of Love

by Anthology

  It may only be a rundown bar off the interstate in the tristate area, tucked away beneath the overpass, but it’s warm and feels like home to many. It’s my last name on that sign out front. My bar. My home.

  It’s sure as hell home to me and the only thing I have left from my family. At that thought I peek over my shoulder, a rag in one hand wiping down the glass in the other, and peer at a black and white portrait. My grandfather always had a Coors Light in his hand and it’s there lifted in cheers at the grand opening of this very bar.

  That photo, and the occasional postcard from my mother, are all that I have left of my family. She took off when I was five, came back when I was seventeen and my father passed suddenly, but she didn’t stay long.

  So the sight of Jackson at the end of the bar, his phone always in his hand, and Mr. Richards at the other end, his thinned hair as white as the foam in his beer, feel like home to me. Even on Christmas Eve.

  “You’re all dolled up tonight,” Chrissy comments, her voice is a bit raspy from years of smoking. The stool drags on the floor as she pulls it out to sidle up to her brother.

  “This old thing,” I respond with a smirk. The deep red shift dress matches a shade of lipstick I put on hours ago. No doubt it’s faded by now, but he told me once he loved the color on me.

  And I know he’ll be here tonight. He told me he would and he’s never lied to me. Never let me down.

  Chrissy huffs a laugh and then elbows Teddy, saying something about getting out of there so she can hang lights on the tree for her grandkids.

  Every minute that passes feels as if it drags for hours. Each beer that hits the bar, every clink of the glass and grinding of the stools against the floor is far too loud.

  I’m waiting for one man to walk through that old heavy walnut door.

  “Another?” Jackson calls out, lifting his mug in the air and I mindlessly follow suit although my eyes lift to the door at the sound of the chimes.

  And there he is.

  A warmth spreads through me although I don’t show it. My heart pounds and races, my blood heats at the sight of him.

  The black flat cap is dusted with snow as he removes it, making his way to the far corner booth. He takes his time slipping off the black wool coat and I only watch him, my gaze shifting from the beer mug filling at the tap to his broad shoulders straining beneath the gray Henley.

  In black boots and worn jeans, he sure as hell didn’t dress up tonight.

  There’s a little dance of anxiousness that swells deep in my chest knowing I’m overdressed. “Here you go,” I tell Jackson, and don’t give him a second look or wait for a response as I make my way to him.

  At least I’m in ballerina flats and not heels, but still, heat dances along my skin.

  “Your usual?” I offer, my voice wavering as his pale blue gaze reaches mine. He pins me there, the world blurring behind him. Even the air bows down to this man. Dirty blonde hair and a ruggedness tell me he’s blue collar, but I know he’s more than that.

  I’ve known it for years. He’s dangerous. He’s a man I once feared. Every instinct told me I should stay far away.

  And I would have, I had decided I would.

  Two years ago, when I first saw him and he ordered what he’ll order now, a gin and tonic, I swore I’d avoid him. It’s not just that he looks like a man who’s been through hell, that smirk on his lips and that charming smile whisper a secret: he proudly runs the place.

  His gaze slips down my body, slowly and deliberately.

  In this room that’s riddled with onlookers, it feels as if he undresses me. Heat creeps into my cheeks.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers lowly in a deep baritone that triggers a primal need. It surprises me, he’s never said a thing like that until the place is closed up and everyone else is gone.

  It’s what happens every time. I wait for him and he waits for the bar to close.

  And then he takes me however he wants, which is exactly what I crave.

  This dangerous man who could do whatever he wishes. He fucks me like I’ve always been his.

  I’m not given a moment to answer, before he nods and raps his fingers on the old wood table. “The usual.”

  With a nod, I turn my back to him, my fingers fiddling with themselves until I can grab a tumbler for a gin and tonic.

  “You closing early tonight?” Jackson calls out loud enough for the bar to hear him.

  With wide eyes, I stare back at him, still reeling from the comment: I’ve missed you.

  I nod, without thinking twice, “thirty minutes or so,” I tell him. “Snow’s getting deep.”

  The excuse raises Mr. Richard’s brow who glances over his shoulder at the devil himself. The man who brought that lie to my lips.

  Grim

  The deep red hugs her curves and every inch of her soft skin I’ve been fantasizing about. It’s been over a month, the winter nights getting colder and lonelier without her warmth in my bed.

  My cock aches, hard and straining against my zipper as she sways left and right, wiping down the bar.

  It’s like this every time, she ignores me, just a patron in the corner, as she closes up.

  I leave like the rest of them as if she’s not the only reason I come to this run down town every chance I get. As if she won’t be crying out my name with the strangled pleasure I’ll pull from her tonight.

  There’s no such thing as coincidence. Two years ago I came in here, following a lead and needing a moment to cool down before I did something reckless and stupid.

  There she was, staring back at me like I was going to hurt her, like she should fear me.

  Smart girl wrapped in a delectable package.

  I would have left her alone. Taking another deep gulp of gin, I remember how very much at war I was with myself at the sinful thoughts that plagued me that night.

  There’s not an ounce of good in me and the things I’ve done would have her running from me if ever I confessed. But like I said, there’s no such thing as coincidence and that night, I craved her. I needed her like I needed the air to breathe.

  I waited for her to close down the bar, I followed her, needing to know what the hell it was about her that drew me in.

  I heard the footsteps before she did, the clink of the glass bottle being tossed into the trash before some dumb fuck and his buddy catcalled her. Their whistles were sickening.

  I’ll never forget the look in her eyes, the fear was sobering as she stared at two men who made their way to her. Keys in her hand, she tried to play it off, waving back to tell them to have a good night before she picked up her pace.

  All it took was one of them picking up their pace before I stepped out under the street light, calling out to her.

  She stopped where she was, caught right there, my prey, not theirs.

  My muscles coiled and I memorized their faces, every detail I needed to find them later, after I’d taken care of my poor little Scarlet.

  Caught between the two of them and me, she was paralyzed. They took off when I opened my jacket, letting the light glint off my gun.

  “Don’t hurt me.” The plea was spoken softly as the two pricks left us alone, at three am in the vacant parking lot. “Please,” she whispered.

  Her hazel eyes shone with more than a prayer for safety.

  “You think I want to hurt you?”

  “I know you could if you wanted,” her response came back without any hesitation.

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” The fear slipped away, quickly replaced with a simmering heat I’d felt from her all night. There’s a thin line that separates desire from despair and it had played between us all night.

  I lowered my lips to the shell of her ear, the tension crackling between us. “What if I wanted to do something else?”

  When I backed away, her eyes stayed closed, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “If you wanted… I imagine you could do whatever you wanted to me.”

  “Is that you giv
ing me permission?” I murmured in the cold dark night, knowing full damn well I was going to fuck her raw and hard. First against her car, with her breasts pressed against the metal and her skirt barely lifted. And then again back at her place.

  This beautiful woman, easy prey and tempting in every way, came on my cock and kept me from making a mistake that night. She may have called me a God that night, but she was my savior.

  Scarlet

  At first, I felt like a whore. Not in the moment, but after. Once he’d gone and I could still feel him between my thighs, taking me like no man ever had.

  Not that I was a virgin, but he was brutal, relentless, he was all consuming.

  I slept with a man I didn’t know at all. One who chilled me down to the bone, yet with a single look lit every nerve ending inside of me on fire.

  He didn’t even give me his name or a number. One night, he was mine and the next he was gone. I woke up naked, with both a noticeable ache and disbelief.

  All he left behind was a note and a burner phone he must have bought while I was sleeping.

  Use only this phone. My number is in the contacts.

  He called himself Grim. I remember laughing when I saw his name under the contacts. There was no way it was his real name, but I liked it. It fit him. It suited what had happened.

  The shame came shortly after. When I realized all I had was an old phone and a fake name.

  The questions bombarded me and I hesitated to message him. I didn’t know what to say or how I felt about what happened.

  It was everything and yet I felt like I was left with nothing.

  I’d planned on not messaging him at all, but every night, I pulled the phone from the drawer of my nightstand and I debated it. Three nights passed before I sent the first message, if for no other reason than to know the truth.

  Are you married? I asked him.

  No. I don’t believe I ever will be.

  It’s an odd feeling that came over me, partly relief, partly sorrow.

  Then why this phone?

  I would rather not say. You may ask questions that I won’t be able to answer. I have secrets but what I do is to protect you. You need to know that and be okay with some of your questions not being answered.

  Over a series of days and messages a number of things became clear.

  I was right, he was a dangerous man.

  More importantly, which he made clear in no uncertain terms: he wanted me.

  And lastly, I wanted him as well.

  * * *

  Every doubt I had, he vanquished. It was as if he knew what I was thinking before I did. From the very moment I felt like what we were doing was wrong, he’d do something to prove I had no reason to worry.

  Every night he wished me to dream of him.

  Every Sunday he sent fresh red roses.

  If I told him I missed him, he would tell me he’d come for me at a certain time, within the next day or so and he was always there. Exactly when he said he would be.

  Even if he told me very little, every small secret he confided in me felt like he’d trusted me with his world and I did the same, telling him every secret I had, knowing he’d keep it.

  It was like a trance, like some magical spell had been cast. One day this man laid his hands on me, showed me pleasure I didn’t know existed and told me I was his.

  And suddenly, that’s all I was.

  My days in and days out hardly changed, apart from my thoughts of him and what he’d do to me when he came back.

  It’s been nearly every other week for two years now. It’s not the romance story for a princess’ tale. He’s a dark knight with a tortured soul.

  I’m not the one who needs saving in this story.

  * * *

  The keys jingle in my hands as I turn the lock and test the door. The harsh night brings a chill that sends shivers down my spine but I welcome the cold.

  With the snow crunching beneath my feet I make my way around the side of the bar, to the parking lot where a car is parked next to mine, running but empty. He stands beside it, waiting for me.

  Waiting for a night of debauchery with a man who holds secrets and pain I’ll never know. A man who craves me and who never leaves me wanting anything but more of him.

  He takes three large strides as I near him, eating up the distance and crashing his lips against mine under the street lights.

  With my head tilted back, his hand splayed on my lower back, the other slipping between my legs, I shiver and then moan into his mouth.

  His answering groan is sinful as his fingers push past the elastic of my underwear and meet my hot center. He whispers against my lips, “You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t miss me too.”

  Grim

  I thought long ago, that whatever was between us would wane. When we first started this, I imagined she would grow tired of it, that I couldn’t possibly satisfy her beyond the novelty of a stranger wanting to please her, thoroughly and roughly until her throat was sore from crying out in the dark night.

  I anticipated the way she would end it, with a simple request that I would obey. Whether it be because she needed more than I could give her, time and transparency. Or whether it would be because she fell for someone who could provide her with normalcy.

  As my thumb rubs soothing circles along the bare skin of her thigh and I drive back to her place, I realize just how addicted we both have become.

  She is the only thing I have to look forward to. These moments where I can get lost in her and she can do the same with me. They are the heaven to the hell that is my life.

  My scarlet angel.

  It’s silent in the car for the fifteen-minute slow drive back to her place. The backroads aren’t plowed and the snow comes down heavy.

  Her hands roam as much as mine do, resting on my jeans but the devilish bit of her reaches up a little higher, feeling my need hard as steel beneath my jeans.

  A soft murmur of want slips from her lips but I tell her to wait.

  It’s agony not to give in right this moment, but I want her beneath me, writhing and struggling not to fight against the pleasure. I want that vision of her so much more than I want those sweet red lips wrapped around my cock.

  The moment I park the car, the keys still in the ignition and the car still rumbling, her lips are on mine. Leaning over the console, her lips meet mine with a desperate need.

  It amazes me, that a woman like her could want the broken shell of a man I am. I’m quick to push the seat back and pull her into my lap. Her body fits perfectly right here in my arms.

  With my hand on her neck, I brush back her long dark hair from her pale skin and leave opened mouthed kisses there. My other hand pushes aside the silky fabric of her dress and reddens her ass in a demanding grip. She rewards me with a sweet moan I know by heart now.

  It’s the most blissful sound in my world.

  My teeth scrape down her neck, as her head falls back. Nipping and sucking, I leave a trail along her body, but it’s far too soon that the cold slips between us.

  It’s bitter cold and although her house is buried deep in the woods, with the privacy we need, I want her inside, the doors locked and reality a world away.

  “Inside,” I command her before her pants of need get any heavier.

  She crawls off of me, leaving the cold to slip between us, and we both hurry to get inside.

  My pulse rages, my cock already leaking precum as she pushes her front door open and I follow her in.

  The old house is dark, the floorboards creak and apart from fresher paint, and contemporary décor, the bones and fixtures haven’t been touched since the sixties. It speaks to the old souls we have that must’ve once loved each other.

  I don’t bother with a light and neither does she. As her shoes fall to the wooden floor in the foyer with a dull thud, I lift her into my arms. A hand on her ass and the other bracing her back.

  With a small yelp of surprise and then a soft hum of a laugh, her legs wrap around my hips and
her hands find my hair.

  Although the back and sides are cropped short, her fingers play and tug at the top of my scalp, giving me just a hint of pain. I fucking love it. Letting out a short grunt of a growl, I nip her neck again, kicking off my shoes and making my way to her small living room.

  There’s a small fireplace I’ll light when I’m finished with her. I’ve dreamed of laying on her sofa, her back to my front, her hair a messy halo and her cheeks flushed from a night of sin. The fire flickering and crackling as sleep takes us.

  That’s what I want with her tonight. If I could, I would have her that way every night.

  Greedily, my hands roam her body, unwrapping her as if she’s a gift fate left just for me. The deep red fabric slips off of her and falls to a puddle on the worn rug beneath my feet.

  Her hands slip up my Henley, her fingers running along the divots of my muscles. She plays with me as she likes, as she always does, until I lay her on her back, the sofa groaning with my weight.

  She falls easily, bouncing slightly, completely bared to me.

  Without hesitation, my lips fall to her breasts and my fingers press inside of her.

  Her back arches from the immediate onslaught of sensation and her nails rake down my back. If she wanted to scar me there, leave her mark, I’d gladly let her.

  My tongue swirls against her hardened peaks and then I pull back, sucking and plucking her nipples. I’m not gentle and I don’t take my time. It’s been too long and I’ll have all night to savor her, for now, every act is one of a famished man.

  Curling my fingers, I press the rough pad of my thumb against her clit and stroke the front of her walls as I finger fuck her pretty little cunt. She’s hot and wet, and those sweet little sounds she gives me are everything I’ve wanted. Her body tenses around me all too soon, and I don’t let up, dragging out her release even as she pulses around my thick fingers.