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 giving 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.