Page 93 of All The Happily Ever Afters

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 jinglein 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

Ithought 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.

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