My Dirty Little Valentine: An Erotic Anthology

by Pure Textuality Public Relations

  My Dearest Claire,

  You know I love you. I have from the moment I first saw you, and I promise to do so until the day I die. I know that things between us have not always been the best, but I have never regretted our time together.

  Have a safe trip, and when you get back, there will be something special waiting for you.

  Forever yours,

  Oliver

  Claire read the letter three times, a strange sensation tingling in the pit of her stomach. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks and left the house with a broader smile than her face had seen in weeks.

  * * *

  Oliver looked at his watch. It was three in the morning, and so far his shift in the Emergency room had been less than eventful. Three older men with suspected pulmonary issues, one drunk and two failed suicide attempts, all of which had been dealt with in a timely fashion and luckily enough, without complication.

  Now, as he sat in the doctors' lounge, nursing another cup of hospital coffee, a substance it was not even close to resembling, he found himself mulling over the future.

  He had always been focused on his career. Medicine had always been his love, and he had fought his way from a low-income family to attend one of the best medical schools in the country. Then, one day at a conference filled with medical and pharmaceutical faces, he had met Claire. It had been her rich chestnut hair that had caught his attention. Glinting in the fading summer sun, reaching out to him like a beacon. They had clicked instantly, and that night spent the first of many passionate evenings with one another.

  Neither had expected the relationship to develop as it had, and now, he sat on the cusp of a marriage proposal. Yet Oliver was a romantic. He would not just pop the question and be done with it. He had a plan. It involved a dinner, a moonlight stroll, Valentine's Day, seven red heart shaped balloons. He had optioned the idea of a string quartet, but thought the date itself was cheesy enough.

  It was five weeks away, and Claire would be travelling for the next two. He had cleared his schedule in the week leading up to the date itself more than ten months ago, and he had all of the arrangements in place.

  Yet, something sat in the pit of his stomach, a notion that all was not as it should be. Oliver couldn't put his finger on it, but its presence was undeniable. He had felt it for a few months now, and it had started to concern him. That they loved each other there could be no question, but over the recent months they had been spending less time with each other, even less than normal. Oliver knew it wasn't Claire's fault. Much like him, she had chosen a demanding career, and she had succeeded in a business that a lot of people failed to master. But as is often the case, the better she did, the more she had to work, and the more she had to travel.

  They had not yet broached the idea of children, and Oliver was afraid to do so. Oliver wanted a family. He had always told himself that he would have a large family, when the time was right. He knew that it would come up eventually, but was keen to avoid it until the time was right. He feared it may be the end of him and Claire, should she not be of the same mind set.

  Finishing his coffee, he rose to get another, his mind becoming heavy with thoughts he knew had no place being there, when the door to the lounge crashed open and the on-call nurse charged into the room.

  "Doctor, we need you out here. There's been a pile up on the A28 Ring Road. We've got four en-routes and another three at the scene. They are two minutes out." Without waiting she turned and ran back the way she had come, with Oliver close on her heels.

  By the time the sun rose over the hospital and Oliver's shift finally ended, they had saved the lives of four patients, including a three year old girl. However, her father had been one of the three fatalities.

  "You want to go for coffee?" Andi, the head nurse, asked as she moved beside Oliver, who stood just outside of the hospital's main entrance.

  "Sure," he answered. "I've got no plans." He smiled and the pair walked down the road to the local diner, a place often frequented by the medical staff both on and off shift.

  Andi was a nurse in her mid-thirties, smart as a whip. She was a single mother to a nine year old boy. Her marriage had dissolved after a few months, when it came to light her husband had been cheating on her since the day they got together. She had in fact been an affair, not that she had known at the time.

  Oliver liked chatting with her, they got on, shared a lot of similar interests and, working in the same hospital, both understood the gripes and problems of working for the National Health Service. They drank coffee and ate breakfast together, laughing away the stresses of the hard night.

  "Have you asked Claire to marry you yet?" Andi asked as she finished her breakfast, wiping the corners of her mouth with the napkin.

  "Not yet. I have it all planned out, though. Valentine's day," Olive paused, but started again the moment he saw Andi open her mouth. "I know it's corny, but roll with me. I know Claire will get a kick out of it." He caught her words and turned them on her.

  "You're the Doctor," she winked and shot him a playful smile, "but just don't make the mistake of putting it off for the right moment. If she is the woman for you, then every moment is the right one. Okay." With that Andi stood up, slipped a ten pound note onto the table and went to leave.

  "Andi," Oliver called. "Thank you and this one is on me." He handed her back the money, and waited until she had left before settling the bill.

  * * *

  "Hi Honey, I'm home," Claire called as she dropped her bag by the front door. She could hear music coming from the kitchen of their moderate-sized apartment, but could not see Oliver anywhere. Claire moved through the narrow hallway, made even more so by the overstocked coat rack that ran along one wall, and into the living room. From there she headed to the modest kitchen / dining area, her high heels clicking and clacking on the hardwood floor as she went. Yet she found herself alone. She looked around the living room with its white walls and minimal furnishings; the large picture of the two of them being the main focal point. It wasn't a professional photo, but rather one that friends had taken during a summer barbeque.

  With a sigh, Claire turned off the music and went to fill the kettle to make a cup of tea.

  "Well, hello there, stranger. What's a stunner like you doing out here, all alone like that?" Claire gave a startled scream. Turning, she saw Oliver standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He was dressed in a casual shirt and pair of faded blue jeans, and was holding a large bunch of flowers before himself. He flashed Claire a smile and before either knew it they were locked in an embrace. The flowers were discarded on the floor, where they would remain for some time.

  "I missed you," Claire spoke in the intermittent seconds that their lips were not locked.

  "How much?" Oliver asked in the same fashion, their hands rapidly searching each other's body, as clothes were not removed but ripped from their bodies; thrown across the room in a rainbow of cotton and silk.

  "Let me show you." Claire broke their embrace and pushed Oliver back onto the bed and jumped onto him, her bare legs straddling his waist. Her round breasts pert and firm bounced, calling out to Oliver, who reached up to them. Her nipples hardened in the cool air and the moment his fingers found her flesh she began to coo.

  Kissing his way down her body, shifting positions with a dancer's grace, Oliver reversed the roles, taking charge. His mouth descended her chest, pausing long enough for his mouth to find her nipples. His tongue danced around her tightened flesh and ushered forth more sounds of pleasure. Resuming his progress, Oliver moved over every inch of her flesh. His hands, his lips, his tongue, they were all but tools to help build Claire's passion to a peak.

  Oliver slid his hands down Claire's body, tracing over the tattoo she had gotten during her time at University before heading further south. He ran his fingertips over the curve of her rear and then slid them down her legs, his kisses coming to rest just above her quivering sex. Claire gave a gasp when he stopped, and her hands found his head, pushing him down that f
inal way.

  Oliver's tongue danced her clit, alternating between slow circular movements and a lapping motion that caused Claire to buck her hips and push his mouth down against her wetness. Kissing her, he slid a finger inside and with a lover's grace began to massage her pussy with his free hand. His kisses stopped so that his mouth could lower to her hardened nipples.

  "Fuck me," Claire whispered, calling Oliver back to her.

  Tonight he was in charge! Instead of rising, he lowered his head, pushing his tongue deep inside of her, while continuing to massage her clit with his left hand.

  "Come here, I need you in me," Claire groaned as Oliver fucked her with his tongue. She could feel the intensity of the orgasm beginning to build, and found she yearned for the waves to come crashing down upon them, washing away all other levels of existence.

  Returning to the top of the bed, Claire kissed him, tasting herself and allowing her hands to now work their magic, sliding down his slender torso, to his hard cock which stood waiting for her attention. They kissed, and as all four hands in the bed were put to use, their bond was once again reinforced.

  Climbing on top, Claire slid Oliver inside her eager to accept pussy, moaning as he filled her. For a while they didn't move. Claire arched her back, exposing herself for her man. Oliver squeezed her tits, massaging them, until they reached the point where neither could turn away. Not even a natural disaster could stop them. Oliver began to buck his hips, and as Claire swayed hers to match his strokes, they melted into one another. Oliver was relentless, each thrust seeming to take him deeper and deeper, and as Claire bit down on his shoulder, both gave a cry. Claire raked her nails down Oliver's back. With a shift change of positions, Oliver once again took control, spanking Claire's ass three times with a resonating slap which only served to heighten the experience. With a gasp and a cry that neither bothered to stifle, they came and fell into each other's arms, spent.

  "Welcome home." Oliver kissed the top of Claire's head as she lay on him, her head flat against his chest. "I love you," he whispered, as was his way after sex, and before, and every time they left each other's company. Claire didn't care, she loved it, and Oliver always said that in doing so, should anything every happen to either of them, the last thing he would have said to her would have been a proclamation of his love.

  As they lay in bed, the world passing them by and once again their time together spent nude, Claire took a deep breath and tried to fight off the feeling of uncertainty that had been sitting in her stomach since before she left the hotel to come home.

  "Thank you for the letter. It was sweet," she said after a time. "What did you want to tell me?" she pushed, hoping to start a conversation about something more long term than weekend plans or evening meal suggestions.

  "What?" Oliver asked, his mind reeled in from the wandering path it had been following. "Oh, that. Not now, it isn't the right place for it," he answered in a noncommittal tone. It was an express response, as he wanted to ensure it was a surprise.

  "Oh, okay." Claire could not hide her disappointment, and immediately threw back the covers and got out of bed.

  "Dinner, tonight." Oliver threw out with a smile, realizing that his well-laid plan had come off the rails. "I've booked us a table at Francesco's. I promise we will talk then." He meant it.

  "Fine." Claire couldn't help but snap.

  "Hey, don't be like that. You're too beautiful to be angry." He tried one of his now famed cheesy lines, but it appeared Claire was not in the mood for it.

  Claire grabbed at her clothes, snatching them from the floor with a rage that startled Oliver and brought him out of bed also.

  "Hey now, what's wrong?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. Both were naked, but in the moment, neither noticed. Claire's sudden tears were what stole the scene.

  For a while Claire said nothing, partly because she wanted to find the right words, but at the same time, she hoped that Oliver would answer his own question. She needed to know Oliver felt the same way. "Nothing," she snapped when no answer came. She turned to leave, but he held her firm.

  "No, this isn't like you," he pushed, searching in her face for some clue. "Is it me? Did I upset you somehow?" he asked, trying to think, but his mind coming up empty.

  "No, it's not you. It's..." she paused, caught, afraid to say it, but incapable of stopping the momentum. "Us, it's us. Where is this relationship headed? Sometimes it feels as if all we do together is fuck. Don't get me wrong, it's great and I love it, but I need something more from a relationship than just being a live-in booty call. We never have time for each other. You're busy, I'm busy and now, with..." She stopped, catching her words, realizing too late, as is always the way, that she had said too much.

  "With what?" Oliver asked excitedly. The idea of a pregnancy entered his head as the first thought and it wouldn't leave.

  "I got promoted last week. They have made me the Regional Sales Head. It's more money, more responsibility and more hours." Claire knew she should feel happy, but she didn't. She saw the look in Oliver's face, and made her own assumptions as to the thoughts that were swirling around inside his head.

  "That's great news," he leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away. "Isn't it?" Oliver looked at her confused, he felt cold and vulnerable, aware for the first time of his nudity, both physical and mental.

  Claire sighed and left the room.

  Oliver dressed, pulling on his clothes; his t-shirt inside out, his trousers both unbuttoned and unzipped, and followed her into the flat.

  "Claire, sweetheart, talk to me. We can work these things out. I know things are busy now, but we knew that when we started. It will calm down once my fellowship is over, your job, too. Everything will come together; we just need to give it time. We will have more money, we could buy a house, maybe take a long vacation..." He stopped when Claire spun around on him.

  "But what about us? A house, that's great Oliver. It would be better than great, but if we are never in it together, then it's just an empty shell." The tears flowed over her cheeks and fell to the floor.

  "Listen to me, sweetheart, we will find a way through this. I love you, and where there is love, there is a way." Oliver found himself on the verge of panic. He saw something in Claire's eyes that made him believe she was prepared to turn around and walk out of his life. This cannot be happening. He told himself, while his brain spun trying to get purchase on what had become a slippery conversational slope.

  Claire paused for a second, her pants halfway up her legs. She had not put on any underwear and her shift was clutched in her hands. "Love?" she asked. "Is that what you would say we have Olly? Look at me now. Look at me. What if all we have is lust?" She grabbed at her breasts as the tears began to flow.

  "We are more than lust, baby." Oliver moved a step towards her, when Claire fell into his arms, her sobs growing louder and heavier within each second. Her body pressed against his, her skin causing his own clothing to tingle. Electricity shot through the air around them, and as grief overflowed, so too did their passion for one another.

  Collapsing to the floor, devouring one another with a fury neither had before experienced, they ravaged one another. Oliver never had time to remove his clothes, for Claire was upon him. She took his cock in her mouth and kept going until her lips tickled his balls. She bobbed her head like a dynamo, not stopping to so much as take a breath.

  When she finally stopped, and they kissed again, Oliver could taste a mixture of himself and her tears, which served to arouse him further.

  "On your knees," he commanded her, as he rose and let his pants fall to his ankles.

  Claire obeyed, dropping to all fours before him, her hands caressing her cunt which was still fresh with his cum. She found she was hungry for more, no, desperate for it. For the first time she understood that maybe it was all true, her fears, the dark thoughts that kept her up at night. Maybe fucking was all that held them together, but she would be god-damned if she gave up on it.

  "Fuck m
e like a whore." Claire slapped her ass hard enough to leave a print behind and followed it up with two more stoles that turned her cheeks red. Pushing backwards, she ground herself against Oliver's pressing erection.

  "Claire..." Oliver began, his breath taken, his senses overridden.

  "Take me now. Fuck me like the little bitch you need me to be," Claire screamed, and without waiting she grabbed his cock and drove herself backwards. "Yes... yes, oh God Yes," she cried as the force of their frantic act caused their naked bodies to crash together echoing around the apartment like strikes. Each one a hit to their relationship, every inch that Claire consumed as another inch that, when all was said and done, would be their parting.

  "What was that?" Oliver panted as he lay on the floor, the cold tile cooling his heated skin. His back burned from where Claire had scratched him. He couldn't remember it happening, but felt all ten grooves down his back stinging as they came into contact with the floor.

  "Call it something to remember me by," Claire sobbed, as she grabbed her clothes and ran out of the flat half- dressed, not offering so much as a goodbye.

  By the time he realized what had happened, Oliver was too late. He ran out into the hallway, but Claire was gone. She never even came to collect her things. Instead, she had a removal company come along with a list of items. She wasn't petty; she didn't squabble or try to take anything that they had purchased as a couple. For his part, Oliver offered no resistance either, not even raising so much as a querying tone as he read through the list.

  As is the nature of heartbreak, however, Oliver threw himself into his work, separating the two aspects of his life; leaving the tears behind when he closed the door each morning. His apartment was cold. It was close to empty, with only the basic furnishing that he needed. No pictures adorned the walls, no candles or scented oils sat on the mantelpiece. Within twelve months, all traces of a woman's presence had gone. The house was clean, immaculate, but because it was never truly lived in, it remained cold. Whenever colleagues came over, to watch a football game, or a boxing event, or even just to have a few beers after a crappy shift, none of them felt comfortable. It was like sitting in a show home.