The only personal item that he had not gotten rid of was the engagement ring he had had in his trouser pocket on the day Claire had left him.
He hadn't seen her since that night. She had called him once. Telling him how sorry she was, but how they could never have been together because all they had was sex. She had cried, and then hung up the phone. With the sound of the disconnected line ringing in his ears, Oliver cried also.
* * *
Three years passed, Oliver met a new woman, and fell in love. Her name was Grace, and she was a nurse at the hospital where he worked. They moved in together after six and a half months of dating. Daily coffee, when they were working the same shift, regular trips away and lots of laughter. Grace was three years younger than him, and was eager to start a family. Oliver was too. The idea of having children had always been on his mind. He hardly thought about Claire after the first year, and as 2012 changed into 2013, and the third anniversary of her leaving came around, he didn't often think of Claire. As much as he wanted to, he had locked her away in a part of his mind that didn't come to the forefront often. Only as Grace lay sleeping beside him, her breath deep and slow, the heat of her naked body warming him as he too fell into slumber, did Claire appear. It would only be for a fleeting moment, in the split second where he was neither asleep nor awake. She would be naked, touching herself, each time beckoning him to come to her, to 'fuck me like a bitch'. They were good nights, filled with great dreams, only by then her face would have changed, and she would be whatever form Oliver's slumbering mind created.
For Oliver, Claire remained the one that got away, even if he never realized it.
* * *
Claire ran from her relationship with Oliver. She spent three months locked away, throwing herself into her work, but isolating herself from her friends and family. Many of whom would not understand why she had left him. They had been happy; they looked from the outside, like the perfect couple. She could never answer them, instead choosing to ignore them. In time their questions faded and Oliver became another name on a list of exes. Claire met and married a good man, the librarian at the large city library. He was a kind and gentle soul. Their love blossomed and within two years they were engaged to be married. Her job had settled down. She worked longer hours, but travelled less and was home every weekend, even if she did log on for a few hours in the evening. She thought about Oliver often, more so on those nights after sex, when Martin laid beside her, his quiet snores the proof of a contented man. He was gentle in bed as he was in life, which was good. It was all good, but sometimes Claire yearned for the days that Oliver would fuck her. There would be no making love on those nights; they would sink beneath the surface at last and lose themselves in the animalistic nature of man. She would scream, he would cry, and whether they were at home, or in a hotel, the next morning many jealous looks would be sent their way.
* * *
"Oliver?" A voice rang out from somewhere in the store. Turning, Oliver took a moment to stare at the face looking back at him. A wave of goose bumps rolled over him, followed by a long since felt feeling of nervousness, as if something had disturbed the slumbering butterflies that live in every stomach.
"Claire?" he similarly questioned after a time. He knew it was her, and had done from the moment his eyes focused on the scene, picking her face out instantly from the group of people milling around the fruit laden shelves. She had changed. She had gained a couple of pounds and looked all the more beautiful for it. Her auburn hair hung to her shoulders, and was held back by a simple pin on either side of her head. She wore a pair of figure-hugging jeans and a t-shirt that shouted to the world that this was a confident woman who looked after herself.
"Oh my god, how are you?" she asked, moving forward, forgetting the shopping cart half filled with fresh produce. They met in the middle of the aisle, and immediately the air around them began to spark.
"I'm good. You?" Oliver asked, trying to ignore the heat he felt, instead searching for some trace of awkwardness. Their split had after all been somewhat acrimonious and abrupt, but could not find anything of the sort.
"That's great," Claire answered, her mouth going dry, while another part of her body grew wet. "I'm engaged," she blurted out before realizing what she had planned to say. "We haven't set a date yet though." She felt the flush light up her cheeks the way she felt the blood rush to her ass as Oliver slapped it during sex. Stop it. She told herself, but she couldn't help it. Martin never spanked her, never took her. Not how she needed to be.
"That's good, Claire," Oliver answered, cool as ever, on the outside, not at all awkward. "Well, it was good to see you, but I should be getting these groceries in the car. I have to work tonight." He flashed a smile and in a movement so quick she didn't see it coming, Oliver leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
It was only a friendly kiss, one exchanged between two old friends, but it made Claire's pussy quiver and her head swoon. By the time she had her wits about her, Oliver was gone, and while she fought the urge to search the supermarket for him, she knew she was stupid. It was irrational. Instead, forgetting the rest of the items on her list, Claire headed to the checkout.
As she loaded her purchases into the car, she felt a cool gust of wind drifting through the nearly empty back lot and it felt like heaven against her still flushed skin. She shivered, but not from the cold.
It was early January and already dark out, the lights of the car park giving enough to see by without illuminating anything.
"Claire?' A voice called from the darkness.
She spun around, but was grabbed before she could react. Arms pulled her in and a mouth found hers. His kiss was fierce, his tongue invading her mouth, exploring her with eagerness she had not felt in years. Kissing back, Claire didn't need to wait for an invitation. She felt her jeans being loosened and kicked them to the floor.
Oliver's fingers danced over her warm pussy, and as they slipped inside her, she kissed Oliver even harder to keep herself from crying out in pre-orgasmic relief.
Leaning against the rear of Claire's SUV, Oliver effortlessly lifted her from the ground. He entered her and the night sky was lit up, not with fireworks, but by a single ball of flame. A new sun created from their passion.
"Claire, oh Claire, I love you," Oliver panted into her neck, kissing her ear and running his mouth down the side of her neck, tracing the contours of her face with his lips until he found her mouth once more. She had been waiting for him, and as he thrust into her, his tempo building, Claire crossed her legs behind his back and pulled him deep inside of her. She screamed as she came, grinding her hips against his, gasping as she felt him fill her. Overhead the sun burst, filling the sky with thousands upon thousands of shooting stars, each one carrying with it a single wish. Don't let it end, stay with me.
They remained locked in their embrace for several minutes, panting, neither one prepared to let go, yet at the same time, neither prepared to speak about what had happened.
Pulling out and lowering her to the floor, Oliver looked away, trying to find the words he desperately wanted to speak.
Claire fumbled for her trousers in the dark, feeling his warm cum leaking from her, tracing a path down her leg.
"Oliver," she began, but he silenced her with another kiss.
"No, I need to say this," he whispered. "Claire, I love you. I thought I had moved on, but I haven't. It was all a lie. Come away with me now. Let's leave, go somewhere together. Let's be happy," he pleaded, his words every bit as nervous as his beautiful blue eyes predicted. The eyes she had once hoped to stare into forever.
"Oliver, I'm getting married. I'm happy..."
"Are you?" he asked, searching her face for the truth.
"Martin is a good man. He doesn't deserve it."
"He doesn't deserve you. I'm sorry, I don't know the man, but he could not possibly be good enough for you. Come away with me. Please." Oliver kissed her again, and in an automatic response, Claire kissed him back.
"Oh, Oliver," she gasped as he began kissing her neck, his fingers tracing the curve of her breasts. "Not now. Not today. It's too much. I don't know. I can't think. I need some time," she stammered, buying herself time to bring her body back under control.
"Then, I'll call you. Let's meet again, tomorrow, or Saturday, I'm free on Saturday. Just for coffee, that's all. I promise."
Oliver meant it, and Claire agreed. She felt heartbroken when she left the lot, and cried the entire journey home. A mixture of sadness, confusion and most of all because of the aching feeling she had in her stomach at seeing Oliver standing in the dark, alone, as she drove away from him.
They did meet for coffee, and they had talked, and talked, clearing the air between them. They were open and honest, and connected in a way that they had not managed to do during their time together.
"We are both in better places now. Career wise, I mean. We are stable. Don't you see, it wasn't us. It was the time we were in that caused our problems," Oliver spoke as he dressed himself. They had been meeting at least twice a week, each time in a different hotel. It had been over a year since they had reconnected, and time and time again Claire had told Oliver, and promised herself that she would leave Martin, and come away with him. Yet every time, she couldn't do it.
Oliver was patient. He understood the situation she was in, and didn't want to force anything for fear of losing her again. Yet, at the same time neither could walk away. So they pushed on, in secret, planning, waiting for the time to be right.
When the call came, Oliver certainly wasn't expecting it.
"Martin and I had a fight. I've left him," Claire sobbed on the other end of the phone. "Where are you?" she asked, the tremor in her voice unmistakable.
"I'm at home, tell me where to meet you and I will be there." Oliver jumped up from the sofa, where he had been watching a rather uninspiring football game.
"Do you remember the park, where we used to go for walks in the summer?"
"Lakeland Heath?" Oliver answered without hesitation.
"Yes, meet me there, and Oliver? I love you, and I'm sorry for leaving you." Claire hung up the phone before Oliver had the chance to respond.
His body trembled as he hurried around his house. He felt giddy as he grabbed his shoes and helmet. Under any other circumstance, Oliver would have never gotten onto his motorbike without full leathers, but there was no time and it was an easy journey to the park. Twenty minutes at most, fifteen if he stepped on it, even in the Valentine's Day traffic.
As both vehicles sped through the streets, passing by restaurants filled with couples enjoying dinner on the most romantic day of the year, they found themselves growing more nervous with each second. It was as if their bodies had been united to form a single entity once more, after too many years apart. Both yearned for the other, for their touch, their embrace. They belonged together and nothing could keep them apart any longer.
A steady rain had been falling all day, and the ground was slick. By the time Oliver saw the car coming from the left it was too late for him to stop. The bike and car collided at speed, and in a shower of sparks as metal twisted metal, Oliver was thrown through the air. His body crashed against the car which in turn flipped over, spilling the occupant who had not been wearing the seatbelt, out onto the black tarmac.
Oliver didn't feel the initial impact with the car, but landing on the road was a different story. Pain exploded through his body and a strange new heat wrapped around him as he fell still, unable to move anything more than his head. Even that was done with considerable agony.
He could smell the blood, and knew that was the reason he felt so warm. He also knew that within a short time, he would grow cold, so cold. His heart rate was slowing; the pain of his injuries beginning to grow, separating from the full throb into individual agonies that sang out every time he moved.
Oliver heard a groan beside him, and forced his head to turn at to face the person he had hit. He saw a figure lying in the road, crawling towards him. They were covered in blood, dragging themselves with broken legs trailing behind them; useless.
"Don't move," Oliver wheezed; his voice barely above a whisper. All around them the restaurants were emptying, lovers emerging into the streets to stand around and watch. Oliver saw the windows, the romantic lighting, the neon signs declaring love and affection, hearts reflected in the speaking pools of blood. He wanted to weep, but couldn't.
The driver of the car raised their head, and Oliver gave a scream. Claire's face was broken, yet he recognized her in an instant. She reached out towards him, her own strength failing. She placed her hand in his and the tears finally came, for he could not feel anything.
The pair lay in the street, hand in hand, staring into each other's eyes.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Oliver coughed the words, the last ones he would ever speak.
"I love you," Claire added her final words, which were the last Oliver would ever hear.
As their eyes closed for one final time, they both smiled. They knew that there was no other sight they would rather see as they ended their days.
Naughty Valentine
Julie Morgan
Standing by her window, Scarlett looks out and sighs, her breath fogging the glass. The weather in Chicago has taken a turn for the worse. It's a week before Valentine's Day and her fuck buddy slash boyfriend, Robert, recently decided to call it off.
"Listen, Scarlett, you're great and all and damn if you're not a great fuck... but something's changed. I've met someone."
"You don't need to say anymore. I get it. I appreciate the compliments on my fucking. I think." She laughs into the phone then feels the pit of her stomach flip.
Coming back to the present, she slides a single digit across the glass, leaving a streak. The heat allows her mark to stream down the window. She looks down at the street and thinks she sees him with his new woman, Selene. Her blond hair emanates from underneath her cap as she walks. Her slender frame carries her forward and the leather boots on her feet make her skinny legs look that much thinner.
Scarlett presses closer to the window and looks out and, sure enough, there he is. Robert's long trench coat flows out from between his legs as the wind catches it. His dark brown hair looks almost black in the evening light. Her hand presses to the window and he casually turns away from his new conquest. Robert tilts his head up and his eyes meet Scarlett's.
She gasps and quickly turns away from the window. Walking into her kitchen she grabs a coffee mug fills it with tap water. Opening her Keurig, she pours it inside, grabs a Chai and sets the machine to brew. Crossing her arms over her chest, her fingers tap lightly on her forearms. "Doesn't he know this is MY area? He really thinks he can bring his latest fuck toy into MY neighborhood and I won't see him?" She pulls her mug from the machine after it finishes, tosses the empty K-cup then turns off the machine.
Crossing the room she sits down in front of her laptop and clicks the mouse, bringing it to life. The blue hue of the screen lights up the room around her. Scarlett blows gently against her hot tea then slowly sips it. Setting her cup down, she pulls up her Facebook page and messages her girlfriends Lexy and Rebecca.
I'm needing a girls night. You're my bitches. Let's hit the bar down on 21st. See you at 9:00. She presses send and sits back. Looking over at the side chat bar, Robert's name is sitting with a green bullet. She stares at it for a moment longer until "DING".
Are you Okay?
"Fuck," she says aloud. She sighs and writes back: Why? I'm fine.
I saw you in the window. Robert messages.
Why are you over here? Are you trying to rub it in?
No. I miss you.
You miss me? Scarlett laughs to herself. You made it pretty clear how you feel about it. It was casual and then you called me a great fuck.
I didn't realize that would hurt you.
She sits there with her mouth open and she laughs. There's a lot you didn't realize. There's a lot you don't know about me. Now do me a favor a
nd fuck off with your new whore. You keep this shit up I'll block you.
Scarlett stares at the message for a moment longer and when Robert doesn't write back, she's satisfied she got the last word.
* * *
Looking in her mirror, Scarlett sees her jet black hair pulled up in large rollers and her ivory frame covered with her hunter green robe. Crossing her legs, she leans into her vanity and begins putting on her smoky eye make up to ready herself for the evening.
"Who the hell does he think he is? He calls me his fuck buddy, tells me it meant nothing then picks up this random whore. Bringing her down where I live? Yeah, that's crossing the fucking line." Standing, she picks up her red lipstick and swipes it across her full lips. Her porcelain skin and black hair make the lipstick look blood red. She smiles and blows a kiss to herself, then rolls her eyes.
Walking into her closet, she pulls out a red cocktail dress. Unzipping the material she steps into it, then pulls the zipper up her back. The length hangs to her mid-thigh and the dress is fitted to her body. A sleeveless dress, she knows she'll need her winter coat to keep her body from shivering to death.
Pulling out a pair of red stiletto heels, she slips them onto her feet then walks back to her room. Taking another seat at her vanity, Scarlett pulls out the rollers and runs her fingers lightly through her thick curls. "Fuck him and his cock sucking attitude." Standing, Scarlett grabs her ID, lipstick and some cash. Shoving them into her bra she grabs her extra set of keys that hold only her apartment and car key, then heads towards the door.
* * *
Leaving her car with the valet, she tips the driver then quickly heads inside, her long hair bouncing down her backside as she walks. The music reverberates gently against the outside walls as she enters the bar.
"How many?" The hostess asks her.
Scarlett looks around the bar and finds her friends. "I'm headed to the bar, thank you." The hostess gives a small smile then glares at Scarlett. The look doesn't go unnoticed. "Bitch," she mutters under her breath.
My Dirty Little Valentine: An Erotic Anthology Page 13
