Author's Note: So I know it's been awhile since I've written... anything. Don't hate me, hate York. But I'm back with a short story that I decided to write, although I should definitely be focusing on my 3 exams :s This is a short story, a one-shot, will not be updated. Just want to be clear... so yes, there will be no more. As usual, this was inspired by a song, so everyone take a moment to thank Lilly Allen for her song "Sunday Morning". Okay, read, review and enjoy!
Killed It with I Love You
On a dim, cloudy Sunday morning, he shifted his car's gear into park, turned off the ignition and waited. She would be arriving soon. He remembered hearing the surprised pause before she eagerly accepted to meeting him. She didn't question his phone call or this impromptu meeting. He whispered all the dirty things he wanted to do to her and heard the hitch in her breathing while she silently listened, heard the breathless way she accepted.
He unclasped the seatbelt and smoothly got out of his car. He had parked behind the small cottage, as he always did, and pulled out the gym bag from his backseat. He rarely went to the gym, but kept the gym bag in his car for security purposes. He took out a few items and left the rest by the back door as he entered through the kitchen.
The cottage was in the middle of nowhere. With no neighbors and situated on a dead-end street, it was perfectly isolated. It was dusty and smelled a bit rank from years of abandonment. The only room that showed some sign maintenance was the bedroom. That was her. She was always neatening up the room, bringing clean bed sheets, dusting, adding candles, and mousetraps. He didn't really care where they fucked, as long as no one would walk in on them.
He heard the low rumble of her car pulling up as he placed the opened bottle of wine off to the side. He heard her engine shut off as he lit the last candle. The car door opened and was shut as he began unbuttoning his shirt. Unlike him, she always parked in the front of the cottage and came in through the front door. Then again, she wasn't married so it didn't matter who saw her.
He remembered when she first started working at his office as a consultant. The first time he saw her enter the conference room with that sexy stroll of hers, she had been wearing a tight black skirt that reached mid-thigh and a low-cut red blouse under her black suit jacket. Her long, luxurious red mane was left open and swayed with each step. Her legs had stretched on forever and he had been embarrassed at how easily his body had begun to stir.
He had sweated his way through that meeting and tried to avoid her for days. Every time their eyes met, he saw the invitation in her eyes. She felt the same way he did. He hadn't planned on doing anything with her. He loved his wife and he knew she would leave him if she found out that he had broken his wedding vows. Weeks after she started working at his office, he stayed late to catch up on a few things. Thinking back, he realized that he could have put off catching up, but he didn't.
He hadn't realized she had entered his office until she closed and locked the door. His throat dried up and he barely managed to ask her what the hell she was doing. Her lips quirked in that sexy smile of hers and she brushed her bangs out of her blue eyes. She sauntered forward while he pushed his chair further back, trying to remain bewildered and not show any hint of the arousal that was raging through him. She stood between him and his desk and hiked her skirt up to her waist.
"What are you…" he trailed off and swallowed hard. She wasn't wearing any panties.
She placed her palms on the desk to boost herself up. Sitting on the desk, she braced her heel-clad feet on each side of his chair, letting him see… everything. She simply said, "Take me on your desk right now."
He sputtered. "You…you're mad!"
"Am I?" she drawled, her eyes sparkling. "I know you feel it too. I'd have to be blind not to notice the tent that appears in your pants every time we're near each other, like the tent in your pants now."
"I'm married," he protested weakly.
Her eyes glowed because she knew she had him. She leaned forward, pausing to let him take his time looking down her shirt. She wound his tied around her fist and yanked hard enough to pull him to his feet. He gasped and loosened his tie while her hands started to unfasten his pants. "I have a boyfriend," she told him, "but that doesn't matter. Neither does your wife. I don't want to interfere with your marriage. I don't want a ring from you. All I want is you, no strings attached."
With that, whatever little control he had disappeared and all thoughts of his wife fled. His hands were in her hair, clenched into fists, holding her head in place as he crushed her lips with his. That was almost a year ago. Things had changed. They met outside the office once or twice a week, always at this cottage. His wife was pregnant. She had broken up with her boyfriend. And this morning, for the first and last time, they were meeting on a weekend.
He kicked off his shoes as he heard the click of her heels making their way up the stairs. His socks came off. He unbuckled and unzipped his pants. He was lying on the bed when she opened the door. Her eyes took in the silk sheets he had brought, the lit candles and him posing for her on the bed. With his hands beneath his head, he was stretched out on the bed wearing nothing but the pants, left open to draw the gaze down to the good stuff.
Her eyes gleamed with lust and other emotions he could no longer ignore. In her hand was the nearly empty glass of wine he had poured in for her and left by the front door. She took a step toward him and then noticed the video camera set up in the corner. She raised her eyebrows and her lips stretched into a knowing, courtesan's smile. She put the glass down, unbuttoned her trench coat and untied the sash. Instead of making her way to him, she went to stand in front of the camera and let the coat slither to the floor.
She was dressed only in a black lace corset, panties and garter ensemble. She knew exactly what to wear to make him hard as a rock without even touching her. Ignoring him, she began to touch herself in front of the camera, turning herself on while the camera recorded her and he watched her from behind. She leaned forward and played with her breasts, her hands doing what his hands ached to do. She straightened and her hands slipped lower, until she was stroking herself between her legs.
With a feral growl, he launched off the bed and came up behind her. He grabbed her hips and ground his erection into her tight little butt. She moaned and melted back against him. Slowly, he began stripping her, pausing to caress, squeeze, or lick everything he uncovered, while she still faced the camera. When she was completely bared, she turned to face him. She kissed him deeply, letting him know without words how deep her arousal and emotions ran.
Just when he was going to pull her down to the bed, she ended the kiss. With a wicked intent written all over her face, she slithered down his body. His pants were gone and she serviced him with her mouth while he gritted his teeth to stop himself from coming in her mouth. He didn't want to end it like that. If this was their last time, he wanted it memorable. He wanted to take everything from her and give her all that he could.
With his hands fisted in her hair, he tugged a little roughly, to let her know to come back up. He pushed her down onto the bed, making sure to position her in a way to make sure the camera caught every facial contortion. He kissed her roughly, without regard for her already bruised lips or that his stubble was rough against her face. He knew she liked it too. She arched her back, pressing herself up against him in a demand for more, for everything he had. Her nails scored his back without regard of what his wife might think if she saw them. Her sexy legs were wrapped tightly against, grinding her sex against his.
With all their foreplay, she was long past ready and her body begged for him to take her. Still he waited, touching her in all the right places to make her burn hotter, but not enough for her to reach her peak. He waited until she was at her breaking point, writhing beneath him. He waited until tears started streaming down her face and she began begging, with words, for him to thrust into her.
Only after she begged, did he positioned himself and ram himself into her. With the first plunge, she came, screaming his name and God's at that precise moment of absolute rapture. It was the hardest thing to do, but he kept a firm hold on his control and continued to pound into her. He took her writhing and screaming from one climax to the next before he allowed himself his own release.
She was still clinging to him and sobbing from the intensity of the pleasure. He held her cradled in her arms while she uncontrollably told him again and again that she loved him. She had done this last time they had gotten together too. There went 'no strings attached'. He knew all along their affair would only be one of physical release. In the beginning, so had she, but somewhere along the way she lost sight of that fact. He murmured comfort without any actual words while he stroked her hair.
She leaned up and gave him a satisfied, sleepy kiss. "That was amazing."
"You were amazing," he whispered back against her lips. "Go ahead and take a nap. I'll wake you before we have to leave."
She yawned and snuggled against him. "Don't let me sleep to long. I want a second round."
"I can hardly wait," he replied, knowing there would be no more rounds. He lay there with her for awhile until she was in a deep sleep. She didn't stir when he slipped out of bed and quietly got dressed. He stopped filming and put away the equipment. He went downstairs and retrieved his gym bag. He returned to the room and began taking the bottles out of his gym bag. Each bottle held a different accelerant. He didn't want to arouse any suspicion by buying a lot of one kind of accelerant so he went to several different hardware stores and bought different accelerant.
He went to the bed with a bottle in hand. He leaned down and kissed her one last time. His hand slowly caressed the length of her body. The crushed sleeping pills he added in her wine had done a good job of keeping her knocked out. He opened the bottle of accelerant and poured it over her and the bed.
"Sorry, darling," he said, knowing she couldn't hear him, but he felt the need to explain himself to her anyway. "We had something great, mind-blowing even, but you killed it with 'I love you'. We were just fucking. Love was never supposed to be a part of it. With love, you'll want more. You'll want me to leave my wife and I can't do that. I love her. I may screw around, but I only love her. I can't let her ever find out about us. And secrets are best kept by just one person."
When the bottle emptied, he grabbed another and doused the room, avoiding the lit candles. With another bottle, he trailed it down the stairs and soaked the lower floor with two more bottles. Leaving the empty bottles and shoving everything else into his gym bag, he put the bag in the trunk of his car and started the engine. He went back to the backdoor, but didn't enter the cottage.
Pulling matches from his pocket, he lit a match and watched it burn for a second. Glancing toward the stairs, he whispered, "You should have never said 'I love you'." He let the match drop and backed away as the accelerant ignited. As he turned and began to walk to his car, he heard the muted roar of the fire rushing up the stairs to greet his lover.
Yes so that's it. While listening to the song, the chorus came and I pictured a man dousing a home with gasoline while his lover slept unaware upstairs in the bedroom and thought, 'Oh my gosh! Finally I'm inspired to write something! So I grabbed my laptop and this is the end result. Hope you enjoyed it... well, I guess it would be a weird thing to enjoy but it's probably weirder to write it so really who am I to question it? Anyway by now anyone who reads my short stories should know the outcome usually isn't a happy one if the characters are not named.
Sidenote: Those of you who read Tears of Blood... it's on hiatus.. I'm sorry. I don't want to write it, but I want it to be complete... so yes I'm struggling with it and have decided to go back and edit the other stories in the Blood Saga to hopefully revive my interest in writing Tears. And if anyone read the first one, Vials of Blood, you know I'm just going to have to pretty much re-write that one. It's that bad, but in my defense I wrote it when I was in grade 9/10. So yeah, that's my summer project... with working and summer school and hanging out with my friends... :)
Another sidenote: I hate the New York Islanders and the New Jersey Devils Oo