Cole
“I don’t even know your name,” she whispers.
Sabrina looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. She’s bewildered and I can sense our future slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. There was a spark of heat when she first saw me. Her eyes drifted down my body with blatant admiration and my cock immediately reacted.
She nods, her black hair bobbing with the movement. A stray image of the dark strands wrapped around my fist as I enter her from behind springs to mind. I might not be good for much, but if she gives me a chance, I can show her one benefit of having an older partner.
If I can’t make her love me, I can at least make her love fucking me.
She’s too young for me, but I don’t give a damn. If she wants a husband, she’ll get one. Me.
I don’t exactly look like the kind of guy who likes spooky things.
And to be honest, I didn’t. Not until I met Sabrina for the first time.
Well, met is misleading. I saw her with her friends at a distance.
She didn’t even look at me twice. But I was hooked.
I learned something about myself that day.
I like my women curvy, and witchy. Sabrina dresses like she’s stepped straight off a horror movie set.
Flowy dresses and skirts with lacy layers that sway with every swing of her hips and low-cut bodice shirts that highlight her tits.
She stands out among the bright colored sundresses and flannels strolling around our town.
I can spot her from a mile away. She wears black lipstick I want smeared across my pillow and my neck.
Fake nails she shapes like tiny coffins with sparkly gems I’d love to feel scratching my back while I worship her.
“Let’s start with a date,” she says as she clasps her hands behind her back and spins on her heel. She starts walking away but doesn’t reach the first tombstone before she looks at me over her shoulder with a coquettish smile.
“Are you coming, big guy?”
My body kicks into motion with an eagerness I don’t try to hide. By some miracle she’s not going home to put a curse on me.
“Where would you like to go?” she asks as we exit the cemetery. Her arms swing freely at her sides, the sleeves of her shirt brushing mine with every step.
Where, indeed. It’s been decades since I’ve gone on a first date. The obvious choice is unavailable. The Fall Festival doesn’t start until tomorrow. I’m drawing a blank until I spot Bean There’s sign with its black outline of a coffee cup.
“Coffee,” I mutter.
“Yesss,” she hisses. “Another dose of pumpkin spice to feed my soul.”
She brings her hands together in front of her chest and taps her fingernails against each other like a cartoonish evil villain. The wind bites sharper now the sun’s dipped below the peak. Sabrina shivers once, pretending she’s fine, but I see through the lie.
I strip off my flannel and settle it around her shoulders before she can argue. It’s covered in sawdust and smells like sweat but it’ll keep her warm. I’ll be fine in my T-shirt.
“Wear it.”
Her mouth opens to sass me, but I press a hand to the small of her back and guide her toward the sidewalk. I don’t shove, don’t crowd her, just keep her moving where I want her.
Feels right. Natural. Like she’s mine to protect already.
At Bean There, I open the door for her and tip my chin toward the warm interior.
“Go on, pretty girl.”
She glances up at me, cheeks pink, and for a second, I swear she’s about to say something reckless. Then she breezes into the coffee shop like a glittery black thundercloud.
There is a bar area where some of the regulars prefer to sit so they can talk to the baristas while the tables and booths lining the walls and filling the center of the shop are occupied by couples and friend groups.
I typically order ahead and get my drink to go but she’s the type of person who’d prefer to sit and sip.
“I prefer the mocha latte,” I tell her as we join the ordering queue.
“Caffeinated hot chocolate?”
“I like sweet things,” I reply, my eyes unconsciously drifting down the frame of the sweetest treat I’ve ever craved.
Her blue eyes meet mine over her shoulder and she levels me with that look.
“Cole, you’re a terrible flirt. Like, actually terrible at it.”
“Bit out of practice,” I mutter as the barista waves us forward to order.
Sabrina reaches into her purse, but I grab my wallet and pay before she can.
“Hey,” she protests. “You don’t get to swoop in like some—”
“Like what?” I ask.
Her sass fizzles under my stare. For a heated second, I worry I’m being too bossy. Too authoritative. It highlights our generational divide, but I’ll be damned if my fiancée buys her own coffee.
“Be good and let me buy my girl a drink,” I say in a low voice meant for her ears only.
Her gasp is quiet in the loud café. She gives me the slightest nod and a softly spoken, “Yes…”
The word trails off, but I don’t think she was going to say my name. Another word was on the tip of her tongue. I’m dying to find out if it’s what I suspect. But a small coffee shop isn’t the place to ask. Not about that.
“How out of practice?” Sabrina asks once we have our drinks and a table by the window.
“Embarrassingly so,” I reply.
She pouts at my answer, her black lips sucking on her straw petulantly. Such a fucking brat. I love it.
“You don't say much,” she complains. “It'll be hard to get to know my husband if he keeps secrets.”
My heart pounds so loud I’m sure she’ll hear it, and I fight to keep my wits about me.
“It's not a secret. Just mildly embarrassing how long it's been since I've been in a serious relationship.”
Essentially never. I’m going to fuck this up so bad.
“Are you divorced?” A fair question.
“No.” A simple answer.
“Widower?”
“Never married.” The answer I should’ve given to the first question.
“Kids?” she asks. Her expression is hard to read. I’m not sure if it’s hope or dread shining in her eyes.
And this is when I realize I’m either in the middle of an interview or an interrogation and I’m not sure which.
“None.”
“That you know of,” she mutters.
“I had a vasectomy at eighteen.”
“You never wanted children?”
She’s shocked and panic begins to flood my brain. The surgery was a no brainer when I was younger. Now that I’m staring into the eyes of the only woman, I’ve ever wanted a future with, that decision might have finally come back to bite me in the ass.
“It's reversible,” I rush to reassure her. Kids might be a deal breaker for some people, but I’ll deny Sabrina nothing. If she wants kids, I’ll be a fifty-year-old dad with a newborn next Halloween.
“That's not what I asked.”
The harsh truth comes spilling out of my mouth like a faucet with a valve stuck open.
“My father was a deadbeat, and his father was no better. Never saw much point in continuing a cursed family line.”
“I don't want kids either,” Sabrina confesses. “I'd rather be the fun aunt who takes them on roller coasters and buys them loud toys that annoy their parents.”
“You got more questions, or did I pass your test?” I ask as she finishes her latte, making her sputter.
“It wasn’t a test! You didn’t answer any of the basic questions on the dating app.”
She goes on a mini tirade as we leave the coffee shop. Words fly out of her mouth so fast they run together and I’m fighting hard not to grin as the dark fairy berates me.
“You’re lucky I didn’t dismiss your match immediately. Noel was with me when we matched, and she said it was creepy—”
Her words die abruptly when I catch her elbow and tug her into the alley behind Bean There.
It’s hardly the most romantic place, but I don’t think I can wait any longer to kiss Sabrina.
We were perfectly alone at the cemetery and if I had packed a picnic basket we could’ve had our first date there.
Instead, like a dumbass, I brought her to a public coffee house where my mouth and hands had to behave themselves.
Sabrina glances around us frantically, and I could kick my own ass. I’ve got a hundred pounds and half a foot on her. Of course she’d be scared to be alone with me. Fuck. I pulled her into an alleyway like the sort of creep her friend thought I was.
“I’m sorry—”
I don’t get to finish my apology. Sabrina’s black lips land on mine, cutting off the rest of my words. My brain short circuits and all I can focus on is the smooth texture of her lipstick, and the slightest taste of strawberry wax as her mouth presses into mine.
She’s never been kissed.
The realization hits me like a brick on the head. My hands move on their own. They drift over her hips, squeezing and caressing the shape of her until she moans into my mouth.
A fucking virgin.
My brain is working overtime, trying to figure that one out. She’s too old, too gorgeous to have never been kissed. Steam is coming out of my ears trying to compute the impossible.
The men in this town are idiots. Every. Last. Fucking one of them.
We break apart to breathe, and the second those crystal blue eyes meet mine with their pupils blown wide with desire my control snaps.
I back her up against the brick wall across from us, the dumpster at the end of the alley shielding us from any passerby.
Lifting her up, she wraps her legs around my hips a split second before my lips claim hers in a bruising kiss.
Rougher than the first, I don’t wait for her to invite me in.
I nibble at her lips, thrust into her mouth, and suck on her tongue with wild abandon.
She melts against me, her hands fisting into my short hair and keeping me pressed close.
I couldn’t break this kiss if someone were to point a gun at my head.
Her lips and tongue mimic mine as she learns what she likes.
The entire time my hips are grinding against hers, my cock ramrod hard as I press against her core.
There are too many layers between us. My jeans. Her skirts. Delicate layers of sheer fabric and lace I loved before are in my way now. I don’t stop kissing her as my hand slides between us.
It’s too bold. Too presumptuous. But she doesn’t stop me. Fuck me, but I don’t have the strength to stop myself.
Four fucking layers. I count each one I flip up and out of my way before I find my prize.
I can’t see them, but I know they’re black. Soft and cool, maybe cotton, maybe silk.
Her panties are soaked. More than her soft whimpers, and the eagerness of her kiss, this is physical proof of her desire for me. Fuck.
She wants me.
“Cole,” she pants against my lips. “Please.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
We can’t do this here. I can’t pull her panties aside and sink my cock into her hot pussy here. Not for the first time. Not for her first time. I’m not a fucking monster.
“Just a taste,” I whisper to myself as my fingers slip under the fabric.
I can’t fuck her. Not right here. But I can give her what she needs. My middle finger slides through her slit, instantly coated with her arousal and I feel her entire body shiver as I brush over her clit. I tease it briefly with the slightest bit of pressure before I move on.
Later I’m going to lick this pussy until she comes on my tongue and I’m going to suck on her clit until she begs me to fuck her.
My finger enters her slowly, her inner walls gripping it tight. I can feel my heartbeat in my cock it’s so hard. It’s pressed against her thigh and she’s moaning against my neck as I pump my finger inside her.
She’s close already. Poor thing is helpless to do anything but take what I give her as her body begs for more. She clings to my shoulders, those nails doing their best to bite through the soft material of my flannel and sink into my skin.
Sabrina starts to tremble in my arms and I’m ready to let my finger fuck her through her orgasm when someone utters a curse behind me.