One
AIDEN
Was it possible to miss someone I didn’t know?
But I did know him, just not in the normal ways people interact.
I knew the musky scent permeating the room when he was near.
I knew the sound his boots made on the tile.
I knew the way his calloused hand felt on my ass and the way his spit tasted in my mouth.
I knew the dark scratch to his voice and the sighs of delight he made when I was good for him.
I knew the way his voice hitched when I crawled across the floor for him. Knees aching when he kept backing up a pace or two at a time.
I knew how sweet oxygen tasted after he fucked my throat until my lungs burned for a reprieve.
But I didn’t know his name nor what he looked like.
Waiting.
I’d forever be waiting for him.
I’d wait long past his usual time.
I did so frequently, fueled by hope and fantasy.
Some weeks it felt like I’d spend the rest of my eternity waiting for him to open the door.
I’d left the doors unlocked far past when the library had closed. Not such a perilous thing in a small mountain town. I could have left the library open for weeks on end and I doubt anyone would have noticed. In the winter months, the resort was swamped and the locals were too busy working. As one of the two librarians, I was often left to my own devices with only books for company.
Until he started showing up.
I was in love with a phantom. Or maybe ghost was a better word for him. The love had come on like fire—nothing slow or subtle about it. One minute I’d been hot and the next I’d been burning. Ashes. Nothing more than the burn and aftermath he’d created. Reborn from his touch, to suffer until he decided to dote on me once more.
I hoped the snow wouldn’t keep him away. It had started falling after dark. The walk home would be long, even if it was only half a mile. I should have left half an hour ago but I couldn’t bring myself to.
Minutes ticked by, much too late for the library to be open, but I didn’t dare turn off the lights for fear of sending him the message that I’d given up hope. That I’d turned off the lights and walked home alone. To my empty cabin, to heat something in the microwave while I watched television.
I’d rather be here, with an old novel clutched in my hands. One I was only half reading, with one eye on the door. Waiting on my perfect stranger. On the man I wished I knew.
I craved him, missing all the ways I pushed his buttons, driving him to fuck me.
“My Prince.”
My back straightened and the book I’d been clutching fell from my fingertips, clattering across the floor.
Deafening.
“Yes?” My voice shook with the fear I felt the first time and ever. The gulp of terror, the bite of excitement in my gut. My breath hitched. I never wanted the panic to ebb.
It swallowed me with its intoxicating allure.
“I’ve missed you.”
My heart nearly beat out of my chest. “I’ve missed you,” I whispered, scared my imagination played tricks on me.
“Tell me, have you been good?”
I nodded before I realized he couldn’t see me and croaked out, “Yes, Daddy.”
“Do you have your mask?”
“Yes.”
“Put it on.”
My tentative fingers found the drawer without looking as he flipped the deadbolt on the doors. Trapped, like an animal.
The cool fabric slid over my face and blacked out my senses. There was comfort in the unforgiving PVC. It snuffed out sight, sound and even restricted my breathing. Trapped in every sense of the word.
I sat on the stool behind the counter and waited. Minutes or hours could pass before he’d touch me. I wouldn’t know. All control was in his hands.
“Stand.” His voice appeared near my ear.
I put a hand on the desk and carefully put one foot and then the other on the floor. His fingers trailed down my spine, checking to make sure it was straight.
“I’m going to undress you now,” he said, his voice husky and filled with the same need pulsing through my veins. He started before the words fully left his lips, his familiar touch bringing me back to the first night.
The old wooden desk creaked as he sat on the edge. Something he’d done so many times, my cock responded to the sound.
I thrived on the fear.
The uncertainty.
Lived and died by the unknown.
He put one of my feet on his thigh, sliding my shoe and then sock off. He’d stripped me of every scrap I wore, leaving me standing there bare in the drafty lobby. Anyone could walk by and see my humiliation. Witness what I allowed a stranger to do to me. I’d find my clothes neatly folded on the desk when he was done. I would redress alone and try not to wish he was more than a phantom.
Maybe it was all a sick fantasy after being dumped and trapped in here night after night. My loneliness finally manifesting in visions.
And then he touched me. Long fingers skimming up the underside of my cock and I knew he was real.
“Henry Miller? Dirty boy.” He flipped my book closed, the sound radiating through me.
“Yes.” My cheeks flushed under the mask.
“Embarrassed about it, too.”
“How can you tell?”
“You’re pink from ass to ears.”
His words deepened the color.
“Yes.” It was no use lying to him.
He ran his fingers over my collar bone. “You turn the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen.”
I shivered, gooseflesh rising under his touch. “Thank you.”
“Are you going to tell me what you like about Henry Miller?”
“It was filthy before filthy was allowed,” I said the first thought that came to mind. I didn’t try to clip my words with him. I knew I could be honest. There was safety in honesty.
There was no judgment from a stranger. I didn’t have to face him in the light or without my mask.
“And why do you enjoy filthy from before it was allowed?”
“It feels more— honest—no expectations to be what it’s not. Like with you.” I wasn’t sure why I added the last. In my darkest fantasies this would be more someday. More than a sometimes thing with a stranger. Did I love him already? I’d like to think I did but it was impossible to know.
After six months I didn’t believe the fantasy anymore, but I held onto it for lonely nights in my cabin when I could still feel the sting of his cane and almost pretend like he was still there.
He finished undressing me, khakis and shirt, laying them aside with everything else. By the time his fingers slid under the waistband of the tight red Lycra I’d chosen for tonight, I was swooning. I loved the care he took in removing my clothes. The same he took in beating my ass, and it showed. He was methodical. I sometimes tried to make a list of all the traits he possessed and cross-reference them to all the people in town but no one was quite like he was.
It made me think he was a stranger, someone who passed through. A long-haul trucker, or even a rich widower who came here to his vacation house.
I wanted to know, but I also never wanted to ruin the nights we shared. How could they go on if I knew?
“Are you ready?”
“Maybe.”
“Going to be difficult tonight?” he asked, his smile edging into his tone.