Valentine's Delight

I sat at the corner of the bar, running my fingers along the dripping glass of the beer that I'd ordered nearly an hour before. My date was late, though I shouldn't have been surprised. No doubt, he'd taken his pretty, inattentive wife to some fancy restaurant, joining the throngs of people pretending that February 14 was a date that meant something.

I knew better. I'd been fucking and sucking Brian for three months. I knew exactly how he liked his cock sucked. How he enjoyed when I tickled the sensitive skin of his anus. I had explored every savory inch of his body and never judged him for the slight belly that he sported.

No. I'd appreciated him for what he was. A man with a thick cock and needs.

Still, he left me and went home to that snide bitch after ever lovemaking session we'd had. I hated that part. I'd told myself I was done with him a hundred times. Yet, I'd wait anxiously by my phone waiting for a call or text from him.

Fuck, I was pathetic.

Even if Brian left his wife, he'd never truly be loyal to me. We'd be together for a while. We'd have fun. Then he'd get bored and find a new plaything and dump me.

And still, I sat in the damned bar nursing a beer and hoping he'd show up. I'd turned down a few guys, even though they were attractive. Thirty minutes till closing time and even my slutty ass wasn't getting laid this Valentine's Day.

Damn it all to hell.

I sighed and slammed the warm beer, holding my hand up to get the bartender's attention. He'd given me the evil eye despite the sizable tip I'd given him when I first ordered.

"Gonna make this worth my while, lady?"

"Vodka martinis. Keep 'em coming till I can't see straight. The dirtier the better," I said as I slapped a fifty on the bar. "Know what, make it a pitcher and I'll add another twenty to that as your tip."

The bartender glanced over his sunglasses, taking stock of me. I could almost swear his eyes were glowing with the faintest hint of red. Nah, I was imagining things. I watched as he turned to the bar and plucked a bottle of Ketel One from the top shelf of the backbar. The bartender kept the bottle and pitcher in my view as he skillfully mixed my order, not skimping on the alcohol.

He wasn't bad looking, either.

I slipped the twenty off the bar and replaced it with another fifty. A hundred bucks for a nice, masculine view and a pitcher of well-made martinis was reasonable in my mind.

By the time he finished mixing my order, the bar had virtually cleared out. The ladies--and a few men--gathered up their red roses and boxed chocolates before heading off to enjoy some holiday sex. There was a certain magic in the air, just not for me.

A few customers sat in a cluster under the big screen, their attention focused on a hockey game instead of any romantic pursuits. Most of the stragglers were regulars, people I knew by face only. I'd never talked to anyone other than Brian when I visited. The sensation of isolation was overwhelming, despite the proximity of other humans.

"I've seen you in here a lot over the last few months," the bartender said as he poured my first glass. "Usually with the same loser. He stood you up on Valentine's Day?"

I shrugged.

The bartender looked down at the bills I'd placed on the bar top.

"You don't owe me that much," he said.

"Take it, I appreciate your mixology skills," I replied as I drained my glass. "Will you keep it if I ask you to keep me company 'till I'm done?"

The bartender chuckled, flashing a smile that made me blush.

"Tell me your name and I'll throw in an order of those jalapeno poppers you like so much."

I blushed even more.

"Everyone calls me Becca," I replied eventually. "And you?"

"Me? I'm Jon," he answered. "I'll be back in a minute."

I poured myself another martini and tried to relax. I checked my phone, which was a mistake since Brian hadn't messaged like he promised he would. On some level, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was an idiot for thinking a married man was interested in anything beyond a quick fuck. We'd met quite accidentally one day at the local coffee shop, thrown together when the barista confused my white chocolate mocha order with Brian's chia latte. We'd chatted and laughed about the screw up. The next time we saw one another, we'd exchanged phone numbers.

A week later, I'd slept with him while his wife was away on a business trip. I damn well should have known better than to sleep with a man who ordered chia lattes.

It wasn't as though I couldn't get a date. I knew how to turn on enough charm to interest a man-or sometimes a woman-but I could never seem to attract people who were looking for a real connection. Everyone wanted a good screw. No one, it seemed, wanted the complication of a relationship.

I was lonely. Sex was nice, but I wanted someone to ask me about my day or someone who'd listen when I needed to vent about some asshole who cut me off in traffic. Or even buy me a single red rose jammed in one of those stupid plastic containers. I didn't have that. I had people I hooked up with, and they only wanted sex.

Jon reappeared with a steaming plate of goodies.

"That was quick," I said glibly. "And that is a lot more than an order of jalapeño poppers. I don't want to get you in trouble."

Jon offered a smile as he slid the plate between us. My breath caught, just a little, as I took him in. The man was a bit older than me. His build was masculine, although not ridiculously so. Jon was well proportioned and confident. I flushed again under the weight of his stare.

"The kitchen's closed for the night," he said simply. "This would go to waste otherwise. Give me a few to close out and I'll help you finish this off."

Even though I was suddenly ravenous, I waited for Jon to return. Instead of eating, I sipped my martini and watched his body move under the clean, white button-down shirt he wore. Heat built between my legs as I scanned further down, noting how his jeans molded around well-built thighs. I couldn't bring myself to look at the front side of Jon's pants when he turned around.

"Calm down, you idiot," I whispered to myself.

Behind me, someone chuckled. When I turned, I noticed the few remaining customers were still focused on the television. There was no way any of them heard what I'd uttered to myself. No way.

I drained my glass and poured my final martini. Frowning, I considered the empty pitcher. Jon made excellent dirty martinis, but I wasn't about to ask him to reopen the bar till to make me another. No, I'd nurse this one while I ate.

As if by magic, Jon reappeared with a fresh pitcher of martinis in hand.

"Why don't we move over to a booth?" he suggested. "We can eat and chat."

"Uh, sure."

I followed the bartender, bravely ignoring the obviously curious glances from the stragglers watching the hockey game. I had no idea why I was so interesting, and had I been more sober I probably would have called it a night. Instead, I slid into a surprisingly comfortable seat across the table from Jon.

He topped off my drink before putting an empty plate in front of me. I hadn't even seen him carrying a plate. Shaking my head, I nodded in thanks and watched as he served up an assortment of appetizers.

"I didn't bring out any calamari," Jon said as he loaded his own plate. "And I left off the heart shaped molten chocolate cake. You don't look like you'd enjoy it."

I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was a reminder that I didn't have a special someone.

"So, Becca, tell me about yourself," he said casually.

"Uh, like what?" I felt myself blush, though I had no idea why.

"What's your profession?"

"Oh boy," I replied. I shoved a loaded potato skin into my mouth to buy myself some time. "Uh, I'm a writer. You probably haven't read anything I've written, though."

Jon sat back and nodded. "I never knew the female Tolstoy frequented my establishment."

"Oh God, no!" I gasped. "I'm not exactly the War and Peace kind of author. Most people haven't ever heard of my writing."

"Enlighten me, Becca," Jon said. "I like to read a wide variety of genres."

I glanced around the room like a nervous informant in a bad detective movie. I wasn't used to people asking what I really did for a living. I liked the attention, but I simply wasn't used to it.

"Uh, I write stories that are considered paranormal romance," I admitted. "But I really want to break into the urban fantasy genre." I plucked a popper from the tray and nibbled at it. "You know, fantasy elements in a modern environment."

Shit. I'd probably just shut down the conversation. Most people weren't overly interested in writing to begin with, much less a peculiar story telling genre. I'd just let my writing nerd flag fly.

"I'm not familiar with urban fantasy," Jon replied as he sipped his own drink. "Tell me more, Becca."

"You sure? Most folks aren't too excited about it," I explained carefully.

Jon leaned back in his seat and removed his glasses, treating me to his dazzling blue eyes-no hint of red this time. I sucked in a breath as an unfamiliar, intense wave of heat traveled through my body. Jon smiled, resting his chin on tented fingers as he gave me his undivided attention.

Holy. Hell.

I drained my glass, just so I could collect myself.

"Urban fantasy. Well, uh," I stammered as every author I loved slipped from memory. I breathed a few times, trying to relax. "It makes the mundane exciting," I finally said. "Ghosts. Shapeshifters. Vampires. All the things that make a story more interesting, woven into our boring everyday lives. I love telling stories like that."

"Why don't you write that instead of paranormal romance?"

"I'm a decent writer," I admitted. "I'm still honing my craft, so I have to pay the bills somehow. So," I held up my glass in a mock toast, "I write sex stories about vampires and werewolves."

Jon laughed, although not cruelly, and reached out to refill my glass. "Why be ashamed of that? Storytelling is an admirable skill."

I huffed. "Tell my parents that."

"Perhaps you could share some of your work with me, Becca," Jon said as he leaned across the table. "I always appreciate a good story."

My breath seized as my body reacted strongly to the man's scent and proximity. I could see myself kissing him. Tasting his body. Surrendering to him. I slammed my martini down as my brain flashed images better described in a very graphic novel. Dorian Grey had nothing on this guy.

"So," I almost squealed, "how long have you worked here?"

I sounded like an idiot, but I needed to distract myself from the abrupt pheromone dump that was driving me insane. Otherwise, I'd try to mount Jon in front of everyone. That would be humiliating. And most likely result in a lifelong ban from the bar.

"I own the place. Have for over a decade," Jon said smoothly, his eyes boring into me.

"Own?"

"Yes, own. So you won't get me in trouble by sharing a drink and some food," he winked at me.

I blushed furiously and fiddled with my empty martini glass.

"I'll fix us another batch," Jon said smoothly. "Be right back."

I nodded wordlessly. The moment Jon left the table, I thrust myself upwards and headed towards the bathroom. My sudden lust left me confused and I needed a moment of privacy to gather my thoughts. There was no way this guy could be even remotely interested in someone like me. No way.

I relieved my bladder and spent too long washing my hands, staring critically at the image in the mirror before me and working hard to ignore the judgmental stare of the paper Cupid dangling from the ceiling light fixture above me.

"What is your problem, dumbass?" I asked myself. "Be polite. Pay your tab and leave. This guy is way out of your league, loser."

"You always beat yourself up like that?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

Startled, I looked up and finally noticed one of the female stragglers who'd been watching the game so intently. Her focus had apparently drifted from hockey to me. Wasn't I the lucky bitch?

"Sorry, didn't know anyone was in here," I muttered as I continued washing my hands.

"Jon never gets this wound up about ladies," said a tall lanky red head. "I'm Tina. The mouth breather in the stall behind you is Amanda."

"Hey," piped up a voice behind me.

"Uh, hey," I said uncertainly.

"Look, Becca," continued Tina, "I've known Jon for years and I've never seen him this interested in a chick before."

"Never," added Amanda. "Maybe he's all caught up with the magic of Valentine's Day?" she added with a nasally snort.

"I don't want to get him in trouble, okay? He seems like a nice guy and all," I said slowly. "I . . . I just had a bad night tonight. The company was nice. I'm not trying to poach your territory."

Both of my new friends laughed, their voices filling tiny--and unexpectedly clean--bathroom.

"Kid, look. Sex holiday or not, Jon doesn't just sit down and eat with customers. Don't be an idiot," Tina admonished. "I've known him for years. He takes good care of his people and we," Tina thumped her chest before pointing at the stall containing Amanda, "want to see him happy."

A toilet flushed and I finally got a view of Amanda, a short and slightly rotund young lady who wore a pleasant expression. She also had a gawdy string of plastic red hearts laced around her neck.

"He found me when I was trying to hack my way to eternity," the portly young girl said as she held up a scarred wrist. "Jon made it better, so I want to see him happy. Don't blow him off, okay? I'd hate to have to kill you."

My jaw dropped. I wasn't used to threats.

Tina leaned close, her eyes burning brightly.

"Those stories you like so much, maybe they ain't so much fiction," Tina said. Her eyes took on a ruby red glow. "Be nice to our Jon and you might just find a whole lot of stories you can write about."

Tina winked at me, her eyes suddenly brown once again.

I shoved past the two peculiar women and practically thrust myself out of the bathroom.

I intended to drop some more money on the bar and walk outside, pretending that the night hadn't turned odd. That wasn't what happened, though. As I swept through the room, Jon's intense gaze snagged my attention. I found myself sitting next to him in a booth, his well-muscled arm draped over my shoulder.

What the hell was wrong with me?

"Nothing, precious," Jon whispered in my ear. "Not a thing is wrong with you."

I moaned and leaned against him.

"You don't even know me," I gasped. "You can't be interested. Not in me."

He chuckled and ran his fingers along the back of my neck, enticing me to moan even louder. I tilted my head upwards, offering my lips for a kiss. Jon leaned forward and captured my lips, sliding his tongue into my mouth.

I groaned as I tasted him. Sweet and hot. In a heartbeat, my hips began undulating and my sex grew wet. Jon grunted, driving his tongue deeper into my mouth as his fingers began tracing irregular patterns along my thigh.

Without a care in the world, I opened my legs for him.

Suddenly, Jon pulled away from me. I groaned in protest.

"Precious," he said, "be sure you want this. I'll give you the world, but I expect your loyalty."

Grudgingly, I opened my eyes and met his gaze. Those brilliant blue eyes had shifted to ruby red, filled with hunger and something else that I didn't understand.

"Who are you?" I managed to whisper.

Jon smiled and caressed my face, his fingers gentle and almost loving. No, not loving. There was no way he was loving towards me.

"Precious Becca trust me. I'm not like them, luv." Jon leaned down and kissed me again. Hot. Wet. Deep. "I wouldn't abandon you in a bar. I want to worship you, precious."

I was lost in his embrace.

Gasping, I heard myself begging for his attention.

"Easy, precious," he laughed, "I take good care of my lovers. You'll enjoy this if you agree to my terms, luv."

"Yes! Yes! Anything," I squealed. "I need you! Now!"

"No," said Jon firmly. "I will satisfy you. But you need to understand."

I panted and thrust my pelvis towards Jon. On some level, I understood that my behavior was unacceptable. Mostly, I didn't give a damn. I needed Jon. I had no idea why. I only knew that I needed him inside me.

Jon stood suddenly, sweeping the plates and glasses from the table. I found myself on my back, legs spread wide and panting with lust.

"Easy, little storyteller," Amanda whispered in my ear. "Understand what our Master offers."

Tina appeared above me, her fingers deftly tearing away the modest dress that covered my body. I couldn't protest. I groaned and stared at Jon as he slowly removed his clothing.

Holy hell, I needed him inside me!

A brief, rational thought formed in my heated brain. Amanda just called Jon her master. What the hell was that all about?

"See, little storyteller," Tina said, "that fantasy world you want to write about ain't so unreal after all. All kinds of beasties roam the streets."

"And we aren't all the bad guys, precious," breathed Jon.

As I stared, his eyes shifted to a ruby red glow and a pair of long, curved fangs slowly extended beneath his upper lip. Naked and beautiful, Jon towered over me and radiated a power that I'd never experienced before.

Tina chuckled in my ear.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" she asked. "We've known Jon for centuries. He's protected us, guided us."

"Saved some of us," added Amanda.

Her face had shifted slightly, accommodating a pair of ivory fangs. Her eyes weren't as bright as Jon's, but they were captivating.

"You understand what we are, don't you?"

I nodded, still panting. Still needy.

"Tell me, little storyteller," breathed Tina, "tell me what you think we are."

"V. . . vampires," I said in a shaky voice.

Jon towered over me, his body vibrating with power. And lust.

"In all the eons that I've followed him, Jon has never taken a true mate," Tina whispered. "Never even hinted at an interest. Then you walk in the door. Sad and lonely, abandoned by a piece of shit lover."

"He's watched you since the first day you set foot in here," added Amanda. "Waited for you to realize that sleazy bastard wasn't worth your time."

"And we've watched him suffer," growled Tina. "We love our Master, Rebecca. You'd damn well better be worth his time."

Jon snarled, the sound rumbling through the air and making me even wetter.

I squealed as he lowered himself over me, lapping at my neck with his hot tongue. Jon nipped and bit, blazing a trail of lust along my torso.

"Oh. Fuck," I groaned as Jon sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit down. I cried out as delicious pain coursed through my body. No lover I'd ever taken had bitten me.

I fucking loved it.

Clawing at Jon's back, I struggled to pull him closer to me. I snarled when my lover pulled away, not caring one bit that a crowd had formed around the table.

"Mate," he snarled at me. "You are my mate."

I screamed as he bit my neck. Hard.

"Swear loyalty to him, little storyteller. Swear you'll bear his young!" Tina's voice was clear and commanding.

"Yes! Yes!" I screamed and clawed at Jon's body. "Anything! Just please fuck me!"

Jon stopped, staring through me with those incredible red eyes.

"You'll bear my children?"

His tone stopped my insane lust, freezing my body as his meaning finally sunk in. Obviously, Jon wasn't human. That I could understand, given my proclivity towards the fantastic. This man, vampire or not, wanted me to bear a child. For him. I cried out, my chest heaving as I processed what was happening.

A mate.

Offspring.

That was permanent. That was real. He wanted me to give him a child. Fear swept through me, though it did little to abate the lust burning in my belly. I reached up, running my fingers along his angled, strong jaw.

"I'm no one," I breathed.