My heart hurts at the thought of him going to the bar tonight, and that feeling alone drives me insane. I feel stuck here locked inside a house with a living room that’s a shrine to his dead fiancé, but it’s of my own doing. I fucked up today, trying to live in a moment that never should have occurred.

I could leave I guess since it’s my left ankle that’s strained. I don’t need it to drive, but how do I ask for my keys? I push this thought as far back in my mind as I can, scrolling through my Facebook feed and seeing nothing that interests me. Damn it.

I can’t leave.

We’re going to have to deal with his fiancé. I need her to be brought up in conversation. I pray he brings her up first because I don’t want to be the cause of that soul-crushing look his eyes reveal when she enters his thoughts. I’ve seen it several times now, and I can almost feel the ghost of her living inside him, causing me to shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asks, walking in the room with a large tray in his hands. He sets it down on the coffee table and walks to the far corner of the sectional to grab a throw blanket.

“Just a little, maybe,” I say. “I’m not used to sitting down for this long.” He wraps it around my shoulders and tucks the throw into all of the nooks and crannies my body makes in this recliner, snuggling me in. I pull my arms free, and we both laugh having forgotten that I might need those to eat.

He flips on the television to dispel the quiet in the room. It’s probably out of habit for him, but I don’t watch a lot of television. I’m hardly ever home, working in my office until very late into the evenings, or out with clients on other nights. Day jobs and wedding planning are always contradictory to each other, it seems, so we plan a lot of things after work. It’s the nature of the wedding beast.

I cut into my chicken and wrap some of the accompanying pasta around my fork, before stabbing a piece of chicken and taking one very large bite into my mouth. I’m hungrier than I thought. I look up at him and almost choke in surprise to find he’s watching me eat.

“It’s delicious,” I say with a mouth full of chewed noodles. My hand sneaks up to cover my mouth as my words come out. “Thank you for dinner...and the blanket.”

“No need to thank me for either one,” he assures me. He turns his plate to cut into his pasta, and his eyes focus on the television screen as his loaded fork finds his mouth. Some kind of truck race is on. He hunkers over his plate and continues shoveling his food from fork to mouth absentmindedly. The leaderboard flashes on the screen and I watch him study it intently. I guess you can take the man out of the race, but not the race out of the man.

I finish cutting my chicken while he’s distracted by the television, but my knife misses and screeches across the glass plate causing the tiny hairs on my arms to stand up. It was a noise much like nails on a chalkboard. I grit my teeth, wincing as I look up at him. “Sorry about that,” I say, and he gives me that smile that heats me up on the inside. Suddenly, I’m too hot for the blanket and toss it off behind me. I guess that’s why they call it a throw.

He points the remote at the television causing the screen to go black, throwing the room into complete silence again, except for the sound of the blood flowing through my ears. “I wasn’t trying to get your attention with that noise,” I explain. “Go ahead and finish watching the race.”

“Nah, I was being rude and didn’t even notice,” he replies. “We can talk if you’d like. I get so used to keeping my own company that I forget how to be attentive and entertain sometimes. It’s a fault I’ll have to work on.”

“How long have you lived here?” I ask before taking a bite of my food, curious to know and hoping to release some of the awkwardness that has piled up between us today.

He finishes eating and sets his plate off to the side of the coffee table. He sips his water and responds, “I think it’s been about twenty-three years. I’d have to think really hard about that to be sure.”

“So you lived here when you bought the bar?” I ask, trying to piece together the timeline of his life that I already know.

“Yeah, the original owner had died and it sat empty for almost a year, leaving this area without a bar,” he recalls. “I felt an overwhelming need to remedy that. My sister encouraged me to do it, and that’s the story.”

“I saw the piano when we came in. Do you play?” I ask. I suspect it was her piano, but I don’t know for sure. He could be some Christian Grey piano phenom for all I know. I watch him open his mouth to speak, but he swallows his first words harshly. The color rises in his face, and he turns from me. His secondary thoughts come out more sincere.

“No,” he murmurs softly, “that’s Olivia’s piano.”  When he looks up his eyes are filled with unshed tears. He focuses on something on the bookshelf behind me. I turn my head to see a photo of she and him sitting on the white leather bench together, laughing and happy.

I lean forward in the recliner and tug on his arm to come sit by me, patting the seat next to me. He doesn’t budge at first, but after a few moments goes by he gives up on the battle waging inside his head and takes the seat offered.

“She must have been a wonderful person to have stolen your heart so deeply,” I offer, squeezing his hand. “I get the feeling that you don’t love easily.”

“Not anymore,” he says and that truth releases the emptiness he’s been holding inside. His shoulders shake hard, and a guttural sob releases from his throat. He takes a few minutes to wipe his cheeks from the flowing tears and blow his nose. He steals glances at me every so often while he collects himself. His voice is shaky but deep when he’s ready to speak again.

“She was soft against all of my hard edges. She calmed me down when no one else could. She used to say music soothes the soul, and she’d play me songs on the piano, and son-of-a-bitch it worked. She even learned to play heavy metal on that damn thing because she knew it was my favorite,” he laughs at that thought. My heart melts with seeing the smile on his face from that good memory.

“Can you tell me how she died?” I ask. He narrows his eyes towards me and shakes his head violently. A different shade of red colors his face with my bold question.

“No,” he barks. Jumping up from his seat next to me, he grabs both of our plates and heads to the kitchen. I hear them drop into the sink, crashing against the metal not sure if they broke or not. The only other noise I hear is the slamming of the back door. He’s gone in a huff; madder than a bear when someone messes with their cub.

Well, Bella, you’ve really fucked this up. And for the third time today.

I know Google holds the answers to my questions, but I’ve resisted the urge to snoop ever since he first told me about her. I slide my phone into my pocket, ignoring the temptation again. Only this time, I can feel the heat of my phone burning a hole in my curiosity. I remove it from my pocket and toss it to the other side of the couch.

The remote is within reach and should help me find some entertainment from the quiet of his home. I flip the channels and find a Matthew McConaughey marathon starting. The Lincoln Lawyer is one of my favorites. I settle back into the throw blanket and wait for Frank to return.

The back door opens with a long creaking noise, waking me. I rub my eyes and see it’s a little after 1:00 am on the clock. Oh God, please let that be Frank. Another door opens and I hear water running that changes into a shower. I’m confident in assuming it’s Frank. Who would break into someone’s home just to take a shower? The marathon is still on, and EdTV is playing. I love you Matthew but that is your worst movie. I turn off the TV and snuggle back down under the blanket.

A little while later, I feel someone hovering around me in the den. Hands slide under me and strong arms lift me, blanket and all, carrying me to a room close by. Before setting me down, he inhales my hair, taking in my scent of honeysuckle. His nose nuzzles my neck and I moan, not being able to control what I feel for him. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his, pushing my tongue against the crease to open them. I hope he accepts my apology.

He finally opens to me, and I take the kiss deeper, sucking on his tongue. We kiss without apology or regret. It’s pure want and need. My hand reaches out to touch his chest and I feel muscle and hair, no clothing. When he lays me down, I immediately remove my shirt tossing it to the floor. He lays on top of me, kissing the mounds of my breasts that overflow my demi bra. My hands slide into the elastic waistband of his shorts to cup his tight ass. I squeeze and pull him higher to graze his hard-on against my sex.

I reach down and pull on the waistband of my leggings wanting them removed. He shoves on them to assist and they ride down my legs slowly. He crawls down me, kissing my belly and the top of my sex before easing my leggings over my wrapped ankle.

Frank places his hands under my knees and bends my legs back to hang in the air. His tongue traces up the soft inner flesh of my thigh and I shiver with the heavy burden of wanting him to touch me where I ache for him. His fingers run along the lace edge of my panties before sliding them to the side. His tongue rides along the seam of my lips, before tickling my clit and pulling on it. He sucks deeply, thrusting his tongue in and out of me as my ass bucks off the bed.

His hands reach up and pull on my small breasts, kneading them roughly and twisting each hardened nipple. “Suck them, Frank. I need your mouth on them,” I moan. He lifts up and kisses me first, letting me taste myself on his lips. I release a broken moan as his lips touch my breasts and he sucks hard on them, pulling them out and letting them pop from his lips.

I reach down and grip his hard-on, rubbing it through the cloth barrier between us. He shoves his shorts down and kicks them off to the floor. He’s not wearing any briefs; his penis springs free and I catch it in my hands rubbing and stroking it several times before caressing his balls. I need him in my mouth. I shimmy down the bed underneath him and place his dick in my mouth. He moans in pleasure as I suck on the crown. There is nothing sexier than a man that moans to the thrill of sex.

I run my tongue along the large vein that runs under his dick and take him into my mouth again, stroking his shaft as he thrusts into my mouth. I swallow as he presses back into my throat and he moans again, more deeply this time. His fingers pull on my nipples and I need to feel his mouth on me again. His dick pops out of my mouth, as he rolls us over carefully, paying close attention to my ankle. He helps me to my knees, trailing kisses down my back. His hands reach forward and rub my clit, swirling his wet fingertips over my swollen clit.

A packet rips behind me, and I turn my head watching him roll a condom onto his thick length. I’ve always found it sexy watching a man hold his own dick. Whether they are stroking it, adjusting it, or rolling on protection, it makes me wetter watching it.

He slaps his penis on my ass before sliding it into my pussy. I come on the spot. He grips my waist and thrusts several minutes before my legs start to shake. His fingers tweak my nipples and glide down my belly to pull my clit again. He places his fingers in my mouth to suck on, as he slides his hands back down to my clit again.

His fingers press and squeeze my labial lips, making them tighter against his dick as he thrusts in and out. “Jesus Cristo!”, I scream out in Portuguese, he feels amazing. My knees buckle and he wraps his arm around my waist holding me up and tighter to him. His fingertips trail down the center of my back and I come again screaming “Oh, Frank” as he approaches the sensitive skin around my anus. He rubs it gently while I climax.

A few moments later, he grunts loudly, gripping my waist tightly as he pounds into me while he comes. I reach back to touch his face and he presses his forehead against my back panting, then nuzzles into my neck again smelling what’s left of the honeysuckle. I feel his smile on my skin. “Olivia, you are amazing,” he whispers and kisses my cheek.