J. Kenner - Heated

He was carrying me, and I snuggled close, suddenly spent.

Gently, he took me through the penthouse, then laid me in his bed. He stood at the side, and then slowly toed off his shoes and unbuttoned his slacks. He wore briefs, and I could see the bulge of his erection behind the gray material. He stripped those off, too, and I found myself staring at the most perfect male I had ever seen.

He pulled open a drawer beside the bed and drew out a condom. I watched, awed by how hard and perfect he was, as he took it out of the package and then rolled it on.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he said as he moved to the foot of the bed. “Because I really can’t wait.”

I nodded, then gasped as he gripped me behind each knee and tugged me toward him so that my ass was right at the edge of the mattress. The move was bold and wild and a little violent—and I moaned in delight, lost in the pleasure of submitting to him.

“Legs up,” he said, lifting my legs until my heels were at his shoulders. “Christ, I like that view.”

My legs were parted, and I was wide open to him, so aroused that even the brush of air over my sex made me tremble with need. Wet and aroused and very much on display.

I twisted my head to the side as I felt the blush hit my cheeks.

“No,” he said. “God, no. You’re beautiful. And so wet,” he said as he slid his fingers over me, thrusting two inside.

Immediately, my body clenched around him, drawing him in. But that wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough. I felt wild and wanton and so very empty. I needed him inside me. Was pretty sure I would shrivel up and die if he didn’t fuck me right that very second. “Please,” I whispered.

“Please what?”

“I want you,” I said. “I want you inside me. Now.”

He tugged my legs so that I slid even closer to him, and I gasped with the motion, then cried out in pleasure as I felt the tip of his cock press hard against me. “This?” he asked, slipping inside me. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

“You promised me hard,” I said. “Dammit, Tyler, I want you to fuck me.”

“Whatever you want,” he said, then ripped a scream of pleasure, of pain, of absolute satisfaction out of me when he thrust hard into me, pulling my legs up as he did, so that he sank deep inside, then again and again as our bodies slapped together and I reached to the side to claw at the bedsheets.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and I opened my eyes and found his gaze, hot and hard, pulling me. “That’s right, baby.”

Our eyes stayed locked as he moved rhythmically, and I felt spirals of pleasure twisting through me, rising higher and higher like some magnificent crescendo just waiting for the final triumphant burst.

I released my hold on the sheets, surrendering my body entirely to him. Concentrating on the glorious sensation of him filling me, the rhythmic pounding as he claimed me, the tight grip he kept on the back of my thighs as he drew me closer with each thrust.

I watched his face, wanting to memorize him, to learn everything about him. I moved my hands to my breasts, pinching my own nipples, and feeling a rising storm of satisfaction at his whispered moan of, “oh, Christ, baby, yes.”

I saw the pressure building inside him, recognized the rising storm in those amazing blue eyes.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice raw.

“I’m not—I can’t—” I was close—the friction on my clit from his thrusts making everything inside me coil tight—but it wasn’t enough to release.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered. And then, more gently, “Do it, Sloane. I want you with me.”

I hesitated only a moment, then slid my hand down until my fingers found my clit, then moaned in response to the first tiny stroke. He’d brought me so close. So very close, and now I touched myself—touched him too, when my fingertips brushed his cock. It was intimate, wildly sensual, my fingers right there as he thrust into me. His orgasm growing as my body clenched around him, and my own hand working to bring me over with him.

“Jesus, Sloane. Now,” he said, and before I could react, he’d exploded, his body shaking as the climax ripped through him. My own orgasm came fast, and I clung to him, body to body, skin to skin, wanting nothing more in that moment but to lose myself in the scent, the taste, the everything of this man.

Slowly, sweetly, my body calmed, and Tyler pushed me back up the bed, rolling over, drawing me close to him. “You are exceptional,” he murmured, as he gently brushed his lips over my shoulder.

“You make me feel exceptional,” I said, fighting to keep my eyes open. But my lids were heavy, and his body was warm, and I drifted off to sleep in the arms of this man that I shouldn’t want, but so desperately did.

The moon shines down on the low stone wall, making the limestone glow and the bits of quartz shimmer. A ruin now, mostly rubble, but this part of it still stands on the hill looking down at the house.

I kneel behind it, looking over the rocks. Looking across the field.

Looking at the house where he lives. Looking at him moving around inside, so sure that he’s safe behind the glass.

“You don’t have to go to the academy. You don’t have to become a cop.”

I turn my head and face the balding man with the gentle blue eyes.

“I do, Daddy,” I say. “I have to make it right. I’m the only one who understands why it’s so important to make it right.”

“You can’t,” he says. “See?” He reaches for my hands, and I see that they are slick with blood. “How can it ever be right?”

Fear slices through me, and I look to the house again.

He’s not walking anymore. He’s prone. He’s dead.

And the blood flows and flows, filling the field, climbing the hill, reaching for the wall. Reaching for me.

I start to scream and reach for my father, but he isn’t there.

Run, I think. Now is the time to run.

I race forward toward the house, screaming for her, searching for her.

She has to be there. Now that he’s dead, she should be there.

But she’s gone.

And as the force of the dream thrusts me upright and out of sleep, I scream for my mother … but I can’t even remember if she was ever there at all.

My eyes fluttered open, the dream still clinging to me, gray and cloying.

Tyler’s arm was still around my waist and he was breathing soft and evenly. I didn’t want to disturb him, but I also wanted to move, to shake off the last wisps of the nightmare. Carefully, I slid from his embrace, then scooted to the edge of the bed, taking care not to disturb the mattress too much.

Once up, I padded to the elegant bathroom, trying my best to stay quiet. I didn’t know what time it was, but since the drapes were open, I knew that it was still dark out.

When I returned to the bed, I noticed that there was no clock. Automatically, I reached for my phone, but it was still in the living room, safe inside my purse. I almost went to get it, but then I saw Tyler’s watch on the bedside table. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked it up, then tilted it to try to see the face in the ambient light from the city.

I frowned, realizing that the second hand wasn’t working, and when I held it up to my ear, there was no ticking.

“It doesn’t work.” Tyler’s voice skimmed over me, rough with sleep.

I turned to face him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” He sat up, then reached for the watch. “It’s been broken for years.”

“Oh.” Maybe I was tired, but I didn’t understand. “Can’t it be repaired?”