Take the Heat

Beds were for lovers. They were for staying up late talking and sleeping in. They were for passionate sex with someone you actually cared about. We weren’t going to do any of that. He was going to use me, and I was going to be used. That was the point, really. The coercion had to be part of the appeal for him, because he was a handsome man. Objectively I admitted he could get any woman he wanted. So the only reason he’d done this was to make me feel like shit.

And it was working. I sat in the middle of the bed, my clothes rumpled and twisted around me, miserable. I thought about running again, but it was more of a hypothetical than an actual plan. He would only catch me again. And where would I go? The word home was a joke. My cold apartment was just a room. I felt more at home in the courtyard of the Magnolia than I ever had in the trailer park I’d grown up in.

He wandered to the corner of the room, and I could almost believe he was detached, if he hadn’t been practically inhaling me sixty seconds ago. The tension in the room was electric, raising the hair on my arms and shooting sparks through my body.

“Undress for me.”

I knew the way he meant it. Not just taking off my clothes to give him access. He meant a striptease, but I had no idea how to put on a sexy show. I’d only had sex with one guy, a boyfriend in my senior year of high school, and both of us had fumbled our way through the dark.

It had been awkward but also intimate. Raw. That was me—unpolished. If Liam had wanted a stripper, why hadn’t he hired an actual professional who knew what she was doing?

Because he wanted to humiliate me.

That was the only answer. And I resented him for it, even though I knew it wasn’t quite fair. After all, he was basically paying $15,000 for the dubious privilege. The deal helped me more than it did him, so I should really stop hating him—but I couldn’t.

My first moves were jerky and uncoordinated. My shirt came off in bits—one arm and then these leftover buttons and then this other arm. The skirt didn’t fare much better. I had to unbunch it from my waist and smooth it out before it could come down. And then my panties, which were serviceable white. My bra was last, which seemed backward, really. And he’d already seen my breasts earlier, when he pushed the white lace aside. But still I blushed when the straps fell down my arms. I held the cups to my chest, hoping.

He approached me like a panther, low to the ground, but that was an illusion. He had power, so much power. The power to pinch the center of my bra, the ribbon connecting to the two sides, between his forefinger and thumb. He tugged, so gently, and I had to let it go. Had to let go of modesty and pride and hope as it landed with a quiet whoosh.

Finally, finally, I met his eyes. It didn’t matter that what I’d done was awkward and ungainly, his eyes still burned with a kind of want I couldn’t quite comprehend. What would it feel like to want someone’s body quite that much, as if it were air and water and land—as if the person were earth itself and home besides?

“Will you hate me after this?” he asked mildly, as if he didn’t care about the answer. I suspected he did care, though. I suspected that some part of that laughing, teasing boy was still inside, the one who would never have made me cry.

Until he did.

“I already hate you,” I answered softly.

“Then this won’t matter.”

And then he was pushing me, laying me back onto the bed. He didn’t kiss me this time—not on the mouth. He nuzzled my breasts, kissing me there instead. He nibbled his way down the curve of them as if taking their measure. His mouth closed around my breast, hot and teasing. The suction pushed my hips off the bed, pressing against his body, futile and rhythmic.

He pushed my hips back down. “Stay.”

Stay down, he meant. Stay still. Not seeking my own pleasure. My cheeks heated with embarrassment. When had I started to enjoy this? I could

n’t enjoy this. But I couldn’t deny the throb in my pussy either. It clenched and clenched, wanting to be filled.

He wouldn’t though. Maybe he was a sadist after all, because he knew exactly what my body wanted and he refused, moving down my hip instead. He kissed the curve of my hip, and then he—he bit me. Right there, where the skin smoothed over muscle and bone. Where it hurt. I yelped, just a little, and then his tongue was on me, soothing over the spot.

His gaze met mine as he slid a hand between my legs.

I tensed, even though it was too late for doubts or second chances. He didn’t give me time anyway. He just found my slit with an accuracy that unnerved me. He pushed two fingers inside—it wasn’t even dry. No, the slippery channel accepted his fingers readily, just sucked them in, greedy. I couldn’t do anything but lie there, feeling my body betray me.

Then it got worse.

He lowered his head and…licked my clit. Just licked it with the flat of his tongue, and the pleasure was sharp enough to be pain. My legs trembled with the effort to stay open. I wanted to snap them shut, to keep him out. But he was already there, already with his fingers inside me and his lips circling my clit. He sucked, and I had to disobey—my hips came off the bed. He’d told me not to, he’d told me to stay as if I were dog, but I couldn’t listen to him anyway. Pure need coursed through my clit, my pussy. It throbbed in my breasts, even when he reached up and caressed them.

I couldn’t understand why he was doing this instead of hurting me. Instead of humiliating me.

God, that tongue. It felt like silk, like he was wrapping all around me from that one small place. Like he was binding me and no matter how hard I bucked and pushed with my hips, I couldn’t break free. I only wanted more, and his fingers—thank the Lord for those fingers—they searched inside me, finding the key. He twisted his hand, just so, and then I broke apart, coming on his fingers and against his mouth, crying out his name as if he would save me.

My body still pulsed when he withdrew. His lips glistened with my arousal.

He could have mocked me for this. I’d said I hated him and then came for him harder than I’d ever come. It could have been his crowning moment, except he didn’t look mocking or cruel. Instead he looked…desperate. His cheeks were flushed with color, his breath coming in bellows. When he stood up, I could see the erection tenting his pants, almost completely horizontal despite the wool fabric restraining it. He looked close to bursting, and unbidden, a sense of tenderness rose up in me.

I sat up and reached for his belt. He let me unbuckle and unzip him while he dealt with his shirt. I pulled down his boxers too, and he hissed in a breath as the air met his erection. I could understand why, when I saw how hard he was, how red and taut the skin was. He must be sensitive there. So sensitive it would ache, and I understood that.

I thought I would return the favor and suck him, but he pushed me back so I was lying on the bed. He climbed up, straddling my torso, holding his cock in his fist.