Take the Heat

Cassandra straightened up and held the candle a foot above his chest. She tilted it to melt the wax faster, and within seconds it started dripping off the end, onto Moore’s olive skin. As the first drop landed, he let out a yelp of surprise, his fists balling and his arms lifting defensively. But with a deep breath, he immediately placed his palms flat on the table as Cassandra moved the candle above him to make a path of waxy red orbs across the patch of dark hair at the top of his chest.

As she worked, his breathing became faster. She held the candle closer until the searing burn of the molten wax made him groan. Working slowly, she traced a pattern across his pecs, not caring when the hot wax touched the red scar tissue, not caring when he winced and bit his lip until she saw blood seeping out between his teeth. His cock told a different story. It grew long and hard. The top darkened, and his hips rolled against her as he instinctively tried to drive himself into her. But not yet. He couldn’t have her until she’d finished her game.

She traced her sister’s name in burning drops, but if Moore realized what she was up to, he gave no sign of it. Seeing Melly’s name burned onto the bastard’s chest gave Cassandra a satisfaction she’d never expected to experience this evening. But she knew she was taking a massive risk, so as soon as it was complete, she tilted the candle more steeply to make the wax run faster. Then she retraced her path with twists and curlicues and random patterns, obliterating the message she’d left on his skin, widening the area she covered and making narrow trails of wax down his stomach toward where his cock danced its eager dance.

When his every breath became a moan, Cassandra blew out the candle and tossed it to the floor. She leaned forward with her hands on his shoulders and used her teeth to raise his blindfold. He blinked, unaccustomed to the light, staring up at her before glancing at the wax patterns that ornamented his torso.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

Cassandra raised herself to kneel high above him and quickly slipped off her bra.

Moore whimpered.

“Please…”

“You want me?”

He nodded.

“Tell me how much.”

“More than I’ve ever wanted any woman,” he said, his voice hoarse with longing.

His hands came up behind her hips, and he yanked her panties down, ripping them when he couldn’t get them out of the way. Cassandra was ready for him—and now she wanted him. She took his cock in one hand and held it steady so she could sink down onto him. He was large, but the force of gravity let her slide easily over his heft, the fit so tight that they gasped in unison. Slowly she pulled away and impaled herself again. And then again. And each plunge was accompanied by a grunt or a moan as Moore’s hips pushed up to meet her and his hands rammed her down hard onto him.

And all the while he was staring at her face, never closing his eyes, never taking his gaze from hers. He moaned and winced and bit his lip. And finally he came with a roar so elemental that the sheer thrill of knowing she had caused it tipped Cassandra over the edge too. She rode his cock, clenching her muscles tight as if she never wanted to let him go.

Would this be the only time?

When his hands grew slack and slipped down her thighs, she leaned forward and rested against his chest. He stroked her hair in a gesture that surprised her more than anything else about him since she’d met him. Almost tender, just for a moment. Then he rolled her off him onto the hard cold surface of the table and swung himself round so he was first sitting on the edge and then standing back on the floor.

Cassandra sat up and watched him. He walked across to the window and looked out into the darkness between a crack in the curtains.

“Get dressed and go,” he said, not turning to look at her.

“How much?” said Cassandra. “How much each time?”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Cassandra dressed as fast as she could, stuffing the ripped panties into her bag and pulling the door open with one hand as she smoothed her dress down with the other. She couldn’t get out of the place quick enough.

Has the gamble paid off?

Melly was asleep when she got back to the motel. Or, more accurately, sedated by the prescription drugs she’d been given to replace the street drugs. Cassandra doubted they were really any better. She showered and shoved her soiled clothes under the bed—she’d deal with them in the morning—but she couldn’t sleep. When she closed her eyes, all she saw was the name written in wax across Moore’s chest. And the scars. The marks of who he was. The wax with which she’d branded him wouldn’t leave a mark beyond a couple of days, but maybe that was enough.

Maybe it wasn’t.

At seven in the morning, after a snatched hour of sleep, her phone buzzed her awake with a text notification. She grabbed it and peered at the fluorescent screen. The text was from a number she didn’t recognize.

Paid in full.

Disposing of Donnie

Elizabeth Coldwell

“So you see, Mr. Mackenzie, life would be so much easier if Donnie wasn’t around anymore.”

Luanne Palmer gazed at me across the diner’s table, looking up through mascara-thick eyelashes, her expression imploring. I’d seen that look from women before, and I’d never been able to resist its lure.