Take the Heat

Well, with you along, no one's getting greased. My thoughts were in capital letters with exclamation points around them. I imagined covering Glen in bacon fat and feeding him to hungry lions.

While I knew I couldn't say no, I let everything hang—just long enough to make Glen fidget. I had to get some satisfaction out of the day.

“Fine. Get in the car.” I popped the autolocks and slid behind the wheel.

As soon as the doors were shut and seat belts on, Glen turned confidential. “Are you mad at me? This isn't because of what happened at the holiday party last year, is it?”

I would have laughed, but I was as good at suppressing that as I was my anger. The holiday party? I'd almost forgotten Glen's drunken pass—the sloppy beer-scented kiss, the attempt to paw me in the copy room. If he'd shown a bit of backbone, pushed harder, then maybe… What? Probably just a harassment suit. Glen was a jellyfish; Spike was a shark.

I imagined a shark eating a jellyfish with Glen's face, and almost smiled.

Besides, that was before I’d found out what I wanted, what got my starter out of neutral. What I was now craving with every fiber of my being.

Glen was waiting for an answer. Again I made him fidget.

Finally I spoke without turning my eyes from the road. “Let's just get this over with.”

For most of college, I truly had been the ice queen I appeared. I tried sex a couple of times, in a couple of combinations, with mixed results, but mostly no glimmer of what the big deal was. And masturbation had seemed like a waste of good studying time. I blew guys who wouldn't take no for an answer, and made all the right noises when they groped me, and never went back for more.

Turned out, they just didn't have the right approach.

Sitting in the attorney consultation room, Glen tried again with the small talk. “So this Spike must respect you, really be impressed by your professionalism. He's supposed to be such a hard case.”

Can't you just shut up? my mind was screaming. I found an image to cheer and comfort me, a vision of Glen in a ball gag, something I’d only ever seen in movies, and was almost able to smile if I had wanted to. Instead I busied myself with removing my jacket, draping it carefully over the back of the chair.

The door opened, and Spike, in his typical disrespectful slouch, was ushered in by his pet guard Lewis. I tightened at the sight of him—orange jumpsuit loose around his hips, white wifebeater displaying his extensive collection of cheap prison ink, blue on pale indoors-only skin. Just the sight of his shaved head and impressive ropy muscles frustrated me with superfluous wetness. Gassing up the car to leave it in the fucking garage.

Walking in on us instead of me, Spike's reaction was almost invisible—a slight hitch in his step, a tightening of the muscles at his jaw, a slitting of his normally hooded dark eyes.

Lewis, the guard, was less subtle—with a gape of disappointment that he tried to cover up with the most pathetic fake yawn ever. Didn't matter. Glen was clueless and I was fuming.

As Lewis shut the door, Spike flung himself into the chair across the table from mine and stared at me. I matched his furious glare, trying to convey that this was neither my choice nor my fault. I won't say that there was an unspoken conversation or an instant understanding or anything so unanimous, but his lizard-like expressionless eyes slid to Glen for a hair of a second, and I dipped my eyes in a non-nod.

The silence stretched on until Glen, oblivious, half stood and extended a hand across the table. “It's nice to finally meet you, Mr., uh, Spike. I'm Glen Openshaw.”

Spike didn't spare a single glance for Glen. “What the fuck is this?” His voice was even—

low and dangerous like the buzz of a distant chain saw hitting no resistance.

I let my annoyance seep through, shifting the blame. “Glen has a client who needs a name. He thought he'd have a better chance of convincing you if he came along when I was here.”

Spike held my gaze for another eternity, which probably lasted thirty seconds. The very cold and calculating nature of his stare didn't unnerve or frighten me so much as get me hot. Perhaps that was what made us so well suited for each other—we were both wound so tight, hiding every scrap of weakness, of emotion, we’d snap if we didn’t have the chance to cut loose from time to time.

Finally, I saw his lips twitch in a flicker of a smile, and my guts rolled over in thwarted anticipation.

Spike finally turned his reptilian gaze to Glen. “You think you have something better to offer? Do you even know how she 'squeezes' so much dirt out of me?”

Glen opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He just gaped when Spike stood, revealing his long, hard, veiny cock sticking out above the bunched baggy orange jumpsuit.

Before Glen could breathe, much less react, Spike's long wiry arm snapped across the table, catching me by the hair. I let him drag me out of my seat and forward to lie across the table, my mouth in perfect position for his throbbing cock. My gasp was rudely interrupted by the hard thrusting intrusion, choking me in the best possible way. I shuddered with the need it aroused, making my entire body hum.

I didn't try to imagine what Glen might be thinking—particularly after his own clumsy Yule-fueled pass—but I heard him begin to sputter. I was just happy that I was still going to get my playdate, topped with the thrill of making straightlaced, vanilla, Ken doll Glen participate, even if only by watching.

Spike's voice cut through the bluster, cold as hell, even as he began humping his cock in and out of my tight sucking lips. “So, Glen, what you got to top this?” For one dark moment, I flashed on the thought that he might prefer to abuse Glen—you know what they say about prison—and found myself almost jealous. Spike's grip tightened in my hair, though, and I felt his cock twitch in my mouth. I figured that was about all the encouragement I'd ever get from him, and took it as a good sign.

I couldn't see Glen from my extreme angle but filled in details in my imagination—picturing him bug-eyed and sweating, hopelessly turned on by watching me getting face fucked this way. I had to add a dick to my internal picture of him, and it wasn't very big, but it was screaming… I hummed happily on Spike's cock and got an extra-tight squeeze on my hair in return.

Glen finally found his voice again. “Stop. That. I'll get the—”