Huge Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 3)

My toes curl and my stomach clenches as the orgasm roars like a volcanic explosion. The heat travels down my legs and up through my chest like fire and brimstone. My legs go numb and my thighs are shaking.

As the orgasm slowly starts to recede, my lids get heavier and heavier until darkness finally takes over and dreams sweep in.

I lazily throw my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. My fingers curl into the edge of my mattress and I stay like that for a few minutes. I'm still half asleep. In that place where consciousness and dreams merge. My head pounds gently, so I rub the center of my forehead with two fingers.

Coffee. I need coffee.

It's not easy to push myself off the bed, but I do it. I dig my heels into the floor and force myself up. The wood is cold under my feet, sending a chill up through my body. I rub the outside of my arms and grab my robe.

In the kitchen, I pop the pod in the coffee maker and hit the twelve-ounce button. I need a big cup to shake this fuzzy feeling. The house is quiet. My mom's car is gone. She's probably out running errands or bringing my brother someplace.

He's a sports kid. Soccer, baseball, football. You name it and my brother has probably tried it. The only thing he wants to do that my parents won't let him do, is drive one of my father's race cars down the track.

He keeps begging, and my parents keep shooting him down. I can't say it doesn't make me smirk to see him beg and get denied. I like watching him squirm. Maybe I'm just cruel, but isn't that what being siblings is all about?

The scent of Columbia's finest dark roast fills the room. It smells so damn good. I can already feel the effects of the caffeine. Everything starts to wake up. I pull the cup out from underneath, letting the last few drops plop into the small catch under where the mug sits.

I can't wait any longer.

Two sugars and a dash of milk and I'm good to go. I blow across the surface softly, taking the biggest sip I can of the steaming liquid as I walk to the window in the living room.

The sun is already coming up over the trees, casting long towering shadows over the front yard. I watch a small flock of birds zip through the sky, doing a synchronized swimming dance in the big blue sky.

I take another sip, when a movement in the driveway catches my eye. Looking down, I see Brand leaning inside the hood of the Fairlane. His back is to me, and his head is down as he examines something on the engine.

I look around, waiting to see my father. Minute after minute passes, maybe it isn't minutes, it was probably only seconds. Either way, my father isn't here either.

Are we alone? My heart races at the thought.

All alone. Could it be possible?

I listen again around me. It's still quiet. There's no music coming from my brother's room. I don't hear my mother on speaker phone with one of her friends. And my father's booming, demanding voice is absent.

Just knowing this is liberating. A smile stretches across my face. My heart pounds excitedly. There's no one here to interfere or get in the way. I run upstairs quickly and throw on some clothes. I pull on a tight blue tank-top and a pair of small jean shorts.

I spin in front of the full length mirror, looking myself over one more time. I think I look pretty good for having just woken up. Leaning in the mirror, I wipe the light black shadow off from under my eyes from the mascara I wore yesterday.

I run my fingers through my hair, combing out any snarls. There's a single white sandal next to my door, but I don't see the other one. I turn in a circle, then drop to my knees, and yank up the edge of the blanket on my bed.

My sandal is upside down, so far under my bed, I have to crawl under up to my stomach to get it. I have to fix my hair again after shimmying my way back out.

As I stand in the living room, I exhale a slow breath, then head outside. Brand is still buried in the engine, giving me a nice view of his ass. He grunts to himself. I hear a clank and a ping, then he swears.

“Fuck.” The word is muffled. Brand stands up straight, shaking his hand and looking at his finger.

I lean against the side of the car and cross my legs. “You all right? Did the car bite ya?” I grin and arch my brows. “My dad says cars can be a bit feisty sometimes.”