Free Heat: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance by Aubrey Irons Page B

smiling at me like that and batting those eyes; why not? Hey, a man’s gotta have some vices, and it’s not drinking, right?

    “Uh, sure.”

    And then we’re out in the heat and the sweat of the throngs of peoples dancing and moving to the thumping bass on the dance floor, and I’m just not feeling it. She’s all over me, her hands on my biceps as she tries to grind on me, and instead of getting turned on its just putting me off in a major way.

    “Look, just stop.”

    She looks at me like doesn’t hear what I said and leans in to try and kiss me. I push her back and hold her there with my hands on her arms; “I said stop.”

    She pouts; “Awww, you’re no fun. ”

    “Ok.” I turn and start to push my way through the crowd when she grabs my hand; “Hey, lets just get out of here instead. I’ve got plenty to drink at my place.”

    Ok, this girl is seriously asking me to come home with her, I’m seriously about to say no, and I’m starting to wonder if there is seriously something wrong with me; “No, thanks.”

    She looks at me like I’m totally nuts, which I can’t exactly disagree with her on at that particular junction; “Well fuck you then, prick.”

    Yeah, fuck me, right?

    The guys I came with are out trying to score on the dance floor, so I just pay their tab as a goodbye before I just leave. Out on the street, I breathe, fingering the metal slug in my pocket and feeling the sharp tug of the addiction demons grabbing at my fucking throat. Me, Hudson Banks, turning down no-strings sex with a hot girl; something is definitely throwing the world and reality as we know it out of whack. I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I see her name. This is why the world is off it’s axis, I think as I stare at Reagan Archer’s number.

    Fuck , this is a bad idea.

    P R E S E N T

    It’s hours later, and I’m still rock hard. All I can think about - the only possible real thought going through my head at all actually - is the memory of her calling my name like that; Jesus. I mean I couldn't totally see through the curtain, but I could enough that I can assume what she was doing, and assuming is enough to have me going out of my mind right now. It’s not just the way she said my name like that either, its knowing what she was doing, naked with that hot water steaming over her perfect skin, trickling over her hot body when she did say it. It’s knowing that she was uttering my name when she came, and that thought has kept me hard for hours since.

    I tried fixing the situation myself; by hand , if you will. I tried wrapping my hand around my throbbing hard cock and stroking it as I imagined Reagan’s perfect pouty lips wrapping around my dick. I tried to imagine that insane body of hers sliding down onto me, my cock sliding hotly through her wetness as she came for me - on me - calling my name. But it wasn't the same, not by a damn mile, and I just couldn't do it with being pissed at it not being the real thing.  

    The apartment, completely unsurprisingly, has been silent since; like, pin-drop quiet. And I’m willing to bet she’d down the hall doing the exact same thing I am - sitting on a bed staring at a wall trying to get thoughts together enough to think about what the hell we do now. What we had before? Yeah, they call that sexual tension . Now? I don’t they have a name for whatever the fuck falls between sexual tension and fucking, but Goddamn if it isn’t so damn tense that I feel like I’m about to snap.

    I’m on my feet in a second; I can’t just stay in this tiny fucking guest room anymore. Her door is still closed when I go to the living room an turn on some mindless movie, thought I think I hear the quietest intake of breath in the world as I walk past her door.

    I want to leave, well, sort of. I want to give her space is more accurate. I don’t want to leave at all, but something tell’s my Reagan will stay in her room indefinitely until I do. I whip out