Big Man’s Heat

by Wylder, Penny

  Standing in the hall, my hands are twisting over each other at my waist. I can't stop moving. My foot is tapping, my leg is shaking, and I keep chewing on the inside of my cheek.

  “I'll let you get settled in,” my mother says. “Dinner is at six, sharp. I hope you brought something presentable in that thing you call a suitcase.” Her eyes lower and her nose goes up.

  Mark looks down at his suitcase. The black is faded to light gray, there are small rips and tears around the edges and the zipper is rusted all the way around. One wheel is missing, and another is broken in half.

  I can feel the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks. I don't know why, it's not like I really care what my mother thinks of him. And yet, in the same breath, I do. She's my mother. A child always looks for some sort of approval from their parent, regardless of how ridiculous and stuck up they might be.

  “Siobhan, a word,” she barks, grabbing me by the elbow and dragging me away.

  Mark is holding the door, staring at me as she yanks me along. My eyes soften as I mouth ‘sorry’ to him.

  I'll make this up to him somehow. He took me by surprise, and I love it. But he also put himself in the lion's den. He has no idea what he just walked into. But I'll do what I can to show him how much I appreciate this.

  I just have to figure out how.

  7

  Mark

  Closing the door, I lay back and rest my head against the wood.

  What the hell did I do?

  When Jenna told me that Siobhan's family was fussy, with expensive taste and a bold opinion, this isn't what I pictured at all. I came here with the intentions of sweeping her off her feet, filling our time with hot sex and romantic dinners.

  I didn't know she actually lived with them. I think I fucked up royally. The thought sparks in my head, causing me to close my eyes and groan.

  If looks could kill, I'd be dead. The way her mother looked at me makes my skin crawl. So much instant hate and disgust, and she doesn't even know me from a hole in the wall. They say don't judge a book by its cover, but obviously this woman does the opposite.

  And the look on Sia's face was even worse. I thought she was going to throw up. There was so much happiness in her eyes until her mother's voice ruined it all. Then her expression changed, from happy to mortified. The only problem I'm having is figuring out which way it was pointed, at me or at her mother.

  My heart tears slightly as I picture her face. The shade of embarrassment came in four colors. I might be reading her all wrong. There's a chance that I misinterpreted our phone call the other night, and all she wants is to be friends.

  Despite this harsh reality, I can't ignore what I feel inside for her. She makes me feel things I've never felt before. That's what I'm going on. Not words, but feelings. Feelings that hit so hard and heavy I can't just ignore them. I need to follow them where they take me.

  They led me here.

  Running both hands over my head, I open my eyes and look around.

  The room is so white, it seems sterile, like an operating room. There's a white rug under the bed with dark blue swirls. The bed posts are light wood like the birch trees that salt the forests back home, and the blanket is bleached clean silk. Running my hand over the fabric, I half expect to see dirt streaks from my touch.

  The floor is marble, white with gray swirls, and all the furniture is the same colorless shade. There are small pops of color, the blue in the rug, the gray in the tile, a giant flowerpot in the corner filled with soft peach Juliet roses.

  A wall of windows creates the far right wall to the bed, giving an amazing view of the city. I can hear all the noise below. The cars, the horns, the sound of people as they move like a herd through the city.

  Leaning over, I look down, watching everyone mill about like ants. They all seem to move in one direction, then quickly shift to another. It's strange to see so many people in one place.

  Pulling back, I turn around to see my own reflection in the floor length mirror opposite me. I'm out of place in this room. Wearing an old shirt I found in my closet, the nicest pair of jeans I own, and giving in to buy these dumb ass shoes that have a little shine. I'm a bruise on flawless skin, something so ugly on the surface of perfection.

  Fuck it. I'm here, and I'm going to make the best of it.

  Leaving my suitcase on the floor, I decide to go find Sia. I'm settled in enough, there isn't much else for me to do. Closing the door behind me, I walk down the hall, checking out the fancy sculptures and high end art on the walls.

  I don't hear anyone at all. No voices, no one laughing or chatting. This place is huge. My shoes echo off the vaulted ceilings and marble floor as I explore her home. Finally, I hear sounds somewhere in the distance.

  Following the sound, I round a corner to find Siobhan in the kitchen. She's got two glasses in front of her, and is about to pour orange juice when she hears me come in.

  She lifts her head and looks at me, smiling. I smile back, tucking my hands in my pockets as I lean against the counter.

  “I'm sorry I dropped in on you like this. I wasn't thinking. I just had to see you. I know I should have called or something first, but—”

  She quickly holds a finger to her lips, silencing me as she darts her eyes around. Reaching out she grabs my shirt and pulls me in for a kiss. It's quick, but it's enough for me to know where she stands.

  Pushing me back, Sia puts a safe distance between us. “Don't apologize. I'm really glad you're here.” Pouring some vodka in the juice, she stirs it lightly and hands me a glass. Raising it up, we knock glasses. “I think a screwdriver is warranted for this occasion.” Smirking from behind her glass, she takes a long sip.

  “I couldn't agree more.”

  “So, you think you're too tired from the flight to do a little sightseeing?” Winking, her smile brightens. She nibbles on her bottom lip, tugging on it gently.

  “I'm definitely not too tired for anything.”

  I want to touch her so badly. Sneak over to her, kiss her neck softly, run my hands through her hair, and give it a good tug. Except, I can't. The way her eyes keep shifting around cautiously tells me someone could pop in at any moment. The slight danger is turning me on. The thought of getting caught, the idea of doing something that we're not supposed to is making my cock throb.

  “So,” I say, “I can see where you get your love of art from.” Pointing to a picture hanging on the wall, I give her another flirty smile.

  Her eyes move to the picture, falling down hard. “Yeah, not exactly. My mother buys art because it’s expensive, not because she likes how it looks. The bigger the price tag, the better it must be. She says we're the people who buy the art, not the ones that make it, because artists are poor and live worse than the rats in the streets.”

  “Oh, sorry. I didn't realize.”

  “No, it's fine. I don't care what she thinks, I love painting, and nothing she says will change that.”

  “Good, because it shouldn't. It's important to do what makes you happy. Why do you think I'm here?”

  Sia looks up at me with a full smile, her eyes twinkling like stars. Dipping her head, she darts her eyes to the door for the hundredth time. “You're right, but try telling my parents that. They have expectations that are sky high. So, telling her that her only daughter wants to be an artist and not a doctor won't go over well.”

  “Maybe, but is pleasing her and your father worth more than your own happiness?”

  She stops, her entire body going still as she thinks about it. I don't get an answer. “How about we do some sightseeing now? What do you think?”

  “I think that sounds great. I'm ready, take me out on the town.”

  “Good, let me go tell my mother, and we can get the hell out of here.” She nods her head for me to come with her. “She's probably in her study.” I follow her through the maze that's her house. Stopping outside a door, she knocks lightly. “Mom, you in there?”

  “What do you want, Siobhan?”

  “I'm
going to take Mark out for a bit.”

  “Open the door,” she orders.

  Sia opens the door with me standing behind her, and her mother gives me a look that hits me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. It's that look again, the same death glare.

  “I expect you to be back for dinner.”

  “Of course, I know. Six o'clock, same as always.”

  Arching a brow, she sets her hands down on her desk, and pulls her glasses to the tip of her nose. “I spoke with your father, he's not too happy.”

  “All right. What do you want me to do?” she asks, her voice stern, challenging her mother.

  “I want you to be aware of how your actions affect other people. Is that too much to ask?”

  “You act like I'm still a child.” Sia lets out an audible sigh. “I get it, don't worry, we'll be back. Okay?”

  Her mother pushes her glasses back in place, steeples her fingers and lays them across her lips. She doesn't say anything else, just gives her daughter a simple look.

  Sia turns and walks right past me. I stand in limbo for a second, not sure if I should follow her or stay right where I am. She glances back at me, nodding her head, and I quickly walk to her side.

  Her fingers angrily slam the button of the elevator, trying to force the doors open. She watches the light above as it moves from one floor to the next until it finally lands on our floor. Sia slips her body in the elevator before the doors are even halfway open, leaving me to wait an extra second until I can get in too.

  There are a few people inside, all of them taking a step back to make room for us. As soon as the doors are closed, I reach for her hand, but she swats me away, and inconspicuously shakes her head no.

  A man behind us coughs, and another woman starts talking loudly on her phone. Glancing back, I look at the people, and smile at the few who actually make eye contact. I get one smile back.

  What planet am I on?

  I feel like I stepped into a totally different world. Back at home, people you don't know will strike up a conversation about anything. They'll smile and listen, ask questions and give answers. Before you realize it, you've shared your entire life story.

  It's not like that here. The taxi driver barely spoke a word to me. She grumbled about the traffic and yelled at a few people who were still crossing the street after the signal changed green. When we pulled up in front of the building, she practically kicked me out, barely giving me enough time to close the door before pulling back out onto the road.

  The double doors open, and Sia takes a long step out, beelining for the exit. She half waves at the doorman who gives me a shitty look as he holds the door open for us. Sia takes a hard right, walks a few feet, then steps off the sidewalk and throws out her arm to hail a cab.

  In seconds, a yellow car pulls up next to her, and she yanks the door open and climbs in quickly, with me right behind her. “Sixteen-thirty nine Centre Street,” she says.

  Settling into the seat, her eyes fix out the window as the taxi darts back into the flow of traffic. I can see the driver looking at us in his rear-view mirror.

  “You're not from around here,” he says. Sucking in a rattled breath, his eyes don't deviate. “You look like a deer in headlights, kid. Did you come to find your big break? Hoping to cash in on a some of the money floating around?”

  I'm about to answer, but Sia quickly cuts in. “No, he's not. He came for me if you must know.”

  “And what makes you so special?” he asks, grunting with a laugh as if he's amused by her tone.

  Her lips purse tight, about to lay into him. Resting my hand on her leg, I give it a tender squeeze. Sia looks over at me. I smile pleasantly. “How about you just drive and mind your own business,” I snap. Veering my stare, his shoulders roll forward and his hands clench tighter around the wheel. We drive in silence until he pulls up to our destination.

  I hand him some cash for the ride, and Sia and I leave the taxi without saying another word. The driver, though, mutters something under his breath before pulling away.

  “I know you're probably not getting the best impression of New York right now.”

  “I didn't come here for anyone except you.” Gripping her hand, she gives me a more relaxed smile.

  “Come on, I want to show you something.” She pulls me toward an industrial looking building. It has a brick exterior with so many windows I can't count them all. A set of dark green doors hang loosely on the hinges, and a few crumbling steps lead up to them. As we get closer, I can see broken and loose bricks on the building’s façade. Looking up the face of the building, I half expect one to fall from above and hit me on the head.

  “What is this place?”

  “It's my little secret.” Reaching for the door, she gives it a good pull. “This is my home away from home, I would say.”

  The inside is clean, much friendlier than the exterior. The halls are lit bright, painted a periwinkle blue, the floors are dark wood, waxed to a shine I can see my reflection in. Our feet echo, rattling around staircases and up through the other levels.

  Rounding a corner, she pulls a key from her pocket and opens a door. Grinning, she pushes the door open and holds out her arm for me to go in first.

  Walking inside, there are paintings and drawings all over the walls. Easels with canvases that have sketches in the making, and a wall with shelves that are full of tubes of paint and brushes and sponges.

  “Wow,” I say, starting to spin around. “So this is—”

  Sia lunges at me, hitting me like a tractor trailer as she crushes her lips against mine. I barely catch a breath of air, but I can clearly taste the gloss on her lips, and it tastes like cherries.

  Her arms are around my neck, her breathing already ragged and uneven. The tip of her tongue licks across my mouth, shattering any control I have. She's breaking me down, tearing me open, and giving me permission to expose the animal inside.

  Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her in so her chest is pressed against mine. Her heart is slamming so hard in her chest I can feel it. Thump after thump ricochets like a trapped bird.

  Running one hand up her ribs, I cup under her jaw, drawing circles over the thick vein in her neck. Her pulse is frantic, throbbing with her heartbeat. Stroking the vein, I kiss her deeper, harder, exactly how I wanted to greet her this morning.

  Her cheeks redden, and I watch as the heat spreads down her neck and across her chest.

  It's fucking beautiful.

  Moaning into my mouth, her eyes close as her hard nipples rub my chest. Her head tilts to her shoulder as she inhales a desperate breath. Our tongues tangle and twist, she tastes so fucking good.

  Sia breaks away, opening her eyes and staring up at me. I know what she wants. I can see it in the ocean of her eyes. Biting her bottom lip, she unbuttons the first few buttons on my shirt, then helps pull it over my head.

  Dropping it to the floor, her eyes move to my chest as her hands explore. She runs her fingertips down my pecs and over my abs, so light I almost can't feel them.

  Sliding them back up, they curl over my shoulders and stroke down my arms. Her breathing is short, quick, shallow. It's as if she hasn't taken a real breath at all. With sultry eyes, she slowly traces every muscle, following all the dips and curves with her fingertips.

  All the blood rushes from head to my cock, filling it instantly and making me hard as a rock. Her nails scrape across my lower stomach, dipping a little under the seam of my pants. She moves from one side to the next and back again, causing a shiver to scale my spine.

  “I've thought about this,” I say, “and I've dreamed about it too.”

  “Me too.” Thumbing the button on my pants, she plucks it free as she stares at me under hooded eyes. Tugging her bottom lip into her mouth, her slender fingers grip my zipper and pull it down ever so slowly.

  My hands are at my sides, fingers twitching as she lowers to her knees. Her hand disappears into my pants, wrapping my cock and pulling it out. Peering up at me,
she licks the tip, circling it softly.

  Groaning, I place my hand on her head, and curl my fingers into her hair. Teasing my cock with her mouth, she rubs her lips against my engorged tip, flattening her tongue and gliding it down the underside of my shaft.

  “Fuck,” I utter with an exhale, squeezing her hair at the roots with force. I can't stop myself; I need to feel my dick in her mouth. Jerking my hips, I thrust forward, causing her jaw to widen and the sharp edges of her teeth to scrape me lightly.

  Her cheeks hollow as she swallows my length. Slipping her hands to my thighs, she grabs fistfuls of my pants as she sucks me off. I'm guiding her eagerly with her hair, driving myself in as far as she can handle.

  Over and over she bobs her head, her mouth slurping, and her tongue licking. It feels so damn good. Her mouth is warm, wet, and sucking me vigorously. Her mouth slips down, her cheeks concave as she pulls back to the ridge of my crown.

  I can't take this anymore. I have to fuck her. If she keeps going like this I'm going to come in her mouth, and that's not what I want.

  Clutching her hair, I tug her head back and hold her still. Pulling my cock free, she sits back on her knees. Her face glisten, wet and slippery from lubing my cock with her mouth. She wipes her mouth by running a finger around the edges.

  Sia tries to stand, but I stop her with a hand on her shoulder and push her onto the floor. Tearing at her jeans, she lifts her hips, shimmying them down her legs. Grabbing the sexy red heels she has on, I pop them off, ripping her jeans free and throwing them over my shoulder.

  I don't care where they go, I don't care where they land, so long as they're off her.

  Her shirt comes off next, leaving her in just her bra and panties. Her bra is sheer lace, her nipples exposed behind the cranberry colored fabric. Her pussy is just as visible, hidden under a thin layer of cotton.

  Palming her mound, Sia arches her back and moans. She's soaking wet, dripping to the point her arousal is all over my hand already. Wrapping my fingers around the thin edge over her hip, I rip her panties in half at the seam.