UP IN FLAMES

She made a sound, a low moan like an animal in pain. Her gaze locked with his and held. Her lips parted and then she reached up and cupped both hands along-side his face. She pulled him to her, crushing her mouth to his. Instead of tenderness, she kissed him with raw need, her hunger for him electrifying.

Fire ignited, zinging in his veins, short-circuiting everything but the seductive feel of this woman in his arms.

Her mouth warm, her tongue mating with his. She pushed herself into him, moving them backward, until he stumbled and fell back into the overstuffed chair, pulling her down, almost on top of him. This didn’t faze her at all. Instead, her eyes gleaming, she straddled him. She gave a soft, sexy laugh, and his body responded instantly. She kissed him again, her mouth continuing to move over his in deep, drugging kisses full of passion, full of soul. He slipped his hands up her arms, her skin so silky soft, not sure if he meant to hold her in place or bring her closer. She decided for him, pushing her lush body into his, rubbing up against him, her sensual movements both an unbearable temptation and a demand for more.

He tried to think, to remember that he should be doing this with her, but she moved again, this time in a circle, the heat of her right on top of him, and he lost the capacity for rational thought. Another jolt of arousal had his pulse pounding, his body responding by surging even more in immediate readiness. He wanted her, oh, how he wanted her, needed her, craved her. He liked the way their bodies fit together, and he imagined how she’d cry out in pleasure when he was finally inside her, and the way they somehow instinctively knew how to move to bring each other to the brink of insanity.

He had no doubt he’d go to his grave remembering this feeling. He knew he’d never stop wanting her, and the way she could bring him to his knees.

And still, still, even as his body throbbed and he arched into her, he tried his best to resist. “We shouldn’t-” he began.

She touched him then, stroking him through his jeans in that way she knew would set him on fire. He swallowed hard, his fingers moving over her skin of his own accord, sliding down one hip, cupping one full breast. He ached to taste her and more. “Vanessa” He tried again, his voice raspy with desire.

“Maybe we should slow down. Think about if you really want to do this. You’ve been through a lot and-”

“Shh.” She kissed him again, still moving against him as if she couldn’t control her own body. “Make love with me, Alaric. I need you. I need you to make me feel alive again,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. She moved herself in another circle, her heat caressing his arousal, and he could barely think straight….Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

With every ounce of control he could muster, he grabbed her waist and gently but firmly pulled her off him. He’d knew he’d regret it, but he couldn’t do it… At least not now after what they’d just found out. She was probably reacting to what they’d just found out about Christopher. She was upset at the moment, and would probably regret it later.

“We can’t,” he said, standing up and moving away from her. “Not right now… Not like this,”

For a moment, she stared at him, then without saying a word, she rushed out of the den.

———–

It was in the evening when Paul swung by, and Alaric’s temper had been stretched thin. The whiskey he was nursing wasn’t doing much to help. He was angry -at himself.

“About damn time,” he muttered.

Paul huffed. “That’s not how you should answer the door.”

Not in the mood to bullshit, he cut the crap. “Find anything?”

Edging past him, Paul carried in two large tote bags. “I brought whatever personal girlie stuff I could find. It took a while. The place was a complete mess.”

“So it’s as bad as we thought it was?” He led Paul into the kitchen, the farthest away from the stairs. He hoped Vanessa didn’t come down, because rehashing the condition of her apartment surely wouldn’t put her in a better mood.

Paul deposited the totes on the counter. “Absolutely fucking destroyed. Took a knife to anything that could be torn apart, even the walls. The fucker even emptied out her fridge. That’s some major kind of rage.”

Alaric rubbed an ache along his shoulder. The old wound gave him trouble from time to time. “Did he get inside the way I thought?”

He nodded. “Right through the sliding glass door. The woman needs an alarm system and needs to replace that door. Those are the worst possible pieces of shit ever.”

That did little to soothe his rising anger

“Find out anything else?” Alaric asked as picked up his glass of whiskey.

Helping himself, Paul grabbed a beer out of the fridge and propped a hip against the counter. “Did she mention anything about a message?”

Alaric’s brows lowered. “No. What message?”

Popping the lid off the bottle, he took a quick swig before he answered. “In her home office, the words ‘You whore’ were carved into the wall.”

Alaric’s hand tightened around the glass. “No. She did not mention that.”

“Maybe she didn’t see it.”

Anger whipped through his insides with acid-tipped barbs. “Seems like a hard thing to overlook.”

Paul eyed him closely. “All depends on if she went into her home office and how shocked she was by seeing her apartment. I’m telling you, man. That placed was fucked up. She might not have noticed it.” He took another gulp of beer and then tossed the bottle into the garbage. “Are you sure she’s being honest with you?”

“About what exactly?” He finished off his glass of whiskey, reached for the bottle, and then thought better. Getting drunk off his ass wasn’t the brightest idea.

“Are you sure there isn’t an ex involved in this? I know she told you there isn’t, but the amount of damage was substantial. And calling her a whore? It all seems very personal.”

He wished Paul would stop saying “whore,” because it made him want to punch someone in the throat. And since Paul was the only person in front of him, he was the only target, and that sucked. He liked the guy.