Page 130 of Roaring Flames

I’m not an expert by any means, but I think I did a pretty good job, and she certainly seemed to like it if her moans were any indication. But before I could fuck her, something stopped me, almost like a premonition that I’d come to regret it. An innate knowledge that she wasn’t the one for me.

So I got her off with my fingers and sent her on her way. That was the last time I dabbled in it.

“Where did you learn how to tie people up? A torture class?” She tilts her head to the side, and her golden hair catches in the sunlight filtering through the window.

My fingers flex on her bare hips. “Porn,” I admit…then instantly wince, wishing I could shove my answer back into the confines of my mouth.

Why, oh why, did I confess that?

Izzy’s fingernails scrape across my shoulders and down my biceps, and a shudder reverberates through me. “Do you watch a lot of porn?”

And just like before, I can’t stop myself from answering. It’s almost as if she has some sort of spell on me. Is she a siren?

“Not since I met you,” I blurt.

The only material I’ve needed to get myself off are thoughts of her perfect body.

“I see.” She leans in even closer, and I know any second now her lips will touch mine.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, capturing her scent, bottling it up and locking it away.

“Ashton.”

“Ashton.”

“Ashton! Wake the fuck up!”

I wake with a gasp, a piece of paper sticking to my cheek as I jerk upright in my desk chair.

“Holy fuck.”

The familiar—and unwelcomed—voice causes my hands to clench.

Another similar voice says, “Holy fuck indeed.”

“Emery. Ethan. What are you two doing in my room?”

I angrily grab the piece of paper—a printed newspaper article detailing one of the murders—and throw it back on my desk.

I feel incredibly out of sorts and confused, my brain spinning in nonstop circles.

“Were you having a sex dream?” Emery asks, sounding downright jovial by the prospect.

Ethan snickers.

“Of course not.” I scoff as if the sheer idea is ridiculous, though I don’t turn around.

If I do, they’ll no doubt see my erection and believe it’s because of my idiotic dream and not a natural part of a man’s daily routine.

Keep telling yourself that.

When I close my eyes, I swear I can see Izzy’s beautiful face directly in front of me, her eyes hooded and her lips parted.

But no, she would never stare at me like that—like she cares about me, wants me, loves me. I effectively severed any warm feelings she may have had in regard to me.

It’s what I wanted, after all.

So why does my heart feel so heavy in my chest?

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