Page 60 of Heroes & Hitmen
CHAPTER 20
Miley
I wake to the cruel,insistent beeping of my alarm, the shrill sound rudely yanking me from the solace of sleep. I reach over to fumble for my phone on the nightstand, finding it by touch and hitting snooze. Blissful silence falls, and for a few seconds I just lie there, cocooned in a tangle of sheets and half-remembered dreams. Then I roll onto my side and blink the sleep from my eyes, expecting…something? Someone?My head feels fuzzy, thoughts slipping away as soon as I try to catch them. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something’soff.
Paranoia kicks in and I sit up abruptly, glancing around the room.
No one’s here.
Obviously.
But I swear I vaguely remember rolling over in the middle of the night and pressing my face into the heat of a bare chest. Strong arms pulling me close, a heartbeat thudding steadily beneath my cheek. The press of long legs tangling with mine, the shift of muscle as Ares curled around me. His scent, thick and familiar, calming my wolf and lulling me back to sleep.
My brain immediately files that under absolute delusion. A dream, maybe. He always sleeps on the couch, or on the floor beside it if he’s feeling dramatic. I’ve never invited him into the bed with me, so the idea that I’d be snuggled up next to him while sleeping is impossible. Especially given my lifelong policy of not letting men within three feet of me while unconscious.
Still, the dream lingers, even as I shake my head and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. For a second, I hesitate, looking back at the disturbed sheets on the other side of the mattress. Other than his scent clinging to every inch of the apartment, there’s no actual evidence that he’s been here– no imprint of his body in the memory foam mattress, no stray copper hairs on the white pillowcase– but I check anyways.
Just to be sure.
My rational mind says it was just a dream, but my wild imagination is less convinced.
Dragging myself upright, I run my fingers through my hair, straighten my silk negligee, and pad barefoot to the door. The apartment is eerily silent as I exit the bedroom and make my way down the hall. Upon reaching the living room, I stop cold.
No Ares.
The couch is empty, the pillow lying sideways in the middle and the throw blanket tangled on the floor. I stoop to pick it up and start folding it neatly, noticing how strangely quiet the apartment is. There’s no sound of running water, no clatter or coffee mugs or obnoxious humming from the kitchen. I feel a weird pang in my chest at the realization that Ares must’ve already left for the day.
Placing the folded blanket on the arm of the couch, I smooth it out with a palm, stepping back. Maybe he got called out on an assignment or went to the gym to work out. It’s not like I care where he goes or what he does, but the sudden absence of him in my morning routine feels unsettling, like the rhythm of my day is off beat.
I heave a sigh, staring at the empty couch for a second too long, then shuffle back toward the bedroom. I need a shower– something to clear the fog from my brain and maybe rinse off the remnants of that delusional, desperate, totally-not-real dream.
Even though I’m alone, I lock the bathroom door behind me automatically, turning the shower on and stripping down in front of the mirror. My reflection looks as impressive as I feel– skin dull, hair in disarray, dark circles under my eyes from too many nights spent worrying about things I can’t control. I stare at myself for a long moment, hands braced on the edge of the sink. Then steam starts to rise from the shower and I move to pull open the glass door, stepping in under the spray.
The hot water scalds at first, but I like the sting. I tilt my face upand let it run down my body, steam continuing to rise around me. As the tension in my neck and shoulders gradually begins to loosen, my thoughts drift– dangerously– to Ares again.
The image of him jerking off in the shower still lives in my head rent free. The way his muscles bunched and flexed, the way he grinned shamelessly when we made eye contact, like getting caught was just another way to mess with my head.
The throb between my legs is almost immediate.
God, I’m a mess.
I press a palm against the cool tile and close my eyes, allowing my mind to continue its torturous wandering.
The images come fast and vivid– Ares dripping wet and naked, head bowed, one hand wrapped around his thick cock. The slow, deliberate stroke of his fist, eyes pressed closed and muscles coiled. The memory makes more than just my cheeks burn, fingers itching to satisfy the ache.
With one hand still pressed to the tile, my other drifts down my stomach, slow and tentative, like I’m still trying to convince myself this is just a normal shower and not a desperate attempt to exorcise my own filthy thoughts. Sliding two fingers over the slick, hot skin of my mound, I circle my clit in slow, lazy spirals. The relief is instant; so much so that I let out a shaky little sigh, half embarrassment and half pure need.
My wolf hums in approval, like this is what she’s been waiting for all along.
As my fingers dance, I picture the way Ares looked at me in the alley the night we met, eyes gone black with hunger. I imagine him stepping into the shower behind me, water rolling off his broad chest as he grabs me by the hips and pulls me against him, sliding his hand over mine as if to say,let me.
Fuck,I want that.
My fingers move faster, circling tighter, pressure building in my core. My toes curl against the tile, hips rolling as my head lolls back, mouth falling open on a low moan.
If anyone heard me, I’d probably die. But there’s nobody here. Not even Ares.
And yet, the thought of him catching me like I caught him makes me even wetter. I speed up, chasing the edge now, hips grinding in rhythm with the pulse of my heartbeat. I imagine the rough heat of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble on my innerthighs. The way he’d growl and claim and leave marks on my skin, just to prove I’m his.
