Midnight Heat

It started with a storm.

Rain smacked the windows like it had a vendetta, thunder growling low like some hungry beast circling prey. Nora paced her living room barefoot, wrapped in nothing but an oversized tee clinging to her curves, damp from the humidity. The power was out, and the only light came from flickering candles that made everything look softer, more dangerous, more tempting.

Her phone buzzed.

Aiden: Still wanna play?

She bit her lip.

Nora: Door's unlocked. Come in quietly.

Five minutes later, it creaked open.

Aiden was soaked, hair dripping, white shirt stuck to his chest like sin on skin. Muscles shifted beneath the fabric as he pulled the door shut behind him. He locked eyes with her, slow and deliberate, his gaze dragging over her bare legs, up to where the tee stopped just below her thighs.

"You're barefoot," he said, voice low, husky.

"You're wet."

He grinned. "And hard."

She stepped toward him, no hesitation. "Prove it."

He grabbed her waist, slammed her against the wall with just enough force to draw a gasp. The kiss was instant — hot, wet, open-mouthed and devouring. Their teeth clashed, tongues tangled, breath gone. She wrapped her legs around him, grinding against the bulge pressing through his jeans.

"I've been thinking about this all week," he growled into her mouth.

"Then shut up and take me."

---

The bedroom was forgotten. He laid her across the kitchen counter, the cold surface making her shiver — or maybe it was him, the way he stared at her like she was prey. Aiden yanked her shirt off, tossing it aside, exposing breasts that were already aching for touch.

"You like being watched, don't you?" he asked, fingers circling her nipples, pinching, rolling them until she moaned. "All these windows. No curtains. You want the neighbors to see you spread open for me?"

"Maybe I do," she whispered. "Maybe I want them to know who makes me scream."

That was it.

He dropped to his knees, shoving her legs apart with zero finesse, kissing up her thighs before burying his mouth between them. Her hips jolted. He licked her like a man starving, tongue flicking, circling, sucking, fingers sliding into her slick heat as her moans echoed off the kitchen tiles.

She grabbed his hair, bucking, writhing. "Don't stop—don't you f***ing dare—"

He didn't.

She came hard, legs trembling, crying out his name like a hymn torn from the throat of a sinner.

---

But he wasn't done.

He picked her up, carried her to the couch like she weighed nothing, tossing her down and unbuckling his jeans with one hand, the other gripping her thigh. She watched him stroke himself — slow, teasing, letting her see every thick inch — until she was squirming.

"You want this?"

She nodded desperately.

"Beg."

"Please, Aiden. I want you. I need you inside me."

"Say it like you mean it."

"F*** me. Hard. Now."

He slammed into her, no warning, no pause. She screamed — raw, real — as he thrust deep, deeper, hips snapping with a rhythm that didn't care about softness or love, only lust and heat and need. Her nails dug into his back. He grunted with each drive, sweat slicking their bodies.

"You feel that?" he panted against her neck. "Every inch? You belong to me tonight."

"Then claim me," she gasped. "Mark me. Break me."

And he did.

---

Time blurred.

He took her against the wall, bent over the table, on her knees, on top of him. He pushed her limits, kissed every inch, made her beg, made her bite, made her come again and again until her voice broke and her body begged for mercy.

They collapsed together, tangled on the floor, bodies spent and shaking, the storm still raging outside.

But the night wasn't over.

---

That's when her phone lit up.

A message.

From a number she didn't recognize.

Unknown: You shouldn't have let him in. He's not who you think he is. Get out now.

She sat up, heartbeat slamming.

Aiden stirred beside her, eyes closed, lips curved in a lazy smile.

"Everything okay?" he asked, without opening them.

She stared at the screen.

Another message.

Unknown: Check his bag.

She stood.

Naked, quiet, heart pounding, she crept to the backpack he'd tossed near the door.

Unzipped it.

Inside wasn't clothes.

It was a long blade — black, matte, no reflection — and a vial of something glowing blue.

Files. Photos.

Photos of her.

Dozens.

Sleeping. Laughing. Showering. Dating someone else months ago.

There was even a photo from tonight — her moaning on the counter, taken from across the street.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

Behind her, Aiden's voice was calm.

"You weren't supposed to see that yet."