My Hero

by Kelly, Sahara

  “Thanks for the thrill, Max. Let’s not do it again.” The door slammed behind her.

  He sighed.

  Mr. Peebles ventured out from his hiding place.

  “You know, Mr. Peebles, it occurs to me that my sex life is not what it once was.”

  Mr. Peebles did not respond to this comment, merely gazing inscrutably from large amber eyes as his whiskers twitched.

  “I used to be able to bring a woman to orgasm within minutes. I would have any number of ladies falling over themselves to give me their phone numbers, their room keys, their panties...where has that gift gone?”

  Once again, there was no response from his silent audience.

  “Sometimes I envy you. Perhaps I should have been castrated at an early age as well. It would have made life a lot simpler, wouldn’t it?”

  Mr. Peebles’ eyes revealed nothing of his innermost feelings. He yawned delicately, showing a lot of rather sharp teeth. Correctly deducing that little in the way of further activity was going to take place on the bed that evening, he carefully stepped onto the rumpled covers and circled a time or two before settling himself into a comfortable lump. He was purring himself off to sleep within minutes.

  “And a fat lot of help you are,” scoffed Max. He watched the antics of this unusual cat with affection. “This is what it comes down to, does it? A quick fuck and then the brush off by someone whose name should have been removed from the list of possible things parents are allowed to call their offspring. Followed by a nice night’s snuggle with a cat who ignores my every attempt at communication.”

  He sighed again. “It’s all her fault, you know. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have been long gone, and you’d have some other sucker running themselves ragged for kitty treats.”

  Getting out of the bed, he used the bathroom and slipped into a pair of silky shorts, then carefully got back under the covers without disturbing the cat’s tranquil repose. “Yes, Mr. Peebles, ‘tis a sad man you see before you—or you would if you’d open those feline eyes of yours for two seconds, you lazy lump...”

  A polite snore greeted this request.

  He wished he could sleep as thoroughly as Mr. Peebles, but he knew that once he closed his eyes she’d be there, and that would be it—he’d be fighting a wet dream for the rest of the night. He was getting damn tired of waking up with a painful hard-on and making do in the shower each and every fucking morning.

  All because of his boss. The delectably munchable Peta Matthews.

  He lowered his eyelids, and yep—there she was. Hands on those luscious hips of hers, staring at him with contempt radiating from her gray eyes. Her skin was like ripe peaches with a dash of cream, soft, velvety and very lickable. His mouth watered and his cock stirred.

  She’d be speaking to him in that delightful almost-British accent, scolding him for something or other he’d done, or forgotten to do.

  How the hell was he supposed to remember all that stupid editing shit when she stood there in front of him, her body sending out messages like some kind of sexual radar, and his satellite dish homing in on each and every one of them?

  The snow began pelting against his windows, hard now, with the force of a good gale behind it. There was a nice, old-fashioned Nor’easter shaping up outside, and for a moment Max wished he could share it with Peta. Snuggling with her under the covers or in front of a blazing fire.

  Of course, he had no fireplace in his dingy little apartment, but hell, it was his fantasy and he could have whatever he wanted in it. Including Ms. Matthews.

  He’d just bet she was tight and hot, and he knew just how to get her ready for him. Her breasts were small, but would fill his mouth to perfection, and the rest of her would feel like satin against his skin.

  He wondered if her pussy was bare or if she’d left her pubic hair intact. He didn’t care. Either way would be just fine with him. All he needed was her, any way he could get her. One night. One fuck—or maybe two or three, depending on his mood, and she’d be out of his system. He could then pack up and head off to wherever the wind blew him.

  Like he’d been doing for the last year or so.

  He grinned into his pillow, as he imagined the delight of sliding past Ms. Peta Matthews’s inhibitions and into her boiling cunt.

  It would be explosive. Cataclysmic.

  The wind howled, and the little apartment trembled. A night like this cried out for hot sex with an even hotter woman. They’d shake the world together.

  And exactly at the moment that thought took hold of his mind, Max’s world did indeed shake—and then collapsed.

  *~*~*~*

  “You cooking something, were you? Or jumping around?”

  Max’s landlady, Mrs. Lee, stared angrily at him from beneath her straight black bangs.

  “Absolutely not, Mrs. Lee. I was in bed, for chrissake.”

  Max shivered in the blanket that a fireman had thoughtfully bundled around him as the rescue crew picked their way through the rubble that had once been his little apartment. Before the ceiling had collapsed, that was.

  “You do something. I know. You bad man.”

  He sighed and did his best to ignore the accusatory Oriental finger pointing at him. At least the interior of the ambulance was warm, and the EMT had wiped away the blood from the cut on his head. A large lump of ceiling plaster had narrowly missed crushing his skull, but left a nasty gash as a parting gift.

  A plaintive yowl came from the cat-carrier next to him. Thank God country EMTs were supplied with a variety of odd equipment. With surprising presence of mind, Max had rescued Mr. Peebles and grabbed his cell phone and wallet as he’d fought free of the debris. He’d clean forgotten he was in his shorts and it was snowing. His feet were freezing.

  Mrs. Lee was now gesturing and shouting at the fire chief in Chinese. He sighed again. Good luck to her. He was out a place to live and a wardrobe. She was going to have to deal with insurance companies, construction companies, and the resulting mess. If she’d ever taken the time to have the place inspected she’d have known it was barely fit for human habitation.

  A buzz came from the phone resting on top of Mr. Peebles’s carrier. Frowning, Max picked it up. What now?

  “God, I just heard. Poor darling. I’m on my way. Got some clothes here if you need ‘em.”

  It was wonderful, precious Phoebe Dunford. His guardian angel and owner of Mayfield Masterpieces, the small publishing company where he attempted to perform the duties of editor. She had taken it upon herself to mother him. Occasionally it was annoying. This wasn’t one of those occasions. “Bless you, Phoebe. Be careful, will you? It’s still snowing a bit.”

  “This? This is nothing. Wait until we get a real snowstorm.”

  Max laughed. “Right. I’m sitting here in my skivvies, the temperature has to be about twenty below zero, and you’re telling me this isn’t a real snowstorm?”

  “Look, I don’t have time for idle chit chat. Peta’s been in an accident.”

  Phoebe’s words sent his senses reeling onto high alert. “What? How bad? Where is she?”

  “I’ll tell you in a sec...”

  Headlights pulled up next to the remaining fire truck, and Phoebe herself slid out of the huge SUV, closing her cell phone as she did so.

  “Evening, Miss Phoebe.” The greetings came from the fire department and the EMTs, most of whom knew Phoebe. Hell, thought Max. She knows everyone in Mayfield. She could probably tell them about their grandparents too.

  “Can I take him off your hands, John?” She looked up at the EMT who grinned affectionately at her.

  “He’s all yours, Miss Phoebe. Just a nasty abrasion and a few bruises. No sign of concussion or anything else. Damned lucky if you ask me.”

  The little woman reached Max and smiled at him. “Come along, dear. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

  She was a tiny gray-haired whirlwind, and within moments, he found himself comfortably settled in her car, toasting his toes beneath her heating vent. Mr. Pee
bles sneezed on the back seat.

  “Is Peta okay?” He spoke the first words that came into his mind.

  “Drove that silly car of hers off the bridge. It’s why you’ve only got one ambulance here. T’other had to take her over to County General. She’s unconscious right now. I’m going to drop you off and then head over.”

  “I’ll come too.”

  “No you won’t.” Phoebe’s mouth snapped shut. “You’re chilled through, mostly naked, and have just had a ceiling drop on you. When Peta comes around I want her to recover gently, not die of shock at the sight of you.”

  Max grimaced.

  Phoebe was right. He was still dusted in plaster, a large band-aid covered a good portion of his forehead, and although he was warming up, silk shorts were not the best attire for visiting a sick friend in the middle of a snowstorm.

  Shit and fuck. “But...”

  “But nothing, young man. I’m taking you over to the office. You can clean up in that little bathroom, get a bit of rest on the old couch in the staff room, and I’ll be there right after I’ve seen Peta. Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

  “We will?” He was surprised at himself. He was agreeing to everything this senior dynamo was suggesting. Must be shock or something.

  “We will. Now be a good boy and do as you’re told.”

  He blinked and found himself deposited at the offices of Mayfield Masterpieces with a bag of clothing in one hand, the keys in the other and Mr. Peebles at his feet.

  “I’ll be back soon...” With a spray of icy slush, Phoebe spun her tires and expertly steered the SUV back onto the road.

  He shook his head and looked down at Mr. Peebles. The cat was expressing his opinion of the entire episode. He’d turned his ass to the front of the carrier and was ignoring the world.

  Max wished he could do the same.

  *~*~*~*

  There seemed to be a lot of voices muttering in her bedroom.

  Peta wished they’d shut up and leave her alone. Then the pain hit her. Like a freight train rolling across her ankle.

  “Nothing worse than a bad sprain and some bruises. Girl’s extraordinarily lucky, Phoebe.”

  “Thank God.”

  Phoebe. She recognized the woman’s voice and attempted a little smile. It froze as someone stuck a pin in her.

  “Ow.”

  “Sweetie, you’re awake at last.” Phoebe scurried to the bedside. “How do you feel?”

  “People keep asking me that,” mumbled Peta through her haze. “Where am I?” Damn. She’d said that before too. Talk about déja vu.

  “You’re in hospital, darling. Your car went off the road. Fortunately, you’re okay.”

  Peta, whose body was now telling her otherwise, grimaced. “Define okay.”

  “You’re a lucky young lady, Ms. Matthews. Just a couple of bruises, some abrasions and a rather nasty sprain of your right ankle. Other than that, well...it’s quite miraculous.” The doctor joined Phoebe at the bedside.

  Peta wanted to snort. If he thought this kind of misery was miraculous, then heaven help her if her injuries had been any worse. She ached from head to toe, had a million questions trembling on her lips, and the world was starting to fade away before her increasingly blurry gaze.

  “I just gave you a small shot to help you rest, dear,” added the doctor.

  “Good idea,” endorsed Phoebe. “I’ll be back to pick her up tomorrow. I’ve got it all arranged.”

  There was an odd note of satisfaction in Phoebe’s voice, and Peta tried to scribble a mental note to herself to check it out.

  Her mind dropped the pencil and couldn’t find the paper.

  She slipped into unconsciousness once more, and for the split second before the darkness swamped her, she could have sworn she heard birds singing.

  Chapter Three

  The drinks had dulled Sandra Dean’s brain. Too many tequilas and not enough food. She didn’t care.

  The carpet felt rough against her bare skin as she lay, sprawled and naked, waiting for the next touch. Her mind tried to focus on his hands, but instead she could only feel the heat between her legs as something almost cold touched her pussy.

  Her hands slid to her breasts, feeling her hard nipples budding from a combination of the cool temperature and the arousal she was experiencing.

  It was fabulous.

  The butterfly fingers were dancing all over her body, touching her in all the places she liked most. It had been so long since anyone had cared to find them. Too long.

  She sighed and widened her thighs, waiting, anticipating, and needing to be penetrated. To be taken to those heights she remembered so well.

  Blearily she remembered she had to be at work early the next morning. She was going to be alone, since Ms. Matthews was on some kind of sick leave and Miss Phoebe had phoned her, asking her to open the office and “handle things” until she herself could get in.

  Again, she realized she didn’t care. Mayfield Masterpieces was part of the real world. Not part of where she was now.

  Her hands were pushed aside, and another set took over. Pulling hard on the nipples, tugging, teasing, flicking with just the right blend of savagery and tenderness.

  She moaned. This was wonderful.

  She felt her hands raised above her head and something rough looped around her wrists, securing her in place. How did he know? How had he figured out that she enjoyed the feeling of helplessness? Of being under someone else’s control? Of being able to surrender herself totally to another and let him do anything he wanted?

  Her mind fogged again as her legs were forced roughly apart.

  Now—perhaps now, she’d get the fucking she so desperately wanted.

  But no, not yet.

  He was raising her knees, playing with her, slipping something around her wet sex and sliding it down to her ass.

  Oh God. Yes. It was sliding into her ass, into that place that always turned her on like wildfire.

  It was big, stretching her, and her muscles tried to relax as it filled her.

  She felt her body lifted by hands that dug sharply into her buttocks. It was his cock that was inside her ass. And moving, too. Jesus Christ. He was big.

  She could vaguely hear his grunts as he ass-fucked her. Desperately, she struggled, wanting to get her hands to her clit and bring herself off.

  Coming like this was incredible, her muscles clamping around something thick up her ass and her fingers sliding in and out of her own pussy, catching her clit in that perfect spot to send her spinning into bliss.

  Mike had known how to do it just right. But the law had taken him away from her, burying him in the State Prison and denying her these pleasures. Sure, she’d divorced him, but she’d never forgotten the heat of their fucking.

  And never found it anywhere else, either. Until now.

  He tugged his cock free of her and plunged deep. She wanted to cry out from need, and the shock of his movements.

  His hands gripped harder, hurting her now, clenching her buttocks and digging fingernails into her flesh as he pounded fiercely deep inside her.

  She felt him lean forward and fasten his teeth to her nipple. He bit down, hard. It hurt, but only added to the fire consuming her flesh. He did it again, and she cried out from the pain/pleasure of it.

  “Sandra,” he breathed against her stinging breast. “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” She moaned and wriggled to get her clit against his body as his balls thumped her buttocks.

  “The box. Where is it?”

  “I dunno...so many boxes...oh God...”

  A sudden slap surprised Sandra. He’d hit her. Hard. Across the face.

  “You know the one. We were talking about it earlier.”

  Her face hurt and she tasted the bitter metallic tang of her own blood as her lip split. But this was how she liked it—rough and violent. It seemed he knew her darkest desires. Her desperate needs.

  She spat the blood away as her body, so near to comin
g, cried out for more. “I don’t know. It could be anywhere. Oh Jesus, fuck me. So close...”

  He slapped her again. “Think Sandra, think...” He stopped moving and let her tremble on the brink of her orgasm.

  Think? How could she think? Her whole being was screaming for release.

  “I don’t know where it is. I told you. I don’t know. In the office maybe. Christ, finish me, will you? I’m dyin’ here...”

  She wriggled frantically, unable to move her arms as he began to thrust into her again, driving her down into the harsh carpet.

  “Yes, I’m afraid you are,” came the quiet sigh.

  He pounded himself harder than ever against her, and she felt her backside drop onto the carpet.

  Strong hands slid up her chest to her throat.

  She was coming...she could feel it now. Her clit was on fire, and her inner muscles beginning to twitch and spasm around that fabulous cock of his.

  She was soaking wet, the sounds of their fucking were adding to her excitement, and she began to whimper as her orgasm began. She couldn’t catch her breath—it was mind blowing.

  She tried to scream out her pleasure, but something was trapping the air in her windpipe.

  His hands...

  He was tightening them.

  Vainly, she tried to open her eyes and tell him to stop, and her legs started to thrash, not from her orgasm but from terror. A red haze was seeping beneath her eyelids and her lungs felt like they were full of fire.

  She struggled for air, adrenaline coursing through her, making her heart beat triple time and her body sweat in fear.

  “N...n...no...” she rasped.

  The hands never moved.

  As her consciousness faded, Sandra tried to get her mind around the idea that he was really going to kill her. What the fuck?

  It was too late.

  Chapter Four

  Peta heaved a sigh of relief as Phoebe drew the car up into the driveway next to her house on Acorn Street. The small Victorian looked as lovely to her now as it had done four years ago when she’d bought it.