Big Man’s Heat

by Wylder, Penny

  “I can always eat.”

  Sia pulls out some leftovers from the fridge and heats them up for us. We spend the next hour sitting in the kitchen eating and talking. She tells me about what it was like going to a Catholic school and how her parents always made sure her schedule was filled. School, violin lessons, ballet, volunteering at the hospital, not one second was left for her.

  It's amazing to me that she was able to meet Jenna in the middle of all that and actually stay friends. But I guess birds of the same feather flock together. Two crazy rich girls, mingling in the same crowd were bound to cross paths.

  So, where do I fit in?

  How am I even sitting here with her?

  “All right, we should probably head to bed. We’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

  “Do your parents know I'm coming?”

  “Nope,” she says with a grin as we walk to our rooms. “And I don't care. At least with you there it'll be enjoyable. I might actually have a good time for once.” Stopping at her door, she peers up at me with so much spark in her eyes. She doesn't want to just go to bed. She wants more of me. “So, I'll see you in the morning, I guess.”

  “You can see more of me right now.” A sexy smirk spreads across my face as I bounce my brows.

  “Shh,” she says, hushing me as her eyes brighten. “We can't, not here. But we'll make plenty of time for that.” She whispers softly as she looks around to make sure no one else is listening. “Good night, Mark.” Opening her door, she seals herself inside.

  Laying in my bed, I don't get much sleep at all. The bed is comfortable, the room a perfect temperature of sixty-eight degrees, the floor heated to a balmy seventy and warm beneath my feet.

  The bedding is full of feathers and Persian cotton that feels cool against my skin. The mattress absorbs my body, forming to my back and shoulders as I stare blankly up at the ceiling.

  I should be able to fall asleep like a baby in a place like this, but I can't. There's so much noise, so much light pollution, and all this lavish stuff just makes me realize how much I don't belong here.

  And to top it all off, knowing that Sia is only a few doors away, alone in her bed, and so very vulnerable, is driving me insane. I want to sneak inside her room. I want to slip under her covers and touch her all over.

  My hand moves to my cock. I'm already hard just picturing her waiting for me in her bed. I know she wants to respect her parents’ home and their rules, and I won't break that trust either, but I also know she wants me too.

  Closing my eyes, I imagine her laying there, her legs rubbing back and forth, her hands running up and down her sides, caressing, touching, exploring seductively as she waits for me to take over.

  To be the one touching. To be the one exploring with my hands, my mouth, my tongue. Her nipples hard, her chest picking up in speed as she starts to breathe heavily from desire.

  I can see it all in my head. Vivid and real, she's so close I can smell her, and yet, I can't reach her. We're miles apart.

  My hand starts to move, stroking up and down slowly. My imagination keeps rolling, driving my hand to move faster and squeeze harder.

  I can taste her nipples in my mouth as I suck and nibble each one. I can feel her beneath me as I slip her nightgown up over her stomach, exposing her beautiful pussy in all its wet, glistening glory. Inhaling, her scent fills my nose, and her flavor soaks my lips. Even in my mind she's real and unforgettable.

  Licking my lips, my hand works my length. Slamming my hand down to the base, I drive it back up, clenching tight around my swollen tip. Faster and faster I jerk my dick until my balls draw up high and my muscles turn rigid.

  With one last pump, I blow hot cum all over my hand and stomach. I'm breathing hard as I blink my eyes open. A horn from the street below rattles me out of my orgasm haze. Pushing up, I grab a tissue off the nightstand and wipe myself off.

  Relaxing back into the covers, my eyes grow heavy as my body tingles all over. I can't sleep like I do at home. It's a mix of dosing off and waking up wide eyed and confused because the world is constantly running here.

  Horns replace the crickets outside my window. Bright billboards replace the stars in the sky. Running engines replace the buzz of mosquito wings on a hot summer night.

  Everything I use to lull me to asleep is on steroids here, keeping me stirring for hours. A knock at the door makes me lift my heavy head. My lids are sleep swollen, and my entire body is sluggish.

  There's another set of knocks at the door as it creaks open. “Mark, you awake?”

  “Yeah, I'm getting there.” Rolling to my back, I stretch my arms and push myself up in bed.

  “How'd you sleep?” Sia asks as she leans against the doorway. Crossing her legs, she's in jogging pants and a loose t-shirt. Her hair is thrown up on her head in a messy bun with wisps framing her face.

  God, she's so fucking gorgeous.

  “Honestly, I slept like shit.” Chuckling, I give her a sleepy smile.

  “Like shit? Really?”

  “It's different here. A lot louder than I'm used to. It was hard to drown out all the noise. I'm a country boy, remember? The most traffic we have back home is usually because there's a cow blocking the road.”

  Her lips thin into a smirk. “Yeah, I thought it was strange how quiet it was when I was there, but I liked it. I liked being able to stop and listen and not hear anything but birds.”

  “It's a beautiful thing. Don't get me wrong, the city is definitely cool, but it's not what I know.”

  Rocking her leg side to side, she drops her eyes to her hands. “Well, we need to head out in about an hour. I'll let you get ready.”

  Her eyes land on mine, and she stands silently. Licking her lips, I half expect her to dash into the room and kiss me. I can see it in her eyes. Soft, sultry, glossing over as if she's picturing it in her head.

  “Siobhan!” her mother calls out.

  The look disappears instantly, replaced with a heavy exhale. “I'll come get you when it's time to go. What is it?” she asks as she turns and closes the door behind her.

  I lay in bed for a few extra minutes before forcing myself to get up. The floor warms my cold feet as I walk to the bathroom and take a quick shower. Looking in the mirror, I debate if I should shave or not.

  Nah. Screw it.

  I'll put on the suit, and play pretend, mingling with people that would never even look at me twice if we met out in the real world or I showed up on a stretcher. But that's it. I'm not going to change who I am for them. I just can't. It's not right.

  Splashing some cologne against my neck, I put on the suit. Wrapping the tie around my neck, I fumble with the knot, then give up altogether.

  Fuck the tie, I think to myself, folding the collar down.

  Running flat hands down the front of the suit, I pop the top button free on the button-up underneath. Combing my beard down, I run a hand through my hair, and the dirt in the thick cracks of my working hands, catches my eyes.

  Holding them out in front of my face, it's easy for me to see I'm a wolf in sheep's clothing. These hands are a mirror into the reality of who I am. A man in a suit like this doesn't have hands like these.

  Thick callouses, deep crevices, stained to the point I can't even wash it away anymore. These hands don't match the finesse of this suit.

  Straightening my shoulders, my jaw hardens as I stare at my reflection. I don't care what these people think. I don't care what any of these people think. This suit doesn't wear me, and these people aren't going to dictate who I need to be.

  I am this fucking suit.

  Confidence surges through me. Siobhan isn't like these people either, and she shouldn't have to mimic them just to fit in. I'm going to be me, and maybe I'll be able to help her find the strength to be herself too.

  “Mark, you ready?” Sia asks me from behind the door.

  Yanking the door open, I arch a brow and tip my chin high. “Hell yeah, I'm ready.”

  Her parents already left. Her mot
her wanted to get there while they were still setting up to make sure everything is done exactly how she wants.

  “Did you tell your parents I'm coming yet?”

  “I told them this morning.”

  “How did they take it?”

  She rolls her head on her shoulder, peering up at me with eyes that say I already know the answer.

  “Well, they're going to feel really stupid when I walk in.”

  “Why's that?” she asks.

  “Because I look so damn good in this suit. I'm like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Only I'm not a prostitute, and you're not Richard Gere.”

  Sia laughs, slapping me against my chest. “I just hope this goes smoothly. I hate these things. They're always so uncomfortable.”

  Slipping a hand over her thigh as we sit in the back of the town car her mother had sent for us, I dig my fingertips in her soft flesh. I'm going to take full advantage of any time we get alone.

  “This one will be better because now you have me. I can make anything fun. You had fun at Jenna and Ryder's wedding, right?” She purses her lips into a tight smirk and nods. “See, consider me party luck. It'll be a good time no matter what.”

  She reaches over and grabs my bicep, giving me a small smile. We stay like that the rest of the car ride, with my hand on her leg and her hand on my arm.

  Pulling up to a fancy hotel, the driver gets out and opens the door for us. I get out first, then hold my hand out for her. Sia places her hand in mine, sending electric snaps up my shoulder and through my chest.

  Her hand lingers for a second, before she slips it free to adjust her dress. She looks stunning. Her dress is a bright yellow with thin straps over her shoulders. The top cuts across her chest just below the top of her breasts, giving me a beautiful view from above.

  The material hugs her around her torso, flowing out just after her hips. Her heels are silver, strappy, and the tips of her well-manicured, pink toenails make an appearance with each step.

  I watch her change instantly. Everything about her morphs right before my eyes as if she's slipped into a different body. Her shoulders pull back, her arms dangle with precision at her sides. Her chin juts forward and her neck seems to elongate as we get closer to the front doors.

  Like a chameleon, she puts on her rich skin, and floats through the doors wearing the money that emboldens her. She strolls through the room with me at her heels, heads turning and eyes growing wide.

  They know exactly who she is like she's royalty.

  I come from a world that knows you because your parents grew up there, and so did theirs, and theirs, and so on. People stopped to ask you how you are, how the crops have been that year, and what the Farmer's Almanac is predicting for the winter.

  They know your great aunt Betty who's ninety-two and how she's always loved her rose bushes and won three blue ribbons for them at the local fair. They know your cousin got in trouble for stealing a street sign when he was fourteen, and they still talk about it today.

  Here, in Siobhan's world, they know you for entirely different reasons. They see money. They see a name. They see power and fame and recognition. Dollar signs draw the wrong kind of people, and I can smell all the sharks here.

  Charity event or not, these people didn't come here to help, they came here to gain. One name follows another, one hand washes the other. It's makes me sad that a place like this even exists.

  I've been here one day, and I can see it boldly, like an orange vest during hunting season. It gives me a new perspective on Jenna and what world she lives in. How the people around her can manipulate, and how easily a child can get swept up in this world.

  Sia nods at a few people, giving them a smile and a wave. Walking into the main hall, I'm met with another grand, eye catching mirage. It's all a show. And it sickens me.

  Giant crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, glittering all over the walls with their lights. Lavish tables are decorated with fancy china, and silverware that fans out in front of swan folded napkins. Navy blue linen covers the tables, and in the center of every table is a glass vase filled with white stones and floating candles. Between the candles are buds of flowers, the edges painted with gold flakes.

  “We're right here,” she says, walking to a table up front. “Don't be nervous,” she says in a whisper. “You'll be fine.”

  “I'm not nervous,” I say matter fact. And I mean it. I promised myself I wasn't going to pretend anymore. It's not disrespectful to her parents or anyone else for me to just be me. “I am hungry, though.”

  She eyes me curiously, and I can see the truth on her face. Sia is nervous as hell. She looks petrified, like she's waiting for the explosion of a bomb she knows is about to go off.

  “I think you're the one that's nervous.” Smirking, I pull out the chair for her to sit down. “Your seat, Miss.” Holding my arm behind my back, I bow like the gentleman I am.

  Country doesn't mean chivalry is dead. I might not be rich like these people, and used to expensive things, but I know exactly how to treat a lady.

  “Thank you.” She sits down, giving me a smile. A real smile. It's not nervous, it's not terrified, it's just a simple smile that isn't being forced.

  Taking the seat next to her, she leans in so only I can hear her. “I can't wait for this to be over. See,” she says, tipping her head to a table a couple over from us, “my parents will sit there, they'll work their magic, making all these people open their wallets for a cause that none of them probably care about at all.”

  “What's the cause?”

  “Bras.” Her voice is flat, but serious.

  “Bras?”

  “Yeah, bras. My mom does this bra charity drive once a year to give bras to the homeless women in the city that needs one.”

  “No boob left behind. I like that.”

  “I know it sounds silly, but you'd be surprised how many women need them and can't get them. People donate all kinds of clothes, but bras aren't one of them.”

  “I like it, I think it's a great cause.”

  “I'm glad you do, but all these people are just here for the press.”

  “At least your mom is doing something good for others.”

  “You're right, she does a lot of good for other people. I know it might sound childish or downright selfish, but I sometimes wish she wouldn't. I mean, she puts so much into this type of stuff, and I'm left feeling like a third wheel.”

  “That's not selfish to want to have a relationship with your mom. That's just called being human.”

  The room starts to fill with more people, and our table is quickly overrun. All of them acknowledge Sia with an overly nice smile and phony hello. They know who to play to, and it's not me.

  I get a couple nods, but I'm barely acknowledged at all.

  They all begin to chat about things from their inner circle. The newest teacher at their children's prep school, the biggest rumor about some guy named Todd Gentry who supposedly bought his last wife online, and a scandal about a woman named Bethany Greene, who the woman beside me claims she knows killed her eighty-eight year old husband, seeing as he was twice Bethany's senior.

  I sit quietly, keeping to myself as the banquet hall buzzes with a million conversations all at once. Every once in a while I feel someone looking at me and find a dozen people staring at me from all directions.

  Sia became more and more stiff as the morning goes on. She moves like a robot. Her joints locking and her muscles skipping. She's gone from a glowing beacon of light to a shadow of the girl who took my breath away.

  “So, Siobhan, you haven't introduced us to your friend here. What's your name, son?” the older man across from me asks.

  A pair of thin rimmed glasses frame his eyes. His hair is lacking on the top, so he's brushed far more from the left side to the right to compensate. His suit is buttoned up to his gills, with a pastel green tie and matching handkerchief in his breast pocket.

  With rail thin fingers, he reaches out and lifts the glass flute to sip
his mimosa. He pinches the delicate stem between the frail pads of his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Mark Werlin.” Sitting pencil straight, I'm struck with this feeling of being judged. Like a child sitting at the adult table for the first time.

  “Werlin. . .” he says my last name, pausing and looking up at the ceiling. He's thinking. Shifting through memories in his head. “Werlin. . . It doesn't ring a bell.”

  Everyone else around me is looking me up and down. Some have a curiosity in their eyes, while others are just looking down their nose at me. It's as if they can smell the fact I'm not one of them.

  “That's because I'm not from around here and neither is my family.”

  Sia kindly tries to help, moving the conversation along. “He's from New Hampshire, and here on business, Mr. Fayette. My mother didn't tell you?”

  He swallows another sip of his drink, setting the glass down gently, being sure to center it on the small cocktail napkin. “She mentioned something. I've been told you're a mechanical engineer. What's your specialty?”

  “Tractors, farm equipment, things like that.”

  There's an audible gasp at the table, like the air was just sucked from the room. The woman next me places a hand on her chest, glaring at me with such disdain.

  I'm not going to lie. There's no point to it. One lie will turn into another, and they'll just keep building until I can't keep track anymore. I'm not doing it.

  Sia's entire body goes stiff as her hands squeeze the outside of her chair. Her lips fall, turning paper thin as her eyes move around the table.

  “Farm equipment,” Mr. Fayette says.

  “Yes, Sir. I can take apart and rebuild a carburetor in fifteen minutes flat. See this?” I ask, holding my hand over the table so he can see the scar running across the top. He nods reluctantly. “Got my hand caught in the engine of a corn husker, darn thing kicked on and sliced me almost to the bone. If I hadn't been paying attention, I probably would have lost it completely. Eighteen stitches on the outside, and eleven on the inside.”

  No one says a word. I don't think any of these people have ever been around someone who isn't a millionaire.