• BURN ME •

• 15 •

Fire Up the Night

~ New Medicine

Snow

A shudder escapes as I step into the shower, mortifying. He'd been watching, fuck, while I'm lost in a sex dream, for fuck's sake. Then the question hangs in the air – had I dreamt of him? Guilty as charged. But hell, that's intel he can't possess. I shake my head, a slow motion denial, staring at my trembling hands. Fuck, the tremor's fading, but so damn slowly. A sharp inhale catches in my throat as the bathroom door swings inward. Confusion flares, and I crane my neck, peering through the cascade. Flame fills the doorway, leaning against the basin, a predatory ease in his posture, eyes locked on me. The rigid line of his cock is undeniable beneath the fabric, goddamn. His pale shirt clings to the sculpted planes of his chest, a stark canvas for the shadowy ink that crawls across his skin. "What in the actual hell? Ever heard of knocking, Flame?" I snap, irritation sparking. He can't just barge in like this, can he? A lopsided smirk curls his lips, red hair catching the dim light. "Should've thrown the bolt, snowflake." The words are low, a taunt, as he crosses his arms, flexing, the shirt straining tighter still. My eyes roll skyward. Is he here for toothpaste theatrics? "Gonna admit you were dreaming about me?" he bites out, direct, unapologetic. "Wasn't." A lie, raspy, followed by a cough to clear the husk. "Towel. Could you maybe...?" Flame snatches a towel, the terry rough against my skin as I cinch it around my hips, emerging from the steam. Flame's gaze is a brand. "Why teeth-brushing? Right now? Of all moments?" I demand. A slow grin spreads, unsettlingly amused. "Why not? Like I said, bolt the door, snowflake." He pushes off the sink, teeth flashing as he begins to brush, all casual menace. I shake my head, a silent reprimand, waiting him out so I can claim some semblance of privacy. He grins again, a flash of white, as he exits, leaving the air thick with his presence. I watch him go, a phantom heat lingering, before pulling on boxers, roughly toweling my hair.

"Wings are...intricate." I flinch, a startled jump, as Flame re-enters, silent as smoke, halting behind me at the basin. Shirtless now, the blatant disregard is a deliberate jab. In the mirror's reflection, I see his eyes fixed on my back, on the incomplete angel wings etched there. My eyes roll again, weary. "What do you actually want?" I murmur, voice low. He lifts his gaze, meeting mine in the glass, pupils dilated, dark. "Want to know the landscape of your dreams. Who you were lost in." A smirk plays on his lips. "Wasn't you," I retort, breath hitched. A low laugh rumbles from his chest, dark honey laced with a threat that sends shivers down my spine. He closes the distance, a shadow falling over me, pressing against me from behind. The unyielding ridge of his cock presses into the small of my back, a brutal brand, and holy fuck, the sheer size of it hits me, raw and undeniable. My breath hitches, eyes widening in the mirror's reflection. Flame leans in, breath hot against my ear, a predatory whisper that ignites a dangerous spark. My own cock stirs, a rebellious throb of answering heat. His gaze locks on mine through the mirror, unwavering as he murmurs, "Liar." The word is soft, rough edges scraping against my senses, undeniably, wickedly sexy. Before I can react, his foot slides between my legs, a deliberate invasion, forcing them apart, throwing me off balance, against the basin's edge. He grins, a predatory curve, satisfied as I'm splayed before him, his hardness a relentless pressure against my spine. "Dirty little liar. Look at yourself. Look how you're reacting to me." His hand clamps onto my chin from behind, tilting my head up, exposing my throat, defenseless. His gaze is a wildfire, scorching. "See how hard your nipples are? Begging to be touched, Fuego Pequeño." His voice deepens with each word, a velvet growl that vibrates through me. His free hand ghosts over a nipple, a feather-light torment that sends a jolt of pure sensation through me. I gasp, a sharp intake of air, a strangled sound as a tingling ache blossoms. Teeth gritted, I brace myself against the porcelain, clinging to the cold edge, this exquisite pain...different. Sharper, cleaner, so much goddamn better than the usual dull ache. I crave more. Questions claw at the edges of my mind, a frantic scramble for reason, but they all dissolve, silenced as Flame's fingers tighten, a sharp pinch on my nipple. A soft moan escapes, involuntary, as I arch into the torment, clinging to the sink, this sweet, searing agony... It's better, impossibly better, than anything I've known. I need more.