Worcester Nights - The Boxed Set by Ophelia Sikes

lowered my arm, arching my back slightly, and he gave a long groan of desire.
    I turned in place, showing my back to him, then hitched a finger on each side of my panties. As I slid them down, I bent over, so that by the time they reached the floor my hair was pooling at the floor by my feet.
    I looked around the side of my calf to the bed. His face shone with torment and desire.
    His voice was rough. “God, Kay, I need you. I need you.”
    I turned to slip my hand into his jeans pocket, finding the foil square I knew would be there. I put a corner in my teeth, then went to the bed. Again he raised his hips as I drew his underwear down the length of his lean, muscular legs. I straddled his thighs, ripping the packet open and drawing the condom down the rock-hard length of his shaft.
    His hands went to my legs, sliding their way up to cup my ass. He groaned again, his body arching.
    I lowered myself, my moist opening finding him by instinct, the pressure of him stretching me, filling me, and I slid until I was fully seated against him. My nipples brushed against his chest, and electricity sizzled through me, racing down into every corner of my being. I slid up again, savoring every moment, then down, more quickly this time.
    His groan was louder.
    His hands slid to take a firm hold of my hips, I drew my calves tight against his, and then our rhythm grew, built. It echoed between us like ripples building off each other.
    Our moans echoed off the brick walls, drowned out the music, soared over the buildings and streets of Worcester County.
    And then at last we were exploding, cascading, showering the moonlit world with silver-laced notes of unadulterated release.

Chapter 9
    I blinked my eyes open, feeling both exhausted and satiated beyond all reckoning. My breath caught, and I stared at the sight before me.
    Sean was asleep. The thick, white comforter was drawn to his waist, and he looked like a Greek God come to life. His six-pack and sculpted form could have been marble, the sensual curve of his bicep a masterpiece created by Michelangelo.
    And he was mine.
    Sean opened his eyes, and for a long moment we were lost, were connected in a way I had never thought possible. And then time became a distant memory.
    It was nearly noon by the time I was sitting at the oak table finishing off a delicious stack of pancakes. He had made us a batch from scratch, complete with strawberries and whipped cream.
    I pushed the plate back with a grin. “I could get used to this.”
    He reached over to sweep the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I would like that.”
    His phone buzzed, and he looked down at it. “It’s Jimmy – I need to take this.”
    I waved him away. “Of course. I’ll just check up on things.” I pulled my own phone over.
    He went to the far side of the room, hitting the answer button and talking quietly into it. I checked my email – nothing of note – then went to the Worcester Telegram webpage to see if anything was up in town.
    It must have been slow news for a Saturday. The lead story was some blonde curly-headed moppet, age fifteen, who had managed to break a record for sculling. Apparently she was already quite tall for her age, and the reporter expected even greater achievements from her as she grew into her full strength.
    Sean came back to me. “They need me for something over at the warehouse for a few minutes. If you want, we can swing by there, then go for a ride before you have to start work tonight.”
    I smiled. “I’d like that a lot. As long as we leave time after the ride for me to change and have a quick shower, that sounds perfect.”
    I slipped back into my clothes from yesterday and stood by the door while Sean gathered up his wallet and keys. The photo here was the only color photo in the entire room, and like the others, it held an intense power in it. This one was a close-up of a burning home. It seemed to be a second story window, with glowing crimson flames licking out of