Heat by R.W. Clinger

Author:R.W. Clinger [Clinger, R.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2015-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

Part 4: June 5, 20—

Chapter 31: Not Into Play

839 Treasure Gardens

8:54 A.M.

Because the interior of Casey’s bungalow had been covered in smoke residue for the next twenty-four hours, we spent the night at my stucco. Casey hired Toxic Mongrels to immediately clean his place up, which had cost him a small fortune, not that he had a choice in the matter. My box-shaped abode in Treasure Gardens was located in a private neighborhood along the Gulf, south of Casey’s place. My place had one bedroom, a tiny but very cute bathroom, miniature kitchen, and a living room that offered just enough space for a sofa. All the furniture was secondhand, a bit worn, but comfortable.

Although the stucco abode was next to the ocean, it was still small and deterred guests from sleeping over, unless they cuddled with me on the twin-size bed in my bedroom. Casey just happened to be one of those guests, and I awoke with the naked man on my chest, applying kisses to the length of my neck.

Hard with morning wood, I needed to take a piss. Casey had other things in mind to accomplish with my boner. Soon his kisses fell to my torso and covered both pecs and the navel at my center. And thereafter his mouth and throat consumed my dick, and he started sucking me off.

I rarely prevented sex from happening in my life; hence, the reason why I opened my legs for my boyfriend to have better access to my private parts. I served Casey breakfast, and he didn’t waste a second showing me affection.

The sex became a blur to me because I couldn’t get my mind off the fire. I believed it could have been associated with the fire that burned down Peter Rotunda’s gay bar. As Casey licked, sucked, and toyed with my athletic build, accomplishing dirty deeds with a persistent tempo, my thoughts strayed to last night’s bizarre adventure at Sign Farm. I also recollected the burning pages of two Margo Pagino romance novels. While being banged numerous times, I wondered how the strange events were linked. When would I learn the arsonist’s identity? How much more time did I want to give the case until it grew into something unmanageable and out of my control?

* * * *

Casey and I lay sticky together on my mattress, staring up at the tray ceiling. He huffed and puffed, and his chest rose and fell in chaotic motion.

Between breaths, he said, “Your heart wasn’t into our play, was it?”

“I’m sorry. My mind is elsewhere. I can’t get this arson case out of my head.”

We smelled of sex, which consisted of perspiration and mixed colognes. The morning steeped with a hot and thick humidity, which added to our strong aromas.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, holding me next to him, fingering one of my pert nipples.

I did, but honestly didn’t know what to tell him. Beating a dead horse just happened to be out of the question. So was boring him with facts to the case that he had already heard a dozen or more times.

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