Too Fucking Hot

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Rain fell in heavy, wet drops that rebounded off the pavement and splashed back down. Another blistering Chicago summer day had given way to a sleepless night, air so thick and hazy it was hard to breathe. A white flash lit the sky, followed seconds later by a rumbling boom in the distance.

Jenna sat on the wood steps that ran from her second-story landing up to the third-story landing and stared out at the storm, tired, too numb to think. God, she was sweaty everywhere. She wore her lightest cotton tank shirt; no bra (couldn’t stand the feel of fabric clinging to the slick underside of her breasts); and a pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts.

David’s boxer shorts. The bastard.

But nothing seemed to help. It was too fucking hot and David-the-fucking-bastard-of-an-ex-boyfriend had taken the air conditioner with him when he’d moved out.

She was miserable. Lonely, sweltering, and miserable.

With a sigh, she pressed her bottle of beer against her cheek, enjoying the fleeting relief offered by the frosty, wet glass on her flushed skin. The bottle dripped with chilled condensation. She rubbed it down one side of her neck, then around to the other, pressing it against her pulse points and letting out a soft, fatigued gasp of pleasure. Warm rivulets of sweat trickled down over the swell of her breasts. Letting her eyes slip shut, she slipped the bottle along her cleavage, awash in the blessed cool that faded all too quickly in the oppressive heat. One by one, she teased her nipples through her thin shirt with the slick, icy base of the bottle. Her little buds tightened beneath the damp cotton, which clung to her like soap film and was almost as transparent. Tracing the hard, prominent outline of her taut peaks with the ice-cold beer, Jenna shivered.

Jesus, she was pathetic. It had been too long — way too long. Even before David moved out, they’d stopped having sex. Oh, she masturbated all right. A lot, actually. And she played with her tits, like now. But there was just no substitute for the feel of a man’s hands running all over her, feeling her up, teasing her, working himself in her deep and slow.

And it was too fucking hot! The entire city was one, big, goddamned oven.

She whimpered and leaned back, resting her elbows on the steps, loosely clutching the bottle in one hand.

Down below, a metal click and the rattling of the chain-link fence signaled that one of her neighbors had just returned through the gate to the back alley. At the hollow thud of steps on the stairwell, Jenna began to shift herself aside to allow her neighbor to pass.

“Hey, Patrick,” Jenna greeted him when she saw who it was.

“Hey.” He flashed her one of his boyish grins and paused on the steps. “Too hot to sleep?” he asked.

With a wan smile, Jenna muttered, “The bastard took the A/C with him.”

Patrick grimaced in sympathy. “You okay tonight?”

Oh, God. Yeah, so he’d seen her falling down drunk a couple of weeks ago when she was going through the worst of her I-can’t-believe-David-left-me depression, and she’d been embarrassed as all hell for the next few days. But Patrick had been a good guy about it; not once had he looked at her like she was a crazy lady or a pity case.

In fact, more often than not, he looked at her like he was looking at her now, his eyes flicking appreciatively over her body but never lingering long enough to be rude. Just…interested.

Jenna caught him glancing at her chest. Even though she felt like she must look like crap, all sweaty and gross, she also knew that her humid cotton top was so saturated that it was more a shadow than a real covering. The wet fabric clung to her skin like glaze. Discreetly, Jenna took a quick peek and wasn’t surprised to see the dark outline of her areolas around pert nips that poked up in blatant invitation.

She really shouldn’t. Patrick was a nice neighbor, right down to holding the dumpster lid open for her when they both happened to be taking out their trash at the same time. And as the saying went, “Don’t shit where you eat”.

But he also worked out and right now he looked too good to resist. He was tall and chiseled, his sculpted muscles lithe and powerful rather than grotesquely puffed up like some of the more obsessive body builders. Patrick’s dark hair tended to be on the unkempt side, with stray locks flopping down over his brow. Jenna often had the urge to brush it away from his face so it wouldn’t hide his beautiful, green eyes.

She really, really shouldn’t. Because, building romance? Disaster in the making. Think of those awkward encounters at the mail boxes if it doesn’t work out, she rebuked herself inwardly.

The thing was, she didn’t really want a romance, wasn’t ready for any commitments or attachments yet. Jenna just wanted sex — plain, simple, down-and-dirty, raw, ride-me-hard sex.

“Okay as I can be,” Jenna answered with a sigh. Gesturing with her beer bottle, she added, “Not drinking to get stupid, sideways drunk this time; just to cool off.”

“I hear that,” Patrick chuckled and gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder as he resumed his journey up the stairs.

From the third-floor landing, Jenna heard the jingle of Patrick’s keys as he let himself in his apartment. She let out a long, slow breath. Alone again.

The rain kept coming down in torrents.

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