The Heat Rising

The heater had been broken for two nights now, and the chill in the apartment was unbearable. I was wrapped in a satin robe, curled on the couch with a blanket and a lukewarm cup of tea, when I heard a firm knock at the door.

When I opened it, there stood Stefan—the plumber the agency sent. He looked nothing like I expected. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with strong, veined forearms dusted in dark hair. His work shirt clung to his chest, and his jaw was peppered with just enough stubble to make you wonder how it’d feel grazing your skin.

“You the one with the broken heater?” he asked, eyes glancing down the slight part of my robe before flicking back up to meet mine.

I nodded, letting him in. “I hope you can handle it. It’s been cold in here… very cold.”

He gave a half-smile. “Don’t worry, I’m good with my hands.”

Stefan set to work, kneeling by the unit. I watched him, the way his shirt rode up just enough to tease the line of his lower back. I shifted slightly, letting the robe slip a bit more open.

The room started to warm—not just from the heater beginning to hum—but from the tension building between us. He turned around, eyes flickering to the hint of bare thigh I’d intentionally revealed.

“You sure that’s all you need fixed?” he asked, voice low and rough.

I stood slowly, walking toward him. “Depends,” I murmured. “Are you available for… extra services?”

He stood too, towering over me. “Depends what the client wants.”

I reached up, fingers grazing his collar. “The client’s cold. Maybe you should help warm her up.”

His lips crashed onto mine, and the heat we’d both held back finally ignited. He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the counter, his rough hands running up my thighs. The robe slipped off my shoulders. His mouth followed the curve of my collarbone, exploring hungrily.

Stefan took his time, worshipping every inch. Pipes weren’t the only thing he was skilled at handling—he knew how to twist, press, and move until my moans echoed off the walls. He brought the heat in more ways than one.

Afterward, I lay tangled in his arms, the heater buzzing softly beside us.

“So,” he said with a grin, “should I add that to the invoice?”

I smirked. “Only if you’re offering house calls.”

The heater was fixed. But I was still burning.

Stefan had stayed. He said he wanted to “make sure it didn’t break again.” But the way his hands slid over my hips told me that wasn’t the real reason.

We barely made it to the bedroom. He pushed me against the door with a hunger that had simmered the entire time he was on his knees fixing the heater. Now he was on his knees again—but this time, for me.

My robe slipped to the floor, forgotten. Stefan’s hands were rough, calloused from labor, but when they touched my skin, they sent electric shocks straight through my core. He spread my thighs like he owned them, his mouth hot, greedy, devouring me until I gasped, one hand tangled in his thick hair, the other gripping the edge of the dresser behind me.

“You’re soaking,” he growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You want more?”

I didn’t answer. I just turned, bent forward against the bed, and arched my back—inviting him without a single word.

He undid his belt with one swift pull. That sound—the clink of metal, the rip of a zipper—it made my breath hitch. I could feel the heat radiating from him as he stepped closer, his hard length pressing against me, teasing, not entering yet. He liked control. And I liked giving it to him.

With one hand gripping my hair, the other wrapped tightly around my waist, he pushed in, inch by inch, until I was full—stretched, taken, owned. He began to thrust, slow at first, letting me feel every pulse of his cock, every ridge, every twitch. Then he sped up, slamming into me with a force that made the bed creak, the headboard slam rhythmically against the wall.

“Fuck, Jocy,” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “You’re even tighter than I imagined.”

I moaned his name over and over, lost in the rhythm of his hips, the slap of skin, the raw filth of it all. His palm landed on my ass with a sharp crack—once, twice—each slap sending sparks through my spine. I loved it. I craved it.

When he flipped me over and took me again with my legs wrapped high around his waist, his lips crushed mine—messy, wet, desperate. His chest slick with sweat rubbed against mine, the friction only driving us deeper into madness.

And when I came, it was like a wave crashing through me—loud, unrestrained, body trembling around him.

He followed seconds later, groaning deep into my ear as he emptied himself inside, gripping my thighs as if he’d never let go.

Breathless, we lay tangled in damp sheets, the room now hot with more than just repaired heat.

Stefan traced lazy circles on my stomach. “Guess I’ll have to come by and check your plumbing next.”

I smirked. “You might want to bring a tool you didn’t use this time.”

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, I brought it. You just haven’t seen all of it yet.”