Hot Flash, Cold Case book cover by Aurora North

Cold Case, Warm Bed

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Hot Flash, Cold Case by Aurora North

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This scene takes place eighteen months after Hot Flash, Cold Case. Read the novel first.

🔥 Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno. Too hot for retailers.

Cold Case, Warm Bed

The motel was called the Pine Ridge Inn, which was generous on both counts — there were no pines, and the ridge was a drainage ditch behind the parking lot.

Vivian set her weekender bag on the bed. “Professional preparation.”

“You’ve been looking at me like I’m evidence since we crossed the county line.”

“You’re the most compelling exhibit in my entire career.”

I set my reading glasses on the nightstand. Vivian set hers beside mine. We did the interview. Twenty-three minutes. We were back by three-forty. Vivian locked the door. I closed the curtains.

“Slow,” I said. “I want to take you apart piece by piece and hear every sound you make.”

I kissed her until her breathing changed. Unbuttoned her blouse one button at a time. Pushed it off. Unhooked her bra. Cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked. She undressed me with focused patience. Then herself. She stood in the amber light, fifty-seven, silver-haired from head to cunt, the scar bisecting her lower abdomen, without apology.

“Lie down.”

I crawled over her. Took my time with her breasts. Kissed down the scar. Settled between her legs. Flat and slow. Base to clit. Soaked — slick and swollen, the taste rich. I circled her clit in lazy arcs. Pushed my tongue inside her. Withdrew. Sucked her clit. Released. Sucked again.

“Stop teasing —”

“I’m being thorough.”

Two fingers inside. Tight and hot. I curled forward, found the spot. Her back bowed. I fucked her with my fingers and ate her cunt relentlessly. She was dripping down my hand, soaking the sheets, obscene wet sounds filling the room.

I pulled away. She whined. “Don’t stop —”

Three fingers. Slowly. Her eyes went wide. Deep thrusts. “I want you to come on my hand. Loud enough that the postal worker files a noise complaint.”

She laughed — the laugh that broke into a moan. Thumb on her clit, tight fast circles, three fingers deep. “Come for me.”

Her body seized around my fingers. Spine arched. Full-throated cry. Hips bucking, grinding against my palm, riding the orgasm while I held my fingers deep and felt every wave.

“The postal worker definitely heard that.”

“Flowers and a fruit basket.”

She pushed me onto my back. “My turn.” Long minutes on my breasts. Teeth. Sharp nips. She kissed everything except where I was soaked and throbbing.

“Your mouth. On my cunt. Now. I am begging you.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Precise. Scalpel-precise. Two fingers curling. Added a third without asking. I came with both hands in her silver hair. She didn’t stop. Built a second orgasm on the ruins of the first. It hit deeper.

We ordered food. Ate in bed, naked, sharing french fries. “Some people are worth the approximation.”

We made love twice more. On the bathroom counter — my idea, involving a hip check against the faucet. I sat on the edge, legs around her waist, while she fucked me with three fingers until the toiletries rattled off the shelf. I came with my back against the cold glass.

I returned the favor — her back against the wall, one leg over my shoulder, my mouth on her cunt. She came with both hands on the towel bar. The towel bar pulled two inches out of the drywall. The motel’s problem.

The last time in the dark. Slow. Face to face. Fingers inside each other. Foreheads touching. She came first. I followed with her name in my mouth and her careful fingers deep inside me.

The reading glasses sat on the nightstand. Two pairs. Side by side. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Ours. The best case I ever worked.

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