Heat, Nikko

Author's Note: This will probably be the final installment of Heat. I wrote the original manuscript as a standalone story and published it under the Mind Control category. At the time, despite the typos and spelling errors, it became one of my most well received works.

At the urging of my readers, I continued the story. Heat, Work It was meant as segue from the first chapter to what I intended to be the final chapter that addressed Katie's, Edward's, Stacie's and Holly's happily ever afters. I wrote Holly's and Ed's final chapter years ago but I didn't publish it until recently. Stacie's final chapter has been knocking around in my head ever since I wrote Ed's and Holly's story, but I didn't write it until three weeks ago, in February 2024. In all that time, I've not been able to figure out Katie's path until just this morning. I'm a sucker for happy endings. In my mind Katie receives her happy ending, or maybe, happy beginning...but it could also be viewed as her unhappy ending. I'll let you find out what you think.

If you are new to the series, reading Heat first will give you some insight into one of Katie's...weirder responses. Otherwise this can be read as a standalone story.

WARNING: If infidelity upsets you this story may not be for you. I wrote it because I enjoyed writing it. I shared it because I hope some readers might be able to share in my joy. If that's not you, I hope you find something else to enjoy.

Heat, Nikko

I banged the phone down on the receiver. I hadn't meant to. I couldn't afford to break it, but the damn thing wouldn't stop ringing.

Normally I would've thought that was a good thing, but my chef's kids had all come down with COVID. I'd told him to stay home. I had a culinary degree and I knew my way around a kitchen. Our Kaysville kitchen was the closest to my house so it wasn't as big as an imposition as it might've been.

Unfortunately, the girl I had to "man" the phone at Nikko's Italian to Go! had gotten stuck in traffic on I-15. I wanted to blame her, but I couldn't, because that freeway was a rush-hour nightmare as you approached the Farmington Funnel. She was a damn good employee too, so I know her tardiness hadn't been intentional.

I took the ticket into the kitchen because I wanted to cook this one. The woman on the other end of the line had ordered braised beef osso buco, spring pea risotto and my special cream cheese and mushroom polenta. She'd ordered for two and was clearly planning a romantic dinner. For hell, I don't know why, but her contralto voice had been all breathy and wanton while ordering her meal. I'd stiffened harder than concrete and I swear to God she was the second woman to orgasm while talking to me on the phone this evening. Was that common when ordering out? How the fuck did it happen? Had her man been plowing her while she was on the phone?

I hadn't even started cataloging the ingredients I'd need when the phone started ringing again—fuck. I handed the ticket off to my sous chef. Both my FLSTF Fat Boy and VRSCA V-Rod were in pieces on my shop floor. I'd rather be there than here, but I wouldn't've been able to afford either, or the shop, if it weren't for my business.

Toney, my college roommate and I had started Nikko's Italian to Go! as a way to fund our education. We had not expected it to explode. Salt Lake City didn't have much of a restaurant culture. I blamed it on the Mormon influence. Young marriages. Lots of kids. Overworked mothers would rather cook a feast than wrangle a horde of younglings in a restaurant. I can't say I blame them.

Nikko's delivered four and five-star food to a woman's door. The result had been that we'd grown busy, so busy Toney and I nearly flunked out of school. We'd brought in Toney's older brother, Galido into the business. Galido had a MSBA and had taken over all our shitty paperwork, supplier relations and negotiated favorable hookups with places like GrubHub and Uber Eats. That was good, because every last one of my delivery kids was on the road at the moment and more orders continued to pour in.

Toney and I hadn't yet reached thirty and we had nine, count them, nine kitchens scattered in the Jordon River Valley and the Great Salt Lake Basin. Two more were due to open up in Ogden and another in Spanish Fork within the next six months. Because we employed the best chefs, each kitchen had their own menu. Nikko's to Go! had over three hundred employees.

Honestly, our success still stunned me. Not that we hadn't been working our asses of but so many almost thirty year olds were still trying to make scratch for their mortgage. Toney, Galido and I had become millionaires—all because our Mammas had taught us to cook. Well, that, and Galido had gotten straight A's in school.

Conscious that I sometimes didn't know my own strength, I took the next order and tried to be gentler with the phone. I had enough iron in the basement of my mansion in Farmington Heights to workout a whole squad of marines. I had everything—except a woman in my bed.

I mean, I got babes. Lots of them. All I had to do was go to a biker bar and I'd have one climbing on me. If I dropped names, specifically, my name, I could angle for a threesome. But I liked my women brainy.

No, I wasn't into the librarian look. Not that it was a bad look. Also, I knew a lot of biker babes with supercomputers for brains. But when I'm being honest and not talking smack I kind of liked cowgirls—tough, sexy, but a little less in-your-face than biker babes.

But, like I said, she has to be smart, because if I was going to live with her, I wanted to be able to talk to her about all kinds of shit. And, yes, I'd talk hair, nails, makeup and fashion if that was what she wanted but she'd better be able to talk bikes, rods, pistons and food too. Since I'm fucking dreaming, she'd be a cowgirl and I'd even talk horses. Fuck, I'd buy her horses. An entire stable of horses.

I adjusted my pants. Shit, when had I become so hard-up that some faceless woman on the phone could make my rod ache? I wasn't fifteen anymore.

Needing a distraction, I poured myself into my work. It wasn't hard. It was Friday and we were fuckin' hopping. Laura finally arrived and relieved me of the phone load. Two minutes later the sous chef we were training to take over one of the new stores arrived and I gave him the kitchen. I took a moment to appreciate my people, my business and despite the appearance of chaos, we were actually a well-oiled team. I felt my chest swell, because, God, these were my people. I was proud of them. Except—

"Why's this meal just fucking sitting here?" It was packaged and delivery ready, which meant it should be gone. This was unacceptable. Quality food required it move from the kitchen to the table as fast as possible. I knew some things were unavoidable but we tried to time meals with delivery "boy" availability. Even I heard the frustration in my base rumble.

"Sorry boss, Lina got rear ended out in front of the high school and is dealing with the cops. Uber Eats is scrambling someone and GrubHub is swamped. That other service we've been trialing flat said, 'no.'"

Well, damnit, fuck. My day had started at four am. No one who actually knew said restauranting was easy. It was now pushing seven pm. I just wanted to go home to my bikes. This was why I didn't have a girl.

That was the career-wealth-woman rule—pick any two, lose the other. In fact, that was the rule for any three things you might value. Pick two, lose the other. You only had two hands after all. God forbid you valued four things, like, say, career, wealth, woman and family. That was a recipe for disaster—because the right woman made woman and family a no brainer. Career and wealth were shit out of luck. Career minded women must have it the worst because career, husband and kids would be an impossible choice and I can't imagine many husbands being happy taking a backseat to boss. Shit, I wonder if wives got frustrated taking backseat to boss? Probably. Definitely. Maybe? I needed to remember that if I ever found someone I couldn't fucking live without.

"I'll take it," I said. My bikes would have to wait. They weren't wives. I shucked my chef's coat, grabbed my leather and caught up the meal. I checked the ticket, against the meal, like I demanded every driver do and realized this was Mrs. Sexy Voice.

The name on Mrs. Sexy Voice's ticket was, Katie. Her address was Kaysville, so she'd not be too far out of my way. Everything was there so I grunted goodbye and headed out to my 2023 Maserati Quattroporte. Yes, I liked my machines and wanted the best. Good thing I'd driven today. I'm not sure what I'd do with Mrs. Sexy Voice's meal on one of my bikes.

I remote started the car. Beeped my locks open. I secured the meal and circled my girl to slide into the driver's seat. Nine minutes later I was in front a house that was a poster child for young-family-starter home but probably cost too much form most young couples to afford. There was a tricked out Ford Raptor in her driveway so she or her husband made bank. The neighborhood was nice but when I climbed from my Quattroporte I could hear the freeway. Not that that was unusual. I could hear the traffic from just about anywhere in the city now-days.

I double checked the address and then knocked on the door.

Katie answered, I assumed it was Katie, and holy fuckin' hell. I needed a new name for Mrs. Sexy Voice. Katie redefined the words beautiful, hot and sexy. She wasn't particularly "bedraggled" but she had the look of a woman that'd been caught mid-jackhammer—or had a vibrator lodged in her ass.

"Oh, hi, thank you." Her eyes flicked to the abs hugged by my black tee, and yes, I flexed. Her gaze snagged and then a pink tide washed over her cheeks. It was fucking cute. She ducked behind the curtain of her long hair, which was the rich color of my darkest brown leather jacket. When she leaned in to grab the food I couldn't help but inhale. I couldn't name the sent, lavender maybe, but she smelled fucking good. She turned, leaving the door open, and walked towards the dinning area that I could see beyond the entry hall. "What do I owe you?"

My member became cam-shaft hard, because, that voice. Holy fuck, that voice, this had to be Mrs. Sexy Voice, er, Katie, because there could not be two women with that voice.

"A hundred and twenty two twenty."

A lot of customers were put out by our prices. It didn't stop us from selling out every night. We believed in our food and delivered the best. Katie didn't seem put out, but she did stop in her tracks. A shiver ran up her spine and she reached up to pinch her nose like she might sneeze. Maybe she had a cold. Maybe Sexy Voice wasn't her normal voice. Maybe that was why her every word sounded like an orgasm promising to happen.

Katie disappeared behind a wall and called, "Why don't you come in while I find my purse?"

I stepped into the foyer, because, yeah, it was fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk temperatures outside. I pushed the door closed. The sun hadn't set yet and Katie had probably lost eighty bucks in air-conditioning while I'd stood in her entry.

"Is a check okay? Or do you prefer a card?"

A check would have to be okay, I'd forgotten my scanner. "Sure."

"You can come in, you know."

Strolling into a customer's house wasn't recommended but I was big enough she'd need a fucking Remington to take me out. I paused beside her entry table. She had wedding pictures and I had to check out what kind of dude a woman like her could catch.

I must say, I wasn't impressed. I don't think he was as tall as she was. She wasn't short, but still. He was a little stocky and not exactly not-fit, but not exactly fit either. Honestly, he was a little bland. He must've had some game however, because I bet there hadn't been a single straight boy in Katie's high school that didn't have images of her in his spank bank. She had to be in her mid-twenties and she was still the stuff that wet dreams were made of.

Hidden amongst the wedding pictures was a photo of a beaming Katie, looking not much younger than she did now, in a red and white cap and gown. A caption in gold letters read, "Graduate with Honors, University of Utah, College of Architecture and Engineering."

An ache blossomed in my chest. No, that's not right. The ache that'd already been in my chest grew. I had to look at her wedding pictures again to fucking remind myself that this woman was indeed, married.

I stepped into her dining area. Her table was big enough to seat six but she'd laid out china for two at one corner of the table—close enough she could lean in and whisper to, or kiss, her man. There was a candle, a couple of roses, Champagne flutes and a bottle of sparkling cider. It should've been a red wine, but there was like an eighty percent chance she was Mormon, so I forgave her.

I turned towards Katie. She was bent over a granite counter signing her check. Her ass was facing me. Not only was it so perfect that I wanted to goddamn spank it, her jeans had fucking pink cowgirl sequins on her hip pockets. She turned and held out my check. Her shirt was tucked in behind a rodeo belt buckle and nowhere else.

Who was this woman and what had I done that God had decided to torture me? My balls drew up so tight they fucking hurt. It was like He'd decided to drop a woman to rival Eve in front of me and then say, "neener, neener, neener, already taken, can't touch that." It was the whole fucking forbidden fruit thing all over again. Asshole move, God. You know that, right?

I took the proffered check and did a quick scan. "Thank you." My voice was deeper and more rumbly than normal. My words wanted to stick in my chest.

Again, Katie shivered at the sound of my voice. I think I heard her hum. I'm not entirely sure she was aware she'd done it, but she two stepped up so close she had to crane her neck to look in my eyes. Her pupils dilated until they swallowed her almost silver-gray irises and holy fuck! I had to taste her. I had to find out if she wanted to taste me too.

I saw the moment she realized what she'd done. She bit her lip. Her cheeks turned pink. She dropped her gaze and started to step away but it was too late for me. Fucking God, I was going to hell. I banded an arm behind her shoulder, buried a fist in her hair and pulled her in for a rough kiss.

For one heartbeat, she went more brittle than a burnt bread stick. Her breath whistled past my lips as she gathered it to scream.

But the scream didn't come. She didn't push me away. She melted. I had to catch her as she went boneless. She nearly dragged us both the floor, but no sooner had I gotten her back on her feet, she climbed me. She licked, bit and nipped at my mouth like I was some kind of chocolate mousse treat.

Hot-wet splashed my face. She was wrapped around me like some kind of koala but I broke our kiss and craned my head back so I could look at her.

"Don't stop." There were tears streaming down her face. She was rocking against my belt buckle.

I tried to put her down, but she just tightened her arms and legs about me. "Katie," I breathed. I'd never said her name before, not out loud, not to her, and it sounded so mournful I'm not sure my heart hadn't started bleeding. I wouldn't do this to her if she didn't want me to.

"Don't stop." She welded her lips to mine and, yup, I'm going to hell. My heart hurt. I had no idea what was going on with Katie, but she wanted this, even if she didn't want us. A miasma brew burbled in my stomach. I had a rather fucked up feeling that maybe she wanted this from her husband. But I wanted this too. She was offering. I couldn't say no. I lipped along her jaw until I reached her ear. I kissed that tender spot just beyond her jaw and then sucked on her lobe.

A sound exited Katie's throat that had me swelling so tight my fly threatened to burst. She clawed at my back. Her nails weren't long but I'm pretty sure if I hadn't been wearing my biker jacket, she would've drawn blood. I walked her back to the island and she wiggled her ass up onto the granite countertop. The friction of her seam against my shaft ignited a fire that pressured me up so tight I though my blood vessels might burst.

Her legs banded about me and her ankle locked behind me. Katie let go of my shoulders and slowly lay back. She ground on me and arched from hip to shoulder against the countertop.

My fingers found her belt buckle. The bare flesh under her shirt branded my hand. Tears streamed from her eyes.

"Fuck me," she breathed, "please," her chest heaved, "fuck me." She slapped the countertop as though that would help her relieve some pent up emotion. A ting sounded. It was her engagement ring. She wasn't wearing her wedding band but I knew. I'd seen the pictures.

"Katie," I said again and choked. I wanted this woman so bad I wanted to caveman carry her to my cave and never let her leave. "You're crying."

"Because of what I've lost, what I've already lost, not because I don't want you."

"You don't even know my name."

Katie's hand had grabbed the edge of the counter beside her. Her right hand snaked up and grabbed the edge beyond her head. Somehow, her legs synched down even tighter. She rocked against me. "Doesn't matter."

I couldn't argue with this woman. I didn't want to argue with this woman. I pulled her shirt free of her belt, bared her belly and slid my hands up the fucking softest flesh I'd ever touched. Under her shirt, my fingers teased the edge of her bra. I cupped her, letting her warmth bleed into my hands and then pinched her nipples.

"Oh God." Katie thrust her tits into my hands. Her knuckles turned whiter than her bra. Her back arched. Her head thunked against the granite. That had to hurt. It was going to leave a bump. I don't think she noticed. Her torso twisted as she ground against me.

I gathered Katie's shirt in my hands. She bit her lip and, fuck, I couldn't lean far enough over the counter to suck face. I lost my patience and simply ripped her shirt open. Buttons pinged and tinged throughout the kitchen. I planted a kiss right in the center of her cleavage.

"Oh fuck. Name? Name? Name!" Each word rose in a louder crescendo.

"Nikko," I growled into her chest. I tried to find the clasp of her bra but she was squirming about so much I finally just shoved it up. I was kind of rough. It might've hurt. She didn't seem to care. I sucked a nipple into my mouth and teased it with my teeth.

Katie's hands crashed to the sides of my head like she was trying to crush it in her vice like grip. Her fingers clawed at my scalp. She twisted her torso and tried to gag me with her tit. I chuckled, almost blowing a raspberry. Katie sobbed a moan. Yeah, this babe was responsive. I think she kind-of, might-of lost her mind. I know I didn't know her, but so far, I couldn't imagine anyone more perfect. I knew she was going to let me fuck her, but fuck it hurt that she was married. I wanted her to be wearing my ring.

I released her tit but before my fingers could find her waist, she'd popped her belt buckle and zipped her fly open. Her legs unwound so I could peel her pants off. Her fuck-me-underwear was wedding day white lace. Underneath there was a short, chocolate strip no wider than my pinky and not a hair anywhere else. Her panties and curls were damp. I fisted the panties. She squeaked when I ripped that sixty dollar scrap of material right off.

I placed my palm on her. She pushed her pelvis at me and I slid two fingers through her lips to her entrance. I'd never felt a woman so wet for me.

"Is this for me?"

She ground the peak of her crease on the heel of my hand. "Yes! Ohmigod. Nikko. Yeeees!"