Simmering Heat Novels & Stories

She nagged for a short while before getting up and heading to the kitchen. Looking at the woman entering the kitchen, Simon took the thermometer from under his arm. The temperature it read could not have been any more normal, at an unremarkable 36.4 degrees Celsius. What could he do with such a normal temperature? The man’s gaze shifted on the glass of hot water in front of him. There was a faint light in his eyes as the corner of his mouth curled slightly. “So how was it? Show me the thermometer.” Sharon suddenly remembered that they were in the middle of taking his temperature and hurried out of the kitchen.

Hey, Guys, so Heat is finished. I've seen comments and I know y'all are not happy with the ending. I'm sorry for disappointing you guys. Thank you for enjoying my book and supporting it. One specific comment asked for a book 2. Would you guys like that because I'm already getting so many ideas for book 2. Comment ASAP if you guys want a part 2. I don't like my readers unhappy. So comment, comment and I'll make things happen.

Even Zerina went still. "Your eyes," he continued, voice quiet and strained. "They were like fire. Actual flames, trapped in glass. I’d never seen anything like it. And one of them—" he looked at me, his voice breaking a little, "still is." I bolted out of bed, stumbling a little as my legs fought to hold my weight. Zerina gasped. "He’s not lying. I can feel it. The heat. The shift." Simon followed quickly, steadying me as I stumbled toward the bathroom.

I tried to hold back a whimper as a rush of heat overwhelmed me. Why was it so damn hot in here? I leaned back in the seat, trying to hide back another whimper. SOS. - L What’s going on? - S My meds didn’t come. - L Wait, what? Your suppressant? - S YES. - L How long have you been off it? - S This is day two. - L Oh no. Are you feeling anything yet? - S Simone, I feel like I’m sitting in an oven. My skin’s on fire, and I’m sweating through my shirt. - L

The pot simmers on the stove, filling the air with the aroma of garlic and herbs. It’s soothing, grounding, to be cooking in my old kitchen. The sleek stainless steel countertops are juxtaposed against the warm amber glow from the overhead light, reminding me of old days. I add a pinch of salt to the pot, watching the crystals dissolve into the bubbling sauce. Then, footsteps echo from the hallway.

Kris added laughing before she started dancing with a random man. I felt tipsy and all of a sudden it feels hot. Simon looked at me with his eyes filled with worry. He then leaned in. "Are you okay?" he asked loudly so I can hear him. I looked at him and nod my head while smiling. "Yeah I'm fine," I responded. When I can no longer take the heat I held the hem of my mesh top and removed it from my body. I can feel sweat forming on my forehead and maybe removing that mesh top will somehow help me ease the heat.

You’d think he would find ‘the one’ in the process. “Maybe that’s because it’s not a phase,” he says, stressing the last word. Coming to his feet, he heads back to the dining table and grabs the beer box he carried in. “And you’re right. There’s a pool. Let’s get this party started.” “Fuck!” Simon curses a few minutes later after he dips his toes in the pool water. “That’s cold!” “I can heat it up,” I offer. His head swivels around as he gives me a wide-eyed look. “It’s heated?”

I stuttered. —Have you ever been in love with someone?— Simon's syrupy voice sent the ice cream burning down my throat. I don't know where Sara got that it was cold. I was sweating nonstop. Simon's hot breath warmed my ear. It was hot, very hot in that place. An intense shiver rippled through my entire body and electrified my strands of hair as he ran his thumb across my forehead. — It is hot? Your forehead is perspiring. What a bastard! He was teasing me. Simon was clearly flirting with me and it was evident when he started talking:

Jordan Heat coils low in my stomach like a live wire. I can’t remember the last time someone stripped me down past every line I’d drawn and left me trembling in my own skin. Quincy—Preppy—is on his knees, and I’m watching him, barely breathing. Every sound that leaves him sounds like a prayer and a dare at the same time, and it hits me somewhere I don’t have words for.

Why does she play with weird words? She kisses her teeth, rolling her eyes. “Goddess save my soul. How would you not know? You’re twenty.” “What has my age got to do with heat?” I frown. “And what is heat?” I hate ignorance. “Ahhh… indeed, the rumors were right. You’re too pure.” Adjusting her statement necklaces, she holds her waist and gazes at me the way a mother does at a pup. “Heat is the fever and aggressiveness you displayed back there.” She points before demonstrating with fingers. “Heat is when everything in you screams for your mate and only desires his touch,” she says, and my stomach knots in disgust.