Your House is on Fire

Warnings: Het, slash, language, drug use, and some violence.

Disclaimer: HAH, I own it all!

Notes: I’m only updating up to Chapter 3 (counting the Prologue as Chapter 1) until I get five reviews. So there!

Prologue

“She’s beautiful.” He proclaimed, softy stroking his new daughter’s lightly haired head, “like her mother.”

Sarah Vandermeer smiled as her husband, Roger, put his arm around her; their newborn slid into a soft sleep in her mother’s arms. The morning light began to pour into the hospital window in room four of the maternity ward in St. Stephen’s Hospital, Westfield, Illinois.

“What have you decided to name her?” The doctor asked.

“Stephanie Marie Vandermeer.” Sarah answered slowly, as if telling the baby.

Sarah and Roger returned home later that day, the place seemed brighter now that the family had increased in size. They had been married for a year, and had been together for three. It was at work that the two had met, Roger was a field agent for the FBI, and Sarah was a secretary.

Sarah had asked Roger out when she could see that he was to shy to ask her. He gladly accepted and instantly they seemed the perfect couple. Within days they were finishing each others sentences, and as their chemistry was obvious, Sarah had to leave the FBI; the director said that it was dangerous to have a couple working together, especially in the FBI. So Sarah found a job as the receptionist for a small time PI.

Roger popped the question two years later. His ample salary paid for a platinum band with a five carat pear shaped diamond. They ate at Vernimelli’s, their favourite restaurant, and they walked downtown, pausing to sit in the park in the centre of town. The roses were blooming around the fountain that depicted the goddess Aphrodite, water shooting up around her. Sarah was admiring the fountain when Roger took her hand in his, softly brushed his lips against hers, slipping the ring on her finger, whispering “I love you,” as he broke the kiss.

Their wedding was small, less than fifty guests sat in oak pews in a small church. Sarah and Rogers good friend preformed their marriage, they said their vows, shared a warm kiss, and exchanged rings. Betsy Sloane, the maid of honour caught the bouquet as Roger and Sarah climbed into the limousine that took them to the airport, where they left for the Big Apple.

Sarah’s cheeks flushed, her eyes rolled back into her head as she forced her hips up, slamming into Roger’s as he thrusted into her. Goosebumps rose on her arms as his lips surrounded her nipple, gently sweeping over it with his tongue and clenching down with his teeth. Her hands ran through his dark hair gripping to the ends with animalistic force.

Her chest rose and fell faster than before, she knew she was close to her climax, and she knew that waiting until marriage was worth it. She felt on the verge of explosion when he pulled out, spent and softening. Seeing her obvious need, he lowered himself down, moving his head in between her legs. He entered her with his tongue, his lust fuelled as his mouth was filled with her taste, the soft saltiness of blood, and the reminiscence of his seed. He swirled his tongue, pulling it out, and pushing it back in.

Sarah took hold of his head and forced it down fiercely, her climax fast approaching, her mind racing and her heart following suit. Her nerves lit on fire as she arched her back in the throws of her orgasm, until her spent body fell limp. Roger pulled himself up and lay next to her, pulling her bare form to him, holding her in his strong arms.