Kosher Heat

Chapter 1: The Breakfast of Sin

The morning sun spilled through the café windows, casting golden streaks across the table where Berg sat, surrounded by her so-called comrades. The air buzzed with the kind of gossip that could set a room on fire, and Adele, with her sharp tongue and sharper smirk, was the match. 'He’s delicious, isn’t he? Uri Silberman,' she purred, stirring her coffee with a languid wrist, as if the man himself were an afterthought. 'Those blue eyes, that biting sarcasm. A walking fantasy.'

Shultz slid into the seat beside Berg, his presence as intrusive as his grin. 'Packs a mean pistol, I heard—from one of the girls.' The table erupted in laughter, sharp and conspiratorial, slicing through the hum of the café. Weekes, always eager to fan the flames, leaned forward with a wicked glint. 'A sex machine. Just imagine—sexy, packing heat, and all that sweet kosher seed to go around.'

Berg’s grip on her mug tightened, her knuckles whitening. She didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to picture it, but the words slithered into her mind anyway. Uri. Those piercing eyes. That crooked, knowing smirk. She shifted in her seat, her thighs pressing together as a traitorous heat bloomed low in her belly.

Adele’s smile turned venomous, her voice dripping with delight. 'Three times with that brunette. Three big loads of hot, sweet Silberman seed. Mmmm.' The laughter roared again, cruel and indulgent, and Berg felt it like a slap. She could hear it now—Uri’s groans echoing in some dimly lit hallway, the brunette’s gasps as he took her again and again. Her breath hitched, caught between rage and a desire so fierce it made her dizzy.

Weekes wasn’t done. 'I heard his moans out in the hall. That girl was enough to make any man lose it.' Goldstein chimed in, his grin wide and bawdy. 'And don’t forget the black girl on the lounger. They couldn’t stop themselves. That thing was shaking so hard I thought it’d collapse.'

Segel barked a laugh. 'She rode that hot kosher nectar right out of him.' Adele’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile as she delivered the final blow. 'That sweet Silberman nectar.'

The words detonated inside Berg. Her mind painted the scene in vivid, agonizing detail—the black girl peeling off her bikini top with a teasing smirk, straddling Uri as the lounger creaked beneath their frenzy. His chest, dark with hair, slick with sweat. Her head thrown back, triumphant, as she claimed him. And Uri—his low, ragged groans, that crooked grin as he spilled himself inside her, his voice a growl in her ear. Berg’s pulse pounded, her body trembling with a mix of envy and raw, unfiltered want. She wanted to be that girl. To feel him. To taste him.

She barely registered the laughter around her anymore, lost in the delirium of her own imagining. Her thighs clenched tighter under the table, her breath shallow. She could almost feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze pinning her down. And as her eyes flicked up, she caught a shadow at the café door—Uri himself, stepping inside, his presence a storm waiting to break. Their eyes locked, and his smirk told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. 'Care to join me for a private chat, Berg?' he drawled, his voice a low challenge. Her heart raced. This wasn’t just a fantasy anymore—it was a promise of something hard, wet, and dripping with danger.