Light Her Fire Page 11

  “Jesus, look at you,” he muttered.

  Literally nothing prevented him from looking his fill, she realized, and tried to imagine what he could see. A view nobody else in the world had been privy to, that was for certain. “Touch me,” she whispered, and rested her head on the butcher block.

  “I want to do so much more than touch you. I want to put my mouth on every inch of you. Nobody else went down between your legs and tasted you before, did they? Nobody but me.”

  “Nobody,” she whispered. “Only you.”

  “I could spend days licking that honey, until you come against my tongue so hard I taste nothing but you for a week.”

  A tremble started somewhere near her ankles and shivered up her body. “Yes—”

  “But that’s not going to happen,” he cut her off. “Not after the show you put on during your jog this afternoon. Not after what you did to me tonight.” The crinkle of a foil wrapper reached her ears, setting off another series of shivers. “You’ve stripped away all my patience. I have to be inside you.”

  He reached under her and squeezed her backside, and then let his long fingers sweep between her cheeks. She gasped, and then whimpered when he came within striking distance of the throbbing cluster of nerves clamoring for his attention. “Brace yourself, Bluelick. It’s time.”

  And then he took her, filled her, in one swift, nearly brutal thrust. A profoundly thankful sound escaped from somewhere deep within her…possibly her soul. She came up onto her elbows in an instinctive effort to change the angle and get more control. Wasted energy, as it turned out, because simple physics dictated 100 percent of the control resided with the taller, stronger, better-leveraged force opposing her. All she could do was spread her palms on the butcher block and try to hold on while he rocked her over the smooth surface and her body spasmed.

  He planted one hand next to her shoulder. His other arm curved under her hips, and then he was over her, moving inside her, growling something in her ear, but she couldn’t really make out his words because it was too noisy in her kitchen. Entirely her fault, given she was the source of the noise, but still, she put the ultimate blame on him because he jostled a cry out of her overtaxed lungs with every powerful thrust.

  His wide palm slid down her abdomen, closing in on the only neglected part of her. Yes. Yes. Mother of God, yes. She tightened her legs, flexed her hips, and arched up to meet him.

  He worked his hand lower, v-ing his index and middle fingers around the place where their bodies joined, lining his hard, calloused palm up with the spot just above the point of connection. Jolts of pleasure surged through her. Addicted, she rubbed herself against him with abandon. Up until this moment she’d pretty much been a passenger on this ride, but now she asserted a rhythm of her own.

  “That’s right. Chase it. Chase it hard.”

  “I’m trying…”

  “You want to come like this, with me inside you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ve got five seconds.”

  Five seconds? Was he serious?

  “Or what?”

  “I pull out and play with you some more. You’re coming first. If that means I have to get you closer before I give you my cock again, so be it.”

  No. She’d lose her mind. She abandoned rhythm and resorted to a bucking, squirming frenzy. His thrusts frustrated her now, because a withdrawal inevitably followed, and the move pulled her momentarily off course every single time.

  “Five…”

  Sweat, or maybe tears, stung her eyes. She closed them and moved faster.

  “Four…”

  “Please, Josh. Don’t leave me…please—”

  “Three. Don’t waste your breath begging. Get to work.”

  The next instant, begging became out of the question anyway, because her breath backed up in her lungs. He thrust deep and, at the same time, used those magic fingers to tease her unspeakably sensitive clit. Her body raged for release.

  “Two…”

  Need twisted higher and tighter, so agonizingly tight it threatened to leave some sort of permanent scar. She cried out—for more or for mercy, she really didn’t know.

  “One.”

  His last thrust rocked her hips so high her toes pointed to the ceiling, and sensations rushed up from a place deep within herself she’d never dared visit before. From behind some dam she barely knew existed because it had grown slowly, over a decade, insidiously constructed of self-doubt and insecurity and, yes, a mortar of disappointment. The useless thing crumbled under an onslaught of pleasure so powerful and all-consuming, she rode the torrent with a cry of pure joy and relief.

  And when Josh grasped her hips with both hands, thrust fast, and then collapsed on top of her with a shuddering groan, the rest of her uncertainty washed away. There was no Enter at Your Own Risk sign tattooed across her private parts. No fundamental flaw or inherent defect. Nothing had dried up and blown away from lack of use. Everything appeared to be in perfect…no, make that exquisite…working order.

  “Christ, you damn near killed me, Bluelick.” Josh’s words ruffled the hair at her temple.

  She grinned, which he probably couldn’t see, and shivered, which he felt and misinterpreted, because he promptly shifted his weight to his arms.

  “Shit, I’m crushing you.”

  “No, you’re not. It’s okay,” she tacked on, because she wasn’t ready for him to move yet, but he was already pushing himself upright. When he pulled out a little, she quickly arched her back, trying to keep him still…more from a wish to delay the impending loss than any rawness, but he brought his hand down between their bodies again and began stroking her overstimulated sex. She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, but even so, little pleading noises leaked out.

  “Easy. I know we went hard, but now I’m going to be very, very gentle. I’m going to make every bit of this feel good.”

  Good? The man was a master of understatement. Everything under his hand tingled. She bit her lip and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Okay. I’m going to pull out nice and slow. All you have to do to earn a topping off is keep your sweet ass still. Got it?”

  She nodded again and brought her hand down between her thighs to cover his. Teamwork. He kept his word and let his fingers strum over her intimately while he pulled out, inch by precious inch. Even so, when he left her completely, she heard herself groan.

  And she also heard his, “Oh, shit.”

  …

  He stared at the torn condom. The useless latex hung from his dick like ravaged battle flag. Melody shot upright and sent him an anxious look. Then she saw the ruined condom and her eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

  Fuck. He had a bad feeling she’d just answered his next question, but he asked anyway. “I don’t suppose you’re on the pill, or—?”

  “No.” She jumped down and ran out of the kitchen muttering, “No. No. Oh God. Don’t panic.”

  Hard to refrain, given her reaction. The weight of obligations, and expenses, and a vision of him stuck in this pissant town forever landed on his chest like a trio of sandbags. Intending to follow her, he quickly rolled the condom off and disposed of it in the kitchen trash, and then buttoned up. She rushed into the kitchen again, phone clutched in her hand. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” As if just realizing he still stood there, she looked at him and repeated, “We should be okay.” Then she tapped the small screen with a shaking hand and flashed some fancy calendar at him. “According to my app, it’s the wrong time of the month.” She flipped the screen back to herself, scrolled a few times, and nodded. “Luckily, I’m extremely reliable.”

  A wave of relief washed the sandbags off his chest. He drew in his own overdue breath and nodded. “Good to know. I also know surprises happen. Keep me posted.” Realizing he sounded high-handed, he added, “I’m healthy. I’m careful. I’ve never had a snafu like this before, and I passed a comprehensive physical before accepting this job.”

  “I’ve got a clean bill of
health, too.” She said it so fast, she practically spoke over him, as if she thought her status was his real worry. “Roger never cheated on me—he says so and I believe him—but when he finally told me the truth about his feelings, and…who he was…he insisted I get tested for my own peace of mind.” She shrugged, absently pulled at the sliding neckline of her shirt, and gave a self-conscious laugh. “He’d lose sleep worrying I was losing sleep, worrying. Anyway” —she shrugged again—“nobody needs to lose any sleep. I’m fine.”

  “That you are.”

  The observation coaxed a smile from her. She looked fine, standing there in her slouchy T-shirt, with her hair tousled and her long legs bare. He had the strangest urge to suggest they pour a couple drinks, relax together on her sofa, and watch the news, or a movie, or something. Which didn’t make sense at all. They’d both gotten what they were after. His work here was done, for tonight. He ought to get going.

  “So…” Smooth. Their eyes locked for one long, quiet moment, and then a loud churning noise rumbled up from between them.

  Her eyes widened. “Was that your stomach?”

  “Ignore it.” He lowered his head to distract her with a kiss.

  She evaded his mouth and gave him a stern look.

  He sighed. “I had a barn burner of a day, and I missed dinner. It happens. I’m fine.” But his stomach growled again, as if to contradict the statement. Damn it.

  “When did you last eat?”

  “Bluelick, I have a mom…”

  She raised her chin and stared him down. “Simple question, Chief.”

  He expelled a long-suffering breath and lowered his forehead to hers. “I don’t know. Noon? Things actually got a little hectic this evening. Dinner kind of slid off the agenda.”

  “Well, I’m sliding it back on. I can’t have you passing out on me.”

  “I have never passed out in my life.”

  “And you’re not going to start tonight.” She dug her fingers into the front of his T-shirt and dragged him back to the island. “Take a seat.” Without waiting to see if he obeyed, she went to her refrigerator, opened the door, and assessed the possibilities. “Turkey and swiss on wheat or spinach feta omelet?”

  “Whichever’s faster.”

  She pulled ingredients out of the fridge and put them on the counter. “Tell me about your barn burner of a day.”

  The hem of her shirt barely covering her backside distracted him. He took a moment to reply to her question. “It was a barn burner, literally. I can’t believe you haven’t already heard, given how fast news spreads around here.”

  She straightened, smiled, and put two slices of bread on a plate. “I guess I had my emergency scanner off this evening.”

  “Tom Buchanan’s old hay barn burned down.”

  “Oh, wow. That eyesore? I almost want to say ‘hallelujah,’ but not until you tell me no people or animals were hurt.”

  “Nobody was hurt. He used it to store hay and equipment, not animals. Rusty passed by on his way to his parents’ party, saw the flames, and called it in, but in the time it took to get equipment and men to the scene, the barn burned to the ground.”

  His stomach grumbled again. He noted that she began to slice the tomato a little faster. “What started the fire?”

  “There’s the burning question. We had a rainy spring, and nothing but high temperatures and humidity the last few weeks. Tom says there was old hay in the barn. Heat from decomposing hay creates an autoignition point, and that’s what everybody wants to think, but I smelled fuel.”

  “You think something else started the fire?” She put the finished sandwich in front of him, along with the half-empty light beer he’d “forgotten,” and wandered to the other side of the island to retrieve her clothes from the floor.

  He bid a silent farewell to one of Bluelick’s most spectacular views as she shimmied into her pants and consoled himself with a big bite of the sandwich. After chewing and swallowing, he said a soft, “Thank you,” and took a long pull of the beer. The grimace he struggled to conceal probably told her what he thought of her diet beer. “Buchanan says his tractor and some of the other equipment still contained fuel.”

  She shook her head and walked back to the counter to get her wine. “He should know better than to park a gassed-up tractor in his hay barn—”

  “He should, but I don’t think stored combustibles are the culprit, either. If you ask me, someone poured gasoline around the barn and lit the thing up. I’m not the fire investigator—the sheriff’s department has that honor—but I consider the fire suspicious.”

  “The sheriff agreed?” she asked as she settled onto the stool next to him.

  “I wouldn’t say that. They need to send the debris to a forensic arson lab, to check for ignitable liquids used to accelerate a fire, but the jerkoffs responding to the call wanted to wait and check with Sheriff Butler on Monday to get authorization, which was code for ‘do nothing,’ so I made them remain at the scene while I contacted him and convinced him to have his deputies do their fucking job.”

  She frowned into her wine. “Pitiful. You shouldn’t have to kick-start the sheriff’s department.”

  “I agree.” He took another bite and swallowed, and tried to choke down some of his frustration while he was at it. “Meanwhile Tom’s shitting a brick because he had some insurance on the tractor and some other stuff inside the barn, and I refused to put ‘act of nature’ on my report. He’s afraid his insurance company will use my report as an excuse not to pay, which is not my problem. My problem is determining if Bluelick has a fire-starter, and I would dearly love to know what Justin was up to tonight, because damn if he wasn’t right there on the scene when we showed up to douse the fire.”

  Melody slowly spun the stem of her wineglass between her thumb and forefinger. “What did he have to say?”

  “No clue. Tom alibied him and the deputies on scene wouldn’t question him, because he’s the mayor’s son. They’re worthless.”

  The curt observation earned him a nod of agreement from her. “They are, but even so, I can’t see Justin starting the fire. Not because he’s incapable of maliciousness—he’s a spoiled brat—but torching a barn would take too much energy and planning.”

  “He was on scene at Mr. Cranston’s porch fire, and he was on scene tonight. Arsonists like to watch.”

  “Oh, I imagine he’s behind Mr. Cranston’s flaming poop bag. That took next to no planning. But the barn fire feels like more effort to me. Can’t they check his credit card receipts and see if he bought any of those plastic containers of fuel? There’s only so many gas stations around here.”

  He finished off his sandwich. “Want a job as an arson investigator with the county?”

  “No, thanks, but I’m sorry the sheriff’s department isn’t being more helpful. They serve the entire county. We’re just one small, relatively quiet corner, so we don’t get much attention.”

  “That’s bullshit. They take the tax dollars and the contract, so they need to…” He trailed off, shook his head, and met her eyes. He let out a breath and rolled his shoulders. “And there’s not much I can change about it tonight.”

  She braced an elbow on the island and propped her chin on her hand. “Why firefighting?”

  “Why did I go into firefighting?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s in my blood. I’ve been hanging out in firehouses my whole life. My grandfather was chief in northern Maryland, and my dad came up the ranks there. He transferred to Cincinnati FD when I was fourteen, because he wanted more action and more opportunities. He hoped to do his family proud and make chief someday, too. A year after transferring, he died on duty when he and another firefighter fell through the floor of a burning apartment building while making an interior attack on the structure.”

  “Oh my God, Josh.” She reached over and took his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  He covered her hand with his and squeezed gently. “Me, too. He was a great dad, and I missed him a lot�
��still do, but back then I channeled the anger and sadness into acting like a fuckup. Lost interest in school, started hanging out with a bad crowd. My mom couldn’t do anything with me.”

  He could still picture her sitting at the kitchen table, anxious and exhausted, when he’d stumbled home at two in the morning yet again. The shame he’d been too selfish to feel as a teenager found him much more easily now.

  “Loss is a difficult experience to handle,” Melody said quietly, and threaded her fingers through his. “Especially when you’re so young.”

  Sweet of her to cut him some slack, but he knew the truth. He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed hers. “I handled it badly. My two older sisters were quick to point out that if Dad were still around he’d have kicked my sorry ass for the way I was behaving, but he wasn’t, and they were away at college, so their criticism was easy to ignore. What wasn’t easy to ignore were the men from my dad’s division, who saw I was floundering and interceded. It’s a brotherhood, and when a brother falls, the others step up and do what needs to be done. In my case, that meant dragging me to the fire station after school, keeping me too busy to feel sorry for myself and make self-destructive decisions. They got me involved in the junior firefighting program, held me accountable for my actions and my choices. Chief Warren—my former boss in Cincinnati—was one of those guys. He became my unofficial mentor, supporting my decision to become a firefighter and providing assistance and advice every step of the way.” Josh shook his head. “I would not be here today without him.”

  “It must have been a difficult decision to leave Cincinnati,” she said, and tightened her fingers around his.

  “There are things about the city I love. The action. The diversity. The fast pace. But it was time to move. My oldest sister lives in New Jersey, the other just moved from San Francisco to San Diego, and my mom lives in Florida with her new husband. They’re happy, and we know how to Skype, so geography is irrelevant. Professionally, I couldn’t stand in my mentor’s shadow forever. I was ready for a new challenge.”