Light Her Fire Read online

  His words seemed to be working for her. She ran her hands over her abdomen and up her torso, until her fingers grazed the undersides of her breasts. They paused there, as if she was uncertain of her next move.

  “Look at you, so ready to show off for me, you can barely keep your hands off yourself. Do it, Bluelick.” He heard the brutal note in his voice, but there was nothing he could do to temper it. Her core of vulnerability got to him, probably because he had no experience handling a woman like her. Assertive, sexually confident types? Yes. In spades. And he would have sworn they were exactly the kind of playmates he preferred, but this woman could lead him around by his dick if he didn’t watch himself. “Do it,” he repeated when she didn’t move.

  Their eyes locked. She feathered her fingers over her breasts. Impossibly, her nipples beaded even more. Saliva filled his mouth. His chest tightened at the thought of those hard points scraping his bare skin. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off in the blink of an eye, and then yanked his T-shirt over his head. “Again. But this time do it the way you do when nobody’s watching.” He stalked closer. “No need to act so polite with me.” He guided her fingers to her mouth, pushed them inside, and then slowly pulled them free. “Show me how you really like it.”

  A very pretty blush crept up her chest and into her cheeks, but she raised one perfectly groomed brow in a don’t-tell-me-what-I-like look and swept her wet fingers over her nipple, even more delicately than before, purring like a cat as she brushed the tip. He wondered why he didn’t simply explode from the relentless pressure pounding deep in his gut, in his balls, all along his shaft.

  A low growl filled the exam room. It had to have come from him, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything except teaching her the dangers of poking the bear. He banded his hands around her arms and hauled her against him, dragged those hot, hard little points all along his chest, growling again when she wrapped her legs around his waist and tipped her head back. Her thighs clamped his hips, and he felt her need through three layers of fabric. He flicked his thumb over one taut nipple, and she cried out.

  “Too rough for you?”

  “Uh-uh. No.”

  “You like it a little rough?” He took the weight of her breast in his palm and pinched her nipple.

  “Yes. My God, yes.”

  “Good.” He moved his hands under her hips and lifted her higher. “You want my mouth on you?”

  She speared all ten fingers into his hair and nodded.

  “I’m not going to be gentle, because we both know you don’t want gentle. I’m going to torment you until you’re stiff and aching—until even the whisper of my breath on your skin makes you moan.”

  He’d never had a breast in his mouth so fast in his life. It might have been funny except she was like fire in his arms, rising and falling, twisting and burning, using her heat to brand him as she ground against him in time with every pull of his lips. By the time he moved on to the other breast, she was clutching his head so fiercely he hoped his neck didn’t break.

  “Harder,” she ordered, and tightened her hold. “Suck harder. Please. Make me feel it everywhere.” He suddenly didn’t give a shit if tonight ended with an ER doc bolting a halo brace to his skull. Some things were worth the risk.

  A few steps forward brought them to the exam table. Her breast popped free of his mouth when he dropped her onto the padded surface. The noise she made might have started out as a protest at the loss of his mouth, but turned into an impatient sound when he skimmed his hand down her left calf, over her ankle, and pulled off her sandals. The shoes hit the tile floor behind him with two distinct thuds. She would have wrapped her legs around his waist again, but he hitched his hands behind her knees and pulled her off the table, ignoring her swift, startled breath. As soon as her feet made contact with the ground, she reached for his fly.

  “My turn.”

  He intercepted, because he sure as hell wasn’t more in control now than he’d been when they first burst through the door. “No. We’ve been over this. No grabbing. You’ll get it when I give it to you.”

  “You seem to be operating under the delusion that because you’re in charge at the firehouse, you’re in charge everywhere.” So saying, she reached for him again.

  Stubborn. He blocked her again. “I’ve already warned you about the consequences of your behavior. Keep your hands to yourself or you’re not going to get to use them at all.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Her chin went up, and her blue eyes flashed like sapphires. A lot of guys would have found the combination imposing. He smiled.

  “Bluelick, you could not be more wrong.” With that, he snared her wrists in one hand, grabbed a rubber tourniquet from the steel-topped table with the other, and secured her wrists together with a decisive snap of rubber.

  “What the…?”

  Best to keep things moving, he decided, and spun her around. She automatically propped her bound hands on the exam table to maintain her balance, which worked out perfectly because it got her hands and arms out of his way. Within seconds, her skirt puddled on the floor around her feet and the only thing on her that nature couldn’t take credit for was a pair of tiny white lace-trimmed panties.

  “Climb up on the table.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes gleamed with something between nervousness and excitement, but she shook her head. “I can’t. Not like this.” She lifted her bound wrists.

  He didn’t argue, simply lifted and positioned her where he wanted her—knees wide and balanced at the edge of the table, upper body braced on the heels of her hands. The suddenness of the movement jostled a small cry of out of her. “Hey, I’m not Catwoman. I’m going to slip off.”

  Oh, where was the trust? He dragged those pretty white panties down, swallowing at the sight of her pretty white ass, and gave it a quick, playful slap.

  Her startled “oh” ricocheted around the exam room.

  “I won’t let that happen, and you know it. Now apologize for hurting my feelings.”

  “Did you just…did you really just spank me?”

  “You must want another one, because I didn’t hear an apology.” He trailed his fingertips over her smooth, slightly pink skin. She shivered and bowed her back a fraction of an inch deeper. Though small, the move sent an unmistakable message. He wasted no time unbuckling his belt, shoving his pants and briefs down and stepping out of the tangle of clothes.

  She craned her neck and tried to look at him, but her position gave her limited range of motion. “This isn’t fair. I’m spread out on this table like Sunday supper, and I can’t see you at all.”

  “Life’s not fair.” To emphasize his point, he spanked her again.

  …

  Something about the feel of his big, hard hand smacking her bare backside absolutely unraveled her. She couldn’t say whether she was about to laugh, scream, or come. It was anybody’s guess. He wasn’t hurting her. The restraint he exercised couldn’t be more obvious. On top of that, he told her nothing but the truth.

  Life wasn’t fair. She’d had it unfairly good for the first eighteen years. Pretty. Popular. Fated for a future so blissfully happy half the girls in her senior class had secretly prayed to switch places with her. And then she’d landed hard at the other end of the rainbow, after ten years of stalled plans and confidence-eroding confusion, and dawning awareness, well aware nobody in their right mind would want to trade places with her.

  Except now. Right at this moment, she suspected plenty of eager hands would shoot into the air if she asked for volunteers. Josh trailed his fingers along her inner thighs, coming close, but not quite close enough to the pitifully unused place aching for his attention.

  He spanked her again, low this time, and the side of his hand grazed some very neglected territory. “That’s for making me hard as a battering ram in the goddamn coffee shop every other morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” she offer
ed, and arched her back in hopes his next attempt to teach her a lesson would, indeed, teach her a lesson.

  “No, you’re not. You deserve a tongue lashing.”

  Did she ever. She readied herself to be flipped around, only to jump a mile when he simply cupped a hand to the back of her neck and lowered her forehead to the exam table.

  “Josh?”

  He didn’t answer, unless she counted nudging her knees a little farther apart as a response. The sound of steel casters on industrial-grade tile sent a tremor down her spine, even though she recognized the source of the noise. He’d moved the rolling stool closer to the table. She heard the sigh of the padded leather when he sat and the squeak of the wheels as he fine-tuned his position.

  And then, bull’s-eye. She gasped as his tongue sneaked past all her natural protections and raked over the bundle of shatteringly sensitive receptors at her center. Every instinct in her body urged her to move. To bear down. To make the most of the contact. But decorum, of all things, held her back. He had her kneeling on an exam table, birthday naked, with her head down, her hips high, and her thighs spread wide, but dang, wouldn’t it be unladylike to rub herself against his tongue?

  Without warning, he pulled back.

  Words tumbled out of her mouth before she could catch them. “Oh, heavens. Don’t stop.”

  He spanked her again. A little harder this time, and the sound reverberated off the exam room walls. “You’re not on vacation, Bluelick. No sitting still while I do all the work. I’m going to give you my tongue again. This time I expect you to use it. We’re going right to the edge, but not over. Understand?”

  All she understood was she needed his touch. When his tongue made second contact, decorum dissolved. She moved her hips in an awkward, but gratifyingly effective rhythm. He wrapped his hands around her thighs, angled his head, and increased the pressure and pace. She catapulted headfirst into a frenzy.

  Breath exploded from her lungs, along with pleas. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t. Stop.” She repeated the words like a mantra, because she was circling dangerously close to something she’d never, ever achieved in mixed company.

  Without any warning, he removed his tongue again. Before a scream of frustration could pass her lips, he stood, and his callused hand came down on her backside once more, lower than ever, fingers skimming between her thighs. “Remember the instructions. Just to the line. Not over.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m dying. You have no idea.”

  “I do. I know exactly what you’re going through, and I have the cure right here. You think you’re ready for my cock? Ask nicely, and I’ll give you everything you need. I’ll fill you so completely you won’t remember what it’s like to feel restless and empty.”

  Emotion clogged her throat, blocking her words, because the stakes suddenly seemed too high. He didn’t know what she was going through. Not really. He recognized a few physical symptoms he’d wrung from her—pounding heart, sweat-slicked skin, a sharp, almost painful desire—and was reassuringly confident of his ability to soothe what ailed her. But what if he couldn’t ease her restless, empty feeling? What if the feeling ran soul-deep, and nothing, including this, would take it away?

  Every cell in her body pushed back with a blunt request. What’s say we leave your soul out of this and go for the orgasm? Her lungs, ever pragmatic, forced an expulsion of air that unlocked her vocal cords. “Please. Give it to me. Don’t stop.”

  His arm circled her waist and his hand slid under her abdomen. His other hand smoothed down the back of her thigh, as if to calm her, and then, thank God in heaven, he guided the big, wide head of his erection into her. The hand on her abdomen splayed wider, lifting her, adjusting her.

  And then, oh, God, yes, he thrust deep. Right there. He might be an arrogant bastard, and far too accustomed to being in charge, but at this moment, if he told her to jump, she would gladly ask how high. He thrust again and her body started contracting around him. Powerful ripples rolled through her, originating deep at her center and radiating out—all the way to her toes, all the way to the top of her head, leaving the soles of her feet and her scalp tingling.

  “Ohhh. Ooooh,” some poor woman moaned, and she realized belatedly that the woman was her. No matter. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except the unspeakable pleasure building into a perfect storm inside her. A massive wave she planned to ride straight into bliss. Nothing could distract her from that wave. Nothing.

  Nothing except a tinny voice coming from the hallway, saying, “9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?”

  Chapter Four

  Josh froze as the hollow sound of a voice coming through a cell phone cut through the thunder of his own pulse echoing in his ears—as it usually did when he was about to come with the ferocity of a high-pressure hose on full throttle. Shit. They had company. Half a second from heaven was a hell of a time for an interruption.

  Protective instincts kicked in. He pulled Melody off the table, snapped the tourniquet from her wrists and shoved her behind him even as he registered the intruder’s footsteps retreating rapidly down the hall. Somebody had gotten an eyeful, but he had no freaking clue who because he hadn’t seen a thing—he’d been a little too focused on giving Melody the ride of her life before driving headfirst into what had promised to be the most intense orgasm he’d had since Amy Littleton had shoved his fifteen-year-old ass into the backseat of her daddy’s Buick and showed him the meaning of the term blow job.

  “Ohmigod, someone’s here,” Melody whispered, and tried to scoot past him. He caught her hand and reeled her back.

  “Stay here. Don’t move.” He dragged his pants on and ran into the hallway just as the front door slammed shut. A barely dressed goddess hurtled past him, into the waiting room.

  He followed and leaned over her while she hunkered down in the armchair next to the window facing the street. He used a finger to part the lowered blinds and peeked through. “What part of ‘don’t move’ do you not understand, Bluelick?”

  She didn’t respond, just stared fixedly out the window until the building door opened and a petite dark-haired woman ran down the sidewalk toward a silver Mini parked at the curb. Melody’s breath leaked out, along with a low groan. “Oh, no.” She turned away from the window, balled herself up into the chair, and covered her face with her hands.

  The Mini’s red taillights disappeared down Main. He let the blinds snap back into place. “Cleaning lady?”

  A thick, watery laugh was her only response, but she didn’t need to answer. He already knew who’d walked in on them. Dr. Ellie Swann. Melody’s boss.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, which only provoked a longer, more hysterical round of laughter…or sobs. He couldn’t tell, but after a few seconds the noise died away until only her shoulders shook. Because he felt an awkward need to offer comfort, but really didn’t know what words to use in this situation, he crouched in front of the chair and stroked his hand over her hair. The silky texture made him want to twist the length around his fist, tip her head back, and…fuck…touching her was a stupid move. She was upset, and he had a permanent hard-on. He dropped his hand and stood. “I’ll get our things. Be right back.”

  He took his time dressing, and then carried her shoes and purse out to the waiting room.

  She must have heard him approach, because she sniffed, scrubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes, and raised her head. His chest tightened when she gave him a weak smile.

  “Trust me, honey, this is not as bad as you think. I imagine the doc has stolen a moment or two in the office.”

  “Nothing like this. Although…I did recently catch Footlong Longfoot putting a big, steamy lip-lock on her in exam room one.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. “Jesus. I’m babbling. Please don’t mention that to anyone.”

  “Never. But you see my point”—one he now lost because her words sank in. “Okay…back up. Footlong Longfoot? What the hell is that about?”


  “Tyler Longfoot. Footlong is an old nickname, from high school. I, personally, can neither confirm nor deny.”

  Nor would she be able to in the foreseeable future, but just to discourage any possible curiosity on her part, he added, “I heard Junior Tillman shot him in the ‘footlong’ a couple weeks ago at Rawley’s Pub for hitting on LouAnn Doubletree. He might be shy of the mark now.”

  “I heard the same thing, but I don’t believe the story. He didn’t look shy of anything while he was kissing Ellie.”

  “Which brings me back to my original point. You’re not the only one who’s gotten up to something in an exam room.”

  “Hot as it was, their kiss might as well have been a handshake compared to what we were doing.” She groaned and scrubbed a hand over her forehead, as if to erase the image from her mind. “I don’t know what came over me in the market this evening. I’m really sorry. Tonight was a disaster.”

  God, she looked so…defeated. He wanted that expression gone—never wanted to see it on her face again. He knelt and placed her things by the chair. “I know. I promised you screaming orgasms, and I’ve yet to deliver. I consider it an epic disaster.”

  “Ha. I’m an epic disaster.” She propped her elbow on her drawn-up knee, braced the heel of her hand against her forehead, and looked somewhere over his shoulder. “You’ve been here long enough to know the local news. I’m sure you’ve heard all about poor Melody and her broken engagement.”

  He didn’t know what to say about that, so he kept quiet.

  She sighed. Her eyes drifted back his way, and she gave him a wistful look. “I think tonight was fate’s way of telling me I’m not quite ready for screaming orgasms.”