Birthday Blaze

by Kacey Shea

  “Oh shit! The ziti!” I yell and her eyes widen. We both race to my door and I swing it open. The room is clouded with a thin vapor of smoke. I toss the pastry box on the counter to pick up the oven mitts. There’s no fire, but the ziti is scorched the fuck up.

  “So much for being a good cook.” Jen laughs.

  The room that held the aroma of the perfect meal only moments ago now smells of burnt food.

  “Fuck. I’m sorry, Jenny.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she says.

  I twist to see she’s opened the box—her gift to me—and I’m not quite sure what it’s supposed to be—or rather, what it was before it went on a joyride. I lift my brow and she giggles.

  “It was a cake. I had the bakery design it special. A truck with the sixty-nine on the sides. Flames, too. It was pretty fucking epic.” She sighs.

  I step closer, boxing her into the corner of my tiny galley kitchen. “I’m sure it was,” I murmur. “Thank you for the cake, Jenny.” I meet her stare and time stands still. She licks her lips and my eyes follow. God, I want to kiss her.

  “We’re quite the pair. Really fucked up this birthday, didn’t we?” Jen whispers.

  I cup her face in my hands and brush the pads of my thumbs along her lips. Her eyes flutter shut and I memorize everything about this moment—from the scent of charred ziti, to the smashed cake on the counter, to just how soft and pink her lips are. Then I allow myself to do what I’ve been dreaming about for months.

  My lips lock with hers and we move together, learning, tasting, sucking. I drop one hand from her face to trail my fingertips along the side of her body, loving the way she moans when I reach her hips. I use the other hand to cup the back of her neck and pull her flush with my body. We both moan between kisses.

  “God, I want you, Jenny.”

  “Have me, Brennan.” Her hands go to work, a frenzy of nimble fingers as she pulls off my shirt first and then tugs at the button of my shorts. Fuck. Yes.

  I interrupt her work to reciprocate, voiding her of the soft cotton sundress.

  She reaches for my waistband again, but I step away. My dick is already pulsing and rock hard. No way I’m gonna embarrass myself on my birthday. She gets her hands or mouth on my cock and I’m one and done in under two minutes.

  “I didn’t get dinner. Or dessert,” I say, and then run my hands and eyes over her fantastic bra. “I’m hungry.” I pull the cups down and hold her breasts in my hands. I drop my head to suck one hard nipple inside my mouth.

  “Oh, yes,” she moans, her fingers grabbing at my hair.

  Trailing kisses from her tits and down to her navel, I move to my knees, pulling her panties down to the floor. Her ragged breaths fill the room as my lips get closer to her center. I can smell her arousal and my dick throbs to be inside.

  “Put your hands on the counter,” I say, and she obeys. I pick one leg up and rest it over my shoulder. She squeals, grips the granite tight, and moans when I glide my tongue over and around her clit, then dip inside her folds.

  “Oh, God, yes. That, Brennan. Do that,” she murmurs.

  With one hand I press her close to me and continue to prop her leg up. The other I use to work two fingers inside, fucking her the way I will with my dick later. My lips suck around her swollen bud and I know she’s close. All those weeks with Amber were worth something if I learned how to rock Jenny’s world.

  I work my tongue over her bundle of nerves with a constant flick and press my fingers deeper inside. I bring her to the edge, then back off again until she’s a moaning, writhing mess. Jenny’s about to come hard and fast all over my face.

  “Yes, fuck, yes . . . I’m gonna . . . so close.” She babbles until her orgasm hits with full force. She gasps, her breath catches with pleasure, and her fingers dig into my scalp. I moan, fully aroused at the thought of them digging into my flesh while I thrust inside.

  I wait for her to come down, languidly moving my tongue around her center, her taste adding fuel to my desire.

  “Oh, fuck, Brennan. You can’t cook, but boy can you eat!”

  I grin, stand, and pull her body flush with mine so she feels every bit of my excitement. “I can cook. And I will for you, but first—”

  “I think the birthday boy needs a new gift.” Jenny leans back, putting space between us. “What would you like? A watch? A lifetime supply of sausage? Hmmm . . . Maybe a new set of baking pans?” She taps her chin and glances around the room. “I should take this off, no?” She reaches behind her, unclasps her bra, and slides the straps down her arms.

  “You,” I say, serious and honestly, and wrap my hands around her waist.

  Her gaze snaps to mine and her lips part. “Me?” she whispers.

  “You. Just you. And not only for tonight.” I place one chaste kiss on her lips.

  “Brennan O’Shea, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” Her eyes shine with unshed tears but her lips pull up at the corners.

  I return her smile with one so big it almost hurts, and nod.

  “Good.” She grins. “Now will you fuck me properly?”

  “Hell, yeah.” My hands go to her ass and I haul her up off the ground. She giggles, her hands grip my shoulders tightly, and her legs wrap around my waist. I kiss her, tenderly and sweet as I walk us to my bedroom.

  I set her on the mattress and crawl over her gorgeous body. Her brown hair fans out onto my sheets, and her lips part in the most seductive way. Fuck. Of all the birthday wishes come true I never imagined I’d call this woman mine.

  Jenny.

  My Jenny.

  Her stomach rumbles loudly, cutting the intensity of the moment.

  “And after we fuck, I cook.”

  “Make it fast, hot stuff. I’m starving,” she jokes.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” I cringe. “But I promise there’ll be an encore after dinner.”

  “I love encores.” Her eyes dance and she drags her fingers down my chest to my abs. Fuck, I love that. “Brennan?” The question in her tone causes me to pause.

  “Yeah?”

  “Not complaining or anything . . . but you’ve never said more than two words to me before today. What made you change your mind? You’ve always been a great neighbor, but what made you want more?”

  She’s not sure about us—I hear the hesitance in her question, see it in her candid expression. My fault for not explaining why this thing between us is so much more than a good time.

  “I’ve always wanted more,” I admit, and her eyes widen. “This will sound so stupid.” I almost don’t continue but I need her to know. “I have a hard time talking to women.”

  “Really? You?” She almost laughs, and I nod.

  “That actually makes a lot of sense now. I just figured I wasn’t your type.”

  “Jenny, everything about you is my type.” She tries to laugh but I capture her lips with mine. I show her exactly what she does to me, and then spend the rest of my birthday making good on my promises.

  Encores and all.

  Did you know Birthday Blaze originally appeared in the charity anthology, Hook & Ladder 69, to raise funds for the Burned Children Recovery Foundation? It’s the same reason for why Brennan and Jenny’s story is super short (unlike any of my other published novels).

  If you enjoyed my writing style and storytelling, check out my full-length contemporary romance Caught in the Flames. Keep reading for a look inside my hot and steamy firefighter novel.

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  About Caught in the Flames

  Callie Gordon is more than a little obsessed…

  I love firemen.

  Heroic. Selfless. Brave.

  Not to mention the uniform with those damn sexy pants…I can’t get enough.

  Imagine my surpris
e when local fire captain, Chase Matthews, wanders into my yard on moving day. I’ve hit real estate gold. Hot as sin with that all-knowing smirk creates an instant spark. Welcome to the neighborhood never looked so good.

  But dating a firefighter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Chase keeps me at distance even when I attempt to break down his walls. A friendship with the nosy eccentric woman down the street reveals there’s more to Chase than he’s willing to share. I’m playing with fire and bound to get burned.

  Secrets unfold.

  Truths are brought to light.

  Can I handle the heat? Or will my love for this man prove that sometimes even good girls have to burn down the house?

  I hate firemen.

  I can’t stand their cocky as hell, arrogant, self-absorbed, oh-look-at-me I-can climb-ladders-and-play-with-my-hose goddamn attitudes. As if putting your life on the line and saving people on a daily basis gives you the right to do whatever the hell you want?

  Which is why I’m standing outside my home, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a worn college T-shirt, debating whether I need to make this call. I really don’t want to make the call, but it seems the universe has other plans. Thick black smoke plumes from the back of my house.

  Fuck!

  Cell in hand, I punch the dreaded numbers.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  “My house is on fire.” I rattle off the address.

  “Ma’am, is anyone else inside the building? Any pets?”

  “No, it’s just me.” Thanks for the reminder.

  “We have a truck on the way, just hang tight. We’ll have firefighters on the scene in five minutes,” the operator replies, and I groan at the thought.

  Shit. I look like shit. Because I work from home I didn’t feel the need to brush my hair, or teeth, or wear makeup, or get dressed today. I’m not even wearing a bra! Oh, hell no. I look down and yes, my nipples are clearly visible through the thin white fabric. The cool morning breeze has them fully erect. Awesome. A bang and clatter of wood pulls my gaze back to the house where flames lick through the rooftop.

  “Shit!”

  “Ma’am, is everything okay?”

  “No. It’s really not.” I need a bra. A sweatshirt would do. My bedroom is at the front of the house. If I run, I can be in and out in less than two minutes. I stomp up the short cement drive.

  “Do you know which unit is on its way?”

  “Uh . . .” There’s a brief silence and then her voice comes back on the line. “Looks like Station Ten, ma’am.” Fuck! Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? Fuck my life.

  “I have to go back in the house. I’ll just be a second. I left something important inside,” I huff into the receiver and jog the rest of the way, then stop when I reach the door.

  What? Giving the girls full support is important.

  “Ma’am, do not go into the structure. I promise, the crew is on its way.” That’s what I’m afraid of. I pull open the door and the scent of smoke fills my nostrils. I choke and cough as the sensation burns my throat. Dry heat stings my eyes and I squint to relieve the pain.

  I consider not going any further, but I spot my dresser through the open bedroom doorway. It’s taunting me. A mere fifteen feet and my rack—along with my pride—will surely thank me. There’re no flames here. It’s not even that hot in the room. The shrill sounds of the approaching safety vehicle spur my steps forward.

  “I have to,” I rasp into the phone line.

  “Ma’am.” Her voice is angry now, demanding. “Do not. I repeat. Do not go into the home.”

  “Too late.”

  The sirens gain volume and I set my phone atop my dresser, slipping my arms out of my shirt and through the straps of my bra. Cups in place, I sigh in relief and reach behind to clasp the hook in place.

  Boom!

  The force of an explosion throws me backwards. I try to catch myself but my foot snags the corner of my dresser and my body goes down.

  Bang. The side of my head collides with the bed frame and my body crumples to the ground. My temple pulses and my view goes a little fuzzy. A haze of darkness blankets my mind.

  Oh shit.

  Continue reading Caught in the Flames by purchasing your copy here!

  Also by Kacey Shea

  Fighter Standalone

  My Undead Heart

  Firefighters

  Caught in the Flames

  Caught in the Lies

  Rock Stars

  Detour

  Derailed

  Hinder

  Uncovering Love Series

  Uncovering Love

  Uncovering Desire

  Uncovering Hope

  Uncovering Love: The Wedding

  About the Author

  Kacey Shea is pen name to a mom of three, wife, and USA Today bestselling author who resides in sunny Arizona. She enjoys reading and writing romance novels as much as her son loves unicorns, which is a lot.

  When she's not writing you will find her playing taxi cab to her children while belting out her favorite tunes, meeting friends or family for food and to share laughs, or sweating it out in the gym. Kacey finds that picking up heavy weights repeatedly is good for her mental health as much as it is for the physical.

  She has an unhealthy obsession with firefighters. It could be the pants. It could be the fire. It's just hot. On occasion she has been known to include them, without their knowledge, in her selfies outside the grocery store.

  Kacey one day aspires be a woman hand model in a sexy photo shoot. You know, the woman's hand raking across the muscular back or six pack stomach of the male fitness model. Yep, that hand.

  Until that day comes she will continue writing sexy, flirty romance novels in hopes to bring others joy!

  Kacey enjoys interacting with her fans so please feel free to stalk her on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter.

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  For more information:

  www.kaceysheabooks.com

  info@kaceysheabooks.com