Wylder Bluffs Firefighters: The Complete Short-Story Collection

by Tarin Lex

  How should I answer? Well, uh, whatever-his-name-was said he wasn’t in to rim jobs…oh goodness, no! I can’t tell him that! I stifle a giggle behind my hand, and instead say, “We’re incompatible.”

  Jason chortles.

  “What?” I narrow my eyes.

  “It’s just interesting to me…how often couples think they’re so in love, they’re soul mates right? And then when shit gets too real, suddenly they’re ‘incompatible’.” He air-quotes with one hand, obnoxiously.

  “Hey.” I frown. “I didn’t just bail because it got hard.” I bailed because it didn’t get hard.

  “So you were the one to end things,” Jason presumes.

  “Yeah, so?”

  He half-shrugs. “No reason. I guess I’m just enjoying getting to know you.” He smiles in a very provocative way. Or is that my imagination? He’s threatening to melt whatever thread is left of my thong.

  I would totally let him melt my thong.

  “I think I’m an open book…and not a very interesting one, I’m afraid.”

  “No?” he says. “Well.” We get through Stanbery in like three minutes and then he lays his hand over my knee. God even this simple contact has more effect on my libido than my ex could manage. The body heat goes right into my kneecap, then spreads all over. Jason says, “I’m interested.”

  I don’t have a response to that. With two words he’s got me feeling utterly and profoundly speechless.

  “Why’d you become a firefighter?” I finally ask.

  “My dad was one.”

  “Was?”

  Now it’s his turn to go quiet. Then, “He died when I was twelve.”

  Oh no! “I’m so sorry.” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and lay my hand over his over my knee. More warmth blooms, this time straight to my heart. “And your mom?”

  “She remarried a few years later. They’re happy, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  He shrugs.

  “I take it you don’t believe in real happily-ever-afters.”

  “There are two things in life you can count on, Miranda.”

  “Death and taxes?” I joke.

  “Death,” he agrees, “or incompatibility.” He smirks at me and my heart deflates like a kid’s balloon. Why do I care if he does or doesn’t believe in true love? It hasn’t been high on my list of recent concerns either. Maybe my hormones are twisting their wires, or my heart’s a foolish traitor. I need a good, solid lay…not romance or love. I just need the release.

  “What about you, doll?” Jason turns into my neighborhood. “What lights you up?”

  “The usual things.” Mindlessly I start to trace circles over his hand, feeling every thick vein, every little scar, every callus. His hand hasn’t been shaped for petting and pleasure. It’s the dirty, rough, scarred right hand of a hero who isn’t afraid of anything. Except falling in love, apparently, the one thing I suddenly wish we could do together… “Chocolate.”

  Jason chuckles. “Anything else?”

  “Saturdays…” I muse, “…sex…a good book.” I playfully smile.

  He grips my knee a little bit harder. It would tickle if it wasn’t so darn sensual feeling. “What was that?”

  “A good book. You know. Little Women. Pride and Prej—”

  “Naw-aw.” He does tickle me this time and I giggle and squirm, swatting at him until he stops. “It started with S.”

  “Sa-tur-day?”

  Jason slows the truck enough to swivel his head and survey me, head to toe with the most hypnotic green eyes. It’s a quick once-over the first time he rakes his gaze; long and languid when he does it again. “Miranda.” His face is stricken.

  “Yes?”

  “You are the most incredible tease.”

  ‘Me?’ I mouth, innocently. He licks his pink pillowy lips and my pussy clenches, hard, shivers snaking all through my core.

  Jason shakes his head at me, a kind of warning. The nav guides him down my street and to my apartment and he parks on the curb—Not in front of the fire hydrant. He takes his hand off my knee and cuts the engine and I swear the entire cab of his truck turns up a hundred degrees when he looks at me again.

  Dangerous. So, so dangerous. “Does this mean you wanna come in, Mr. Fireman, sir?”

  “You got chocolate in there?” He indicates my apartment building with a tick of his coarse, stubbled chin.

  “I have chocolate.” I smile, ever demure. “And other things…that light me up.” My pounding heart almost betrays my nervousness as I lean in close, only to unclick his seatbelt and then move away to release my own. “Come and see?”

  His eyes darken from peridot to wet moss.

  He groans, “Aw… hell.”

  Four

  Jason

  This is right where I should stop. Stop helping her. Stop asking questions. Stop being so goddamn curious.

  While I’m at it I better stop looking at her pretty mouth too, imagining those nice plump lips wrapped around my pulsating cock…ah, fuck! How hard is it to just say goodbye and drop her off?

  Turns out, very hard. Almost as hard as my dick flexing beneath my pants.

  Very very hard, indeed.

  I shouldn’t stare so intently at her ass as she leads me inside. Miranda sways her hips like she wants me to look. Her smile agrees when she catches me.

  Her apartment is cute, clean, girlier than I might’ve guessed, if I’d taken the time to guess what her home looked like. Exposed brick, hardwood floors and off-white paint. Reminds me of the firehouse. There’s a subtle pleasant scent, like vanilla candles and furniture polish.

  The simple décor reminds me of my sister’s old apartment, before she and my best friend Thorne bought their first house together. It’s been over a year, they’re about to have a baby soon, but I still have trouble reconciling. Thorne is my best friend; Maisie’s my little sister. Circumstances brought them together, but is it really love?

  Pff.

  “Do you want a beer?” Miranda says.

  “Sure why not.” I’m off the clock.

  She pops the top on a pale ale, hands it to me, and I give the bottle a surly look. “Your boyfriend’s beer?”

  “Ex-boyfriend.”

  I slide her a look, then take a swig and it ain’t half bad. Miranda smiles, satisfied. “Make yourself at home, Jason.”

  Alright then…don’t mind if I do. She whirls back to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of wine as I poke around.

  I glean more knowledge of her in the next five minutes. All the small details. Miranda loves to read; she’s got at least a hundred romance novels stuffed into a bookcase. She loves her friends; dozens of pictures grace the walls and tabletops, her smile bright and alluring in every shot.

  Except one, a small sepia photo of a man not much older than I am now. I may be observing too closely when Miranda steps up next to me.

  “My dad,” she offers.

  “Ah.” I pick it up then set it back down. “Good-lookin’ fella.” A family portrait perks my attention next. A teenaged version of Miranda standing with her two brothers, her mom and their…dad? I return my gaze to the smaller frame. “Same guy?”

  She shakes her head, tossing her honey hair over her shoulder. “My real father died when I was ten.” She kisses the two pads of her fingers and touches them to the faded pic. “Jimmy is my stepdad,” she says, indicating the family portrait over there.

  My heart cracks. So she does know what that’s like. I realize there’s pain I can’t save her from, and worse yet, the realization that I wish I could.

  “I’m so sorry, Miranda.”

  “I know.” She smiles warmly at me, at the photos, at nothing in particular. “You know how I know love is real?” she asks, catching me with my guard down.

  “How’s that,” I say, indulging her question.

  “She loved my dad. Still does. And, she loves Jimmy.”

  I tip back a sip of beer, and lick my lips. “I don’t follow, sweetheart.
”

  She looks right at my face. “Love isn’t a farce just because of how often it can be felt.” Miranda takes a slow drink of her wine, thoughtfully. Then, “It’s more real because of that reason.”

  Not sure I reckon, or even have an opinion at all. I’ve never felt love. Not in the romantic sense. Standing next to her right now inspires me to believe I could. A feeling that stitches weirdly to my chest. Is that feeling love, or just the fact I think it could be?

  It isn’t a terribly unpleasant sensation. I’ve half a mind to examine it further.

  “Are you an optimist, Miranda?”

  She giggles. “I practically read romance novels for a living,” she jokes. “Of course I’m optimistic.”

  I glance at the overstuffed bookcase. “Romance”—I don’t mean to scoff, it just comes out that way—“aren’t the endings predictable?”

  “Yeah,” she muses. “I guess so. But I don’t read them to try and guess what the ending will be. I read them because I know how it ends—happily ever after. I want to see how they get there.”

  Could we ever get there, I wonder, to our own little H-E-A? I’m not even sure I believe in love. Definitely can’t reconcile with happiness that lasts forever.

  But what if?

  I shake the thought from my mind. How much have we had to drink? I’m not even halfway done with my hops, yet I feel dizzy as I gaze down at her ocean-blue eyes. I feel like saying too much. I didn’t exactly come up here to talk.

  “Did you love him?”

  “Mike?” she says, and I almost cringe. Didn’t really need to know his name. “I don’t think so, no,” she intuits. “I cared about him. But there were certain…needs…he couldn’t fulfill.” Miranda sips her wine again, not taking her eyes off me, and if I didn’t know any better I’d swear it’s a challenge.

  Good thing I don’t know any better.

  “And what is it you need, babe?” I set down my beer on a nearby shelf.

  She sets her wineglass next to it.

  On tiptoe, she whispers, “You.”

  Five

  Miranda

  With just that look he proffers, standing in close proximity in my apartment, Jason’s raw masculine scent and wintergreen gaze puncture something I hadn’t realized was bound tight, tense, low in my belly. Damp, mindless heat is the result, spreading in a current down to my toes and out to the tips of my fingers and then to every part of me that I want him to explore, touch, lick, lavish his attention upon.

  We set down our drinks so our hands are free. Mine hang awkwardly at my sides. I watch his stubbled Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Jason doffed his turnouts in the pickup, so now he’s wearing just khakis and an Army-tan shirt. Now I really see what I’m working with here, and all I have to say about that…is hot damn. He puts one coarse hand against my soft cheek.

  I like Jason’s voice. I like it even more when it pitches a whole octave lower when he says, “What are you doin’ to me, honey?”

  Nothing on purpose, I don’t think. Sure I was the one to invite him in. I offered him beer. But he didn’t have to consent to those. He didn’t have to help before. He wanted to.

  My heart races knowing he’s remotely interested. This man…wants me? I don’t care if it’s only for sex. That works for my agenda too.

  What can I say? If whatever Jason is feeling is anything like the effect he’s having on me, the answer lies somewhere between a good drugging and a total annihilation.

  When I take too long to answer his question, Jason brings his other hand to my other cheek, effectively owning me—my heartbeat, my inhalations, my passioned gaze. I almost don’t want him to kiss me, I’m so furiously aroused already, afraid I’ll be launched to the moon if he does. If it’s good.

  “What happens next in your romance books?” Jason says, gently pulling me a notch closer. He needs a shower. I need a psychological evaluation for wanting him the way I do—dirty like this, instead of all cleaned up.

  “That depends…” I find my voice, “…are you the hero?”

  “What’re your options?” he teases me. I think. I only have one more, since Mike’s a definitive no. If Jason isn’t the one for me, then I’ll have to wait longer to meet that man.

  And hope like hell he looks exactly like him. Green eyes, rippled chest and rope-strong arms. Same heady scent. Same baritone voice. Same trifecta result when surveys me—buoying whatever’s low; mollifying what’s restless; turning me on so thoroughly I need to glue my thighs together, resisting the urge to grab his nice thick neck and sling my legs around his hips and grind against him to try and sate this burning desire.

  Oh god I’m in trouble.

  “I only want you, Jason.”

  He nods, satisfied. “Very good answer.” Those green eyes darken more. Is he gonna kiss me? Not yet. “Miranda,” he growls, holding my face in one hand, the other one petting my hair now, “tell me what you need from me.”

  “Hm?” I sound off, and tip my face, certain I heard that wrong. “Come again?”

  “What do you want me to do to you, babe?”

  Did he really just ask me that? Oh dear lord, it’s worse than I thought—a man after my very own heart!

  “Kiss me first, and then I’ll tell you.”

  Jason smirks, deviously. Deliciously. I can’t even bear to close my eyes when he dips his head and tows me in, our lips meeting halfway between us. The connection zings right through me, hardcore. Latent heat rolls down my spine and up my legs, meeting right in the center to set me on fire.

  I shut my eyes.

  He deepens the kiss, and my heart swivels. Burns as it assails my chest then my throat. Clenches when he pulls away…only to trail big hands down my curves and reach for my hips, pulling my body closer to his so that I feel his erection throb against the apex of my thighs. He has…wait for it…an amazing cock. Long, thick inches of rock-hard pleasure!

  I know, I know. I’ll give you a second to recover.

  Okay.

  When I unleash a throaty moan Jason captures my lips again. My mouth yields, opening to his, and he deftly flicks his tongue against mine and then sucks my lower lip into his mouth, releasing it slowly between his teeth.

  “What next?” Jason purrs by my ear.

  “Do…exactly that,” I beg of him, “…everywhere else.”

  His hands roam my curves. “And then?”

  I sigh. “And then, for the love of god, Jason—fuck me.”

  Six

  Jason

  I can’t imagine anything hotter than being with a woman who knows what she wants. She isn’t afraid to tell me, and I’m more’n happy to oblige. Doesn’t hurt that Miranda’s got more to love—amazing tits, curves for days and days, real flesh on her hips that I’d love to sink my fingers against.

  So that’s exactly what I do.

  I pull her in, closing what’s left of the distance between us, and Miranda makes a throaty noise that drives me wild. My dick shudders, so hard I’m tempted to skip the niceties and strip her down and get buried balls-deep inside her core, pistoning in and out, long and slow until we’ve satisfied this greediness she inspires in me.

  I kiss her more, now that she knows where my lips are headed next, teasing her as I take my time illustrating exactly what I have in mind…

  Her mouth is soft, she tastes like candy and something uniquely Miranda that makes me worry I’ll never get enough of her. That flavor…was made for me. I’ll never share, with anyone, for anyone. I’m dyin’ to know what the rest of her body tastes like.

  And then I’d like to spread my own flavors all over that beautiful mouth.

  I swallow a groan as I deepen the kiss. It feels carnal, savage, devouring her like this. Seeing just how utterly I can provoke her. Just how far she’ll let me explore. We just met. So I kiss her, roughly, but I touch her, featherlight. My hands rove every part of her I can reach while our tongues dance to the cadence of her whimpers and sighs.

  It’s madness, how naturally my hands
set against her hourglass shape, forming to every dip and groove, every luscious bend. These tits are mine. This ass is mine. Her shoulders and neck. Her face—mine.

  I move our bodies as one until her back is pressed to the wall, my dick straining to reach for her. My brain says take it slow—but the Chief has other ideas.

  Down, boy! It’s not time yet. Very soon though.

  Miranda’s body shakes beneath mine. She presses a hand to my chest to push me back and shoots daggers with her eyes. “Everywhere else, I said!”

  I smirk. “Yeah, I know, doll. And then you’d like me to fuck you silly.” I reach for her chin, holding her steady while I look right back into her eyes. “D’you think I forgot?” I swipe her bottom lip with the pad of my thumb, and feel her body go boneless as she rasps.

  “But first you thought you’d assassinate me?” She frowns.

  “Naw, baby. Just getting you thoroughly warmed up.” When she lifts an eyebrow, I add, “I don’t think you realize what you’re about to receive.”

  “I realize that I’m already a five-alarm fire! Don’t placate me.” She trails her curious fingers over my chest, then lower, making my stomach go taut as she skitters them below my belt, arcing down to grab hold and then stroke my rod. “God I love your dick, Jason,” she raggedly purrs. “Let me see it… Pleeease.”

  “Don’t give me that look.” I press my erection against her hand. “You’re gonna get it,” I caution, and narrow my gaze, and dip my head to steal another fervent kiss then rear back an inch to bite out, “I happen to enjoy kissing you.” Before she makes me go off too soon I take both her wrists and plant them firmly above her head. “These stay here. I’m not finished.”

  Her blue eyes go wide as moons, her lips part in surprise, releasing another sensual moan when I kiss them, binding her wrists in one hand, grasping her soft, silken flesh in the other and grinding my hard-on right where I feel her try to squeeze her thighs shut.

  Not gonna lie…I love sex. I’m good at it too. Humble about it, I am not. But Miranda, damn. She’s a wicked combination. Full figure, magnificent baby blues…and that dulcet voice. Christ. I love the sound her breath makes inside my mouth when she knows how thoroughly I’m ’bout to ravage her.