Wylder Bluffs Firefighters: The Complete Short-Story Collection

by Tarin Lex

  And I am going to ravage her.

  First I need to just temper the Chief. I let go of Miranda’s wrists, glad when she keeps them right where they’re at, smiling as I reach down to quell at least one degree of heat pulsating below the belt. My fingers graze her pussy on the way down, warm, and so, so wet, she’s already misted her jeans.

  “Fuck. Miranda.”

  “What is it?” she asks, feigning innocence that only tempts me to try and corrupt her.

  “You’re sopping wet.”

  “I tried to tell you.”

  Grinning, I stroke her nicely with two fingers. I find her supple folds, her sensitive clit, her hot, creamy center. I can tell even through her coarse denim, Miranda has a fantastic cunt. Watching her watching me, I bring those two fingers between my lips, savoring her. Looking at her as I taste her sweet, sticky nectar. And Christ, is it fuckin’ sweet.

  She’s bested me. “I’m done torturing you, babe.”

  “Oh?” she breathes.

  “Fuck, yeah. Give me that pussy.”

  I don’t wait for her reply. I haul Miranda over my shoulder, she gasps at that, and I carry her into her bedroom and toss her down on the bed. I take off my clothes without any ado, pausing only to memorize the look on her face when she sees me fully undressed, her eyes like oceans drinking me in.

  Then I unwrap her like a gift. Peeling away, stitch by stitch. She’s a damn fine treat for the eyes, every bend deliciously placed, from the slope of her neck to the arch at her feet, and every feminine knoll between that’s filled out to healthy, sinuous perfection. I stay my gaze for long moments, languidly jacking my cock as I survey her, tracing every curvature and crest, first with my fingers, and then with my tongue.

  Content that I’ve tasted every inch—almost—I settle my face between her thighs, dining on her at last in long, slow strokes. Miranda mewls, curving her back to meet my affections. Her inner thighs press to my cheeks and I breathe all of her in, deep, as her fingers rake into my hair. I could just take up residence here, at the cradle of her hips.

  She’s heavenly.

  I take my precious time, she doesn’t complain about that, and when I’m certain I’ve memorized the shape of her silken outer lips, the blending of flavors, the exact motion that makes her velvet skin drip, drip…I dip my tongue into her center, feasting hungrily on her hot, wet core, until she grips my hair harder, and bucks her hips again, all but grinding against my jaw to satisfy the pulse-pounding bundle of nerves just a breath above where I’m lavishing her.

  Except for her little moans of pleasure, Miranda becomes very quiet.

  “What happened?” I tease, hardly pausing my rhythm at all when I look up at her over a tidy thatch of hair and breasts as round as globes, with those pretty pink tips begging for me to play with them next. “Cat got your tongue?”

  She grins, almost giggling. “Says the man who…literally…is delving his tongue inside my pussy.”

  “Mmhmm,” I hum, closing my eyes to savor another mouthful. Miranda quivers from the vibration. I hold her legs steady. She’s almost there. I can feel her climbing. I can taste her sweet, sweet pleasure, heating her skin as it rocks through her.

  Further roused, I flick my tongue upward from her cunt to her clit, spreading that honey. I sample her there in slow, craven swirls of mutual delight, and when I start to roll her pearl between my full lips, wet with her juice, she keens, and I gently suck, right as her tension springs loose, her hips spring upward then yield, her arms and hands falling away, silently.

  Miranda came hard as a bullet, far as I can tell without any sound-effects, bathing my mouth in the most exquisite, grade-A cream.

  In like a lion, out like a lamb.

  And it’s so fuckin’ beautiful.

  If love means doing stupid shit for stupid reasons, I don’t want it, never did.

  But if it means meeting the woman of my fantasies on a random, difficult day…

  If it means taking risks, however reckless, seeking just to find out if…

  If it means knowing I one-hundred-percent cannot live without this person…well then, fuck. Guess I’m all in.

  The crazy part? I don’t even mind. I can only try to smile with Miranda’s satisfied pussy pressed to my chin.

  And smile, I do.

  Miranda

  This is insane! While I’ve often had wild fantasies and wanted more from the men I’ve dated, I’ve never done something like this before. Meet a sexy firefighter? Invite him into my home? Let him wreck me with his tongue?

  It’s the best bad decision I’ve ever made.

  When Jason crawls over me to kiss my lips, I taste my own flavors on him. Damn, that’s hot. I’ve never tasted me on a face so devastatingly handsome. I press his head closer to mine as we kiss. And when he pulls back to just gaze in my eyes, my heart stops. Just stops right there.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I echo him from earlier.

  “Why not?”

  Because it looks like he might also be falling in love…and there’s a fantasy I can’t fall into. What if it’s only a mirage?

  I could fall in love with him.

  It’s crazy, but true. No man has ever made me so weak in the knees. No man turns me on like he does. No one has ever felt so good. And I’m—I’m falling already.

  Jason presses his rock-hard sex right to my clit and my breath gets caught. A new spark ignites. Could I come twice?

  I’m not opposed to trying…

  Jason smirks knowingly, as if he can read every lurid thought scuttling through my mind. I toss him a condom and he sheaths it over his snake.

  “You have…the most amazing curves,” Jason breathes. His fingers brush down my neck, over my breasts and tummy and wide hips, down to my thighs. I look at him as he looks at me, from the dark slope of his thick neck, down his broad and ribbed chest, to his fabulous tattoos. My gaze finds the darker hair beneath his navel.

  Jason fists his cock, stroking it, appraising me. Have I ever seen a more beautiful dick? All cocooned in his big, strong hands.

  After too many tortured breaths, Jason finally shoves his cock between my folds. He’s so big! I resist for a beat, then relax my legs and walls and let him all the way in. He rocks against me, sending tremors of pleasure throughout. Tingling my toes. Igniting my core. Destroying my mind.

  “Yes, Jason! Just like that,” I sigh, breathlessly. “Don’t stop.” My impending O climbs, and climbs…

  He grabs my hips as he drives in deeper. My walls squeeze around his girth. I feel my wetness dripping down his sex as he glides so smoothly in and out. I reach around to clutch his nice firm butt cheeks.

  Holy hell, he’s ravaging me!

  I writhe and mewl, arching back to meet his thrusts, getting so close to another toe-curling peak. “I wanna feel you come, Jason!”

  “You first, doll.”

  His perfect rhythm sets me on fire from the inside out. I finally reach the apex…

  “Come for me,” Jason coos.

  I fall over the edge of surrender. Down, down I go.

  Jason grins, wickedly. “You’re a delicious treat, you know that?” My heart shudders. Jason slows his pace for me. He groans a heated, coarse word. “Suck me, baby.”

  Yes! I love how he tells me what he wants!

  When I catch my breath I dip into position, on my knees observing his length in reverence and awe. No wonder I just went off like a rocket! “How do you like it, Mr. Fireman, sir?”

  “Your mouth. My dick.”

  I roll the condom off and sprinkle kisses up and down his nice, smooth sex that gave me so much pleasure just now. I love on him with long licks up and down and around his rod. I flick my tongue just under the head, looking up to watch him then squeeze the base with one hand and wrap my lips all the way around, sucking him from root to tip.

  Jason mourns every time the head knocks the back of my throat. He holds the back of my head, not quite gently but not forceful, so I keep lavishing him, drawing his
cock all the way in and out between my lips. With my other hand, I skate my fingers up his inner thigh and then cradle his balls.

  “Miranda, baby, that feels fantastic. Ahh,” he keens, inspiring me to keep going. My lips vibrate against his cock when I moan for him, returning the favor. Jason exhales a ravaged sigh. I whimper again, squeezing my thighs together to trap the sudden onslaught of new heat. Three times, is that even possible?

  My cunt drips anyway. My throaty whimper makes Jason shudder. I suck him harder. His cock jerks between my lips. It’s so sweet, and so, so carnal, all at once.

  “Look at me.” Jason eases me off him, holding my face in both his hands. “I love your mouth.”

  “I love your dick.” I smile.

  “You make me feel so good,” he says.

  “Mmm.”

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me you love me.” He’s joking, right?

  “I… love you.”

  He grins proudly, then guides my mouth back over his dick.

  With just a few more fast pumps, Jason erupts.

  I swallow every drop of sweet cum.

  Epilogue

  Jason

  Falling in love felt like falling into a lake. Uncomfortable at first, but once you’re in, you don’t necessarily wanna get out.

  I told Miranda I loved her too…right after she wiped my cum off her chin. A year later I made her my bride.

  Best decision I ever made.

  Sometimes I feel bad for the sorry sucker who let Miranda slip away. She’s a wildcat, open to trying almost anything with me. She isn’t the kind of woman who satisfies a single craving. My Miranda—my gorgeous wife—satisfies all of them. She has her own kinks too, and fuck yeah, I’m more’n happy to oblige.

  It’s been two years since that day we met. She finally sold her little Jetta, swapping it for an SUV. We’re gonna need the extra space in about, oh, eight more weeks…when Miranda gives birth to fraternal twins. One boy, one girl. Thorne and Maisie are already planning playdates with their twenty-one-month-old, Brian. Cute kid—he’s got Maisie’s auburn hair, Thorne’s dark eyes; spitfire on tap.

  “How’d you know she was the one?” our rookie, Lukas—who isn’t really a rookie anymore—asks me over cold beers and colder pizza at the fire station.

  I keep the explicit details to myself. “It pained me to think of letting her go,” I tell ’im.

  “Pained you…how?”

  I think about that. “Imagine an open heart surgery, without sedation.”

  He pulls a face. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Naw, man,” I tell him around a mouthful of cheese. “That’s how I felt just imagining saying goodbye to her.”

  “Pfft.” Lukas takes a big swig of his beer. “I think I’ll just avoid those feelings altogether, thanks.”

  Sounds familiar. Poor kid. I can’t help but grin. I reach over the table to give his shoulder two good pats.

  I say, “Good luck with that, Rookie.”

  The End

  5 | Lukas

  One

  Lukas

  Nothing sucks worse than love, but don’t try convincing Linnea of that.

  It’s fuckin’ futile.

  She’s had anything but luck in love. Linnea’s had her heart broken. She’s been betrayed. She’s lost time, savings, and most damaging, she’s lost hope. It’s one thing to be like me and never have any hope in love. It’s another thing to have it, and lose it.

  So I just stay away from that shit.

  Least I’m a decent friend. I glance at her now, over a sea of eighteen five- and six-year-old heads, all of the youngsters sitting cross-legged at the front of the room, craning their necks all the way to look up at me.

  “Thanks y’all for having me…again.” I smirk. Linney pulls a face when I toss her a wink. Ha. I’ll let her use me as a punching bag later. Then she’ll get all soppy-faced, even more than she already is, and cry on my shoulder. Later she’ll say I’m the best friend she could have. I’ll tell her how dumb Gary or Henry or Dwight is, or whoever the fuck it was who hurt her this time. Tomorrow she’ll be back in his arms.

  Linnea looks like the cat dragged her into work this morning. Her tears keep tracking mascara down her cheeks and drying, so when she finally wipes her face it turns into a splotchy angry-red mess. The kids don’t need to see their young, pretty teacher like this—she’ll traumatize them.

  Hell I’m almost traumatized.

  That’s why I’m here, so Linney can sit and hide behind her desk for a while. She needs an emotional timeout. It’s technically my day off but I jumped into action when she sent me the S.O.S. early this morning. I’m in a mood, she texted. How d’you feel about doin’ a fire safety pres.?

  It’s my second presentation at the school this year, third in the last sixteen months. Fire safety is important, but so is Linnea’s mental health. I can’t save her every time she makes a bad choice and lets her nerves get tangled up. If she’d just listen.

  Now I’m standing in full flameproof uniform at the front of her kindergarten classroom, reviewing earlier lessons. “Who knows what to do if your clothes catch fire?”

  Eighteen hands fly into the air. A coupla know-it-alls squirm up front, straining their faces like they might burst with the correct reply. I point to a kid in the back dressed in camo from head to toe. Not an unusual sight in these parts in the Wylder Bluffs.

  “Stop. Drop. And roll,” he says in a low drawl, making me grin. Kid’s only five or six, but from his voice alone, I’d guess he was ten.

  “That’s right…” I glance at Linney and she mouths the boy’s name for me. “James,” I say. The kid smiles real big. “Who can tell me what a true-or-false question is?”

  “Meee!” the whole class sings. Linnea covers her mouth with her hand, softening a giggle.

  “Alrighty then. True or false? Firefighters are scaaary,” I do my best ghoulish voice.

  “False!” They all crack up.

  “Oh, yeah?” I reach for my helmet and respirator. “How ’bout now?” I challenge, donning the apocalyptic-looking gear.

  Eighteen sets of eyes go wide. Some of the girls upfront rear back. Linnea tips her head at me, smiling. James says, “That’s so cool, dude. Can I try it?”

  “Later, sure.” I take off the protective mask. “Are these questions easy?”

  “Yes!”

  “Ah. You kids are too smart.”

  James sighs; maybe I shoulda saved the helmet for last. The rest of the passel beam with pride.

  I talk to them about smoke detectors, and what to do if they ever find lighters or matches lying around. It’s important for them to know they should never run and hide from fire. I mention that specifically every time. I battled a blaze my rookie year that never had to claim the lives that it did. A four-year-old had been playing with matches when the flames broke out in the kitchen, and he ran to his room to hide, afraid he’d get in big trouble when his mom found out.

  Kids don’t often realize how quickly fire spreads—or how vicious it can get. Fifteen minutes scrolling Reddit can tell ya, adults don’t often realize it either. We were lucky to save the boy. A month later, Linney’s sister adopted him.

  I keep looking at her. She’s wearing clothes two sizes too big, like she always does after moping into a big bowl of too much ice cream and regretting it the next day. Linnea calls that feeling “fat”; I call it feeling sorry for herself. I’d never describe her as fat, wouldn’t say she’s skinny either. Her curves filled out a long time ago, dizzying me in middle school. She’s still a knockout. Linney took center stage in fantasies I sometimes like to return to, just for fun, when I’m horny and alone. I’m not afraid to admit she’s sexy. We’re friends.

  Dating her though? Not an option. Not at the risk of losing this.

  I know when Linnea starts mindlessly tugging her ear that her thoughts are wandering over to very bad places. I pass her a warning glare, reaching up
to tug my own ear, and with half a smile she drops her hand to her lap.

  Time to wrap up. I’ve already gone twenty minutes over. Her students are getting antsy, losing interest. I tell them how the helmet works then let them try it on. I get to the last kid and Linney takes a sobering breath. She stands up, wiping her face and adjusting her clothes.

  “Let’s all thank Firefighter Lukas”—cuz that’s easier than Firefighter Giaquinto—“and give him a round of applause.”

  “Aw, shucks.” I take a small bow. “You have your teacher to thank,” I tell the class. “If Ms. Linnea hadn’t…invited me, I’d be watching C.S.I. reruns in my PJs right now.” Truthfully though, I’d be watching it bare-ass naked.

  They chuckle as I grab my helmet, give the class a wave, Linney a wink, and head for my quiet, drama-free home. Where my shepherd is the only one waiting for me.

  The simple life I’ve always wanted.

  Two

  Linnea

  I don’t know what my problem is. I’ve learned so many techniques to limit how often I say ‘no’ to my kinders. We’re taught to use positive language and redirection—both are great for little learners. Not so effective on grownups though. Especially this whole ‘saying no’ business.

  All I need to do is say no.

  Hm, maybe I do know exactly what my problem is. I’m just…not so good at following through.

  Men don’t seem to like women who tell them no. To anything. I’d swear I’m pretty easygoing. But then Glen broke up with me—apparently I was “difficult”—and I let it get to me. Like I always do. We’d only dated for four months. The guy before that? Seven months. And the one before that? Almost a year.

  Do you see the pattern that’s forming? I can’t seem to hang on to a guy. In fact I’m getting worse at it. They tend to call me a day later, or a week or a month later, however long, when they start to feel lonely. “I love you” is super sweet; “I miss you” is a kiss of death.