Burn For Me (The Burn Series Book 3)

by Dee Ellis

  By

  Dee Ellis

  Burn For Me by Dee Ellis

  © 2017 by Dee Ellis. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Cover Design: Dee Ellis for Indies Ink

  Interior Design: Dee Ellis for Indies Ink

  Publisher: Dee Ellis

  ISBN 13: 978-1546379737 & ISBN 10: 1546379738

  1. Romance 2. New Adult 3. Erotica

  First Edition

  Printed in The U.S.A.

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  17

  18

  19

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  1

  Beer goggles are a bitch. Two hours ago, I thought she was beautiful. Now, on her knees in front of me, cheeks hollowed out with my dick in her mouth, not so much. I mean, she was still sexy. Big tits, which were marked from my less than gentle hands, and an average face. Plan was to drill her and send her home. That was always the plan. Instead we made it just inside the door and she dropped to her knees.

  That worked, too. My fingers tangled in her bottle blonde hair and I let her do what she did. Claire was her name. I always remembered their names. More of a curse than a talent. Didn’t like her name much. Liked her tits. Liked that dirty red mouth that was wrapped around my cock. That mouth is what got us here in the first place.

  “Love a man in uniform.” Claire had tits spilling out of a dress that barely covered her ass. Easy target.

  “Do you, now?” It was getting old, really. They all loved a man in uniform.

  Didn’t matter if it was some firefighters, like me and my guys, the boys in blue, or even the paramedics. Bitches get wet the minute they see the badges and gear. Don’t get it, but I’m not a chick. Then again, I did spend a night or two with a hot cop once. Loved those handcuffs of hers a little too much, that one did. Claire scrapes her teeth against the head, and my fingers fist tighter in her hair.

  “Careful, there.” Stilling her head, I take over like I always do.

  I shove my fingers into fists at the back of her head and hold tight. My hips piston my cock in and out, almost brutally. Claire loosens her jaw and takes it like a champ. Her hands grip my ass, her stiletto nails digging into the taut skin. With all the beers in me, and seeing her knelt for me, it doesn’t take long. I try to pull out, to blow on her tits or something respectful, and she moans and sucks me down.

  “Good girl. Take it all. Shit…” I turn guttural as she swallows it down like a pro. Don’t doubt she is.

  As my cock glides out of her mouth with a pop, she licks her lips. Not at all as beautiful as my night of drinking made her seem. I fall back against the door, deciding if I want to fuck her or if I’m done with her. Before I can say anything, she is perched over the chair in the corner. Ass up, hands spreading her open to me. Well, shit. Guess I’m fucking her.

  An hour later, I’m done with her and she’s smoking a cigarette. I hate smokers. Explains how filthy she tasted. Ashes and cheap beer. Didn’t taste her pussy. I don’t eat what I don’t plan to keep. The room is paid for the night, so I take a shower and kiss the top of her head. Bid her fucking adieu.

  “See you, Hunter.” I toss a wave over my shoulder as I head out.

  Tugging my ball cap over my bald head, I let the door slam on that chance. I won’t be seeing her again. I don’t do repeats. Not anymore, I don’t. Did it the right way once. Spent plenty of nights with the same body, the same face. Once, it was enough for me.

  Jogging down the steel steps away from the second floor of the hotel, I glance up at the night sky. It’s crisp out, a snowy January and I’m in a foul mood. Despite just getting laid. I always just got laid, it seems. The Chicago skyline lights up in the distance as I mount my bike and head home.

  Lights still twinkle in shop windows and around trees dotting the streets. Houses are lit up with Christmas trees in the windows, even this late at night. Some are lit up on the outside like bright gingerbread houses. They blur past as I weave in and out of traffic. Driving too fast with liquor in my system might not be smart. Haven’t been taken in yet; mostly because the boys in blue give up the chase too fast.

  Christmas is a miserable time of year for me, so I’m glad it’s over. Six holidays on my own. Double what I got with someone else. I don’t talk about those years. Do my best not to think about them. People know, but they don’t know the facts.

  Nobody but me should have to know the facts. They’re dirty and depressing, and every Christmas, I’m reminded of them. Might be why I’ve barely crawled out of a bottle or from between a random bitches’ legs in weeks.

  Work was the only thing good I had going right now and even that was shit. Cage was getting married, and Finn was steps behind. Levi was married. I was the last one left standing, it seemed. Fucking pussies. I loved them and, in fact, loved their women too. Except Levi’s wife; shared her with Finn once before they tied the knot. Girl gives great head, no doubt. Don’t trust a bitch who lets two strangers spit roast her.

  It’s late, but I’m hungry, so I roll into my favorite diner. Looks like an old train car and sits next to the water. The place, Duchess’ Diner, is open all night and serves the best burgers this side of town. The grumpy waitress, Mable, always seems to be there. I won’t make it out of there without making her smile, and maybe that’s good enough for me tonight.

  “Evening, handsome,” Mabel smiles as she yanks a pencil out of her mess of grayish purple hair, “Been a while, Hunter Byrne.” I wink at her and slide into one of the stools on the other side of the counter from her.

  “Tried to stay away, Mabel. Couldn’t do it. We going to run away and get hitched yet?” Mabel giggles and leans forward on the counter.

  “Boy, with those women you run with, you wouldn’t know how to handle a woman like me. The usual, Hunter?” I nod and flip over the coffee cup on the saucer for her to pour me a cup.

  The coffee is shit, but it’ll sober me up a little. I smell like cigarettes, sex, and cheap perfume. Toxic combination. I sucked back the coffee and peered around the diner. In the far corner near the kitchen entrance sat Diana—the Duchess herself. Opened the diner with her husband, Charles. Running joke was they were once the royal couple in their small town. I know a thing or two about tiny towns and why they didn’t stick in theirs.

  Once upon a time, I had a crown on my head and a fair headed girl at my side. King and Queen of everything…once. Sitting there in the diner, I was proof that fairytales do not have happy endings. I glanced over my shoulder, spotting a tiny ball of energy bouncing in a booth in the corner. Shock of jet black hair, rainbow hue of pinks at the tips. Earbuds hanging from her ears, her head is bent as she bounces.

  I start to turn away, but her eyes flash up. Bright violet and too big for her pixie face. Mable slams my food down, startling me. When I twist back from glaring at Mable, her eyes are shadowed by the hoodie she’s yanked over her head. My dick is still exhausted from my time with Claire, so I ignore the cute pixie and dig into my food.

  “How’s the joint doing, Mabel?” I used to visit this place every Sunday morning.

>   Used to be I didn’t go a Sunday without a slice of Diana’s homemade rhubarb pie. Those Sundays stopped all at once. Then it took a while for me to want to come back. Once I did, I decided it had always been my place, not hers or even ours. I wanted to be reminded of home sometimes, so I came here. That was not something she had ever wanted.

  “Doing good. Slower the past few months. Know that if you came in more often.” Mable smacked her gum and shoved her pencil into her hair.

  Behind me, I heard two older men arguing about the Bears’ last game. I glanced down the counter at the young couple cooing and kissing each other. Besides the jamming pixie in the corner booth, we were the only customers. I was the only one eating. I imagine it was slow because shoppers hardly hit this end of town. I know I avoided it most times.

  “I’m a busy man, Mable. Lots on my plate. Speaking of, can I get some mayo for my fries, Darlin’?” With a few drinks in me, my accent softened the end of my words, and Mable was eating it up.

  “Sure thing, stud. Be right there with your coffee, Lola Bear.” Mable winked a heavily made-up eye, blue eye shadow fading into her eyebrows, at the pixie in the booth.

  Lola. Cautiously, I glanced back again, realizing I know those pretty eyes and sexy mouth. Of course, I did. Lola Von. Charli and Gigi Cooper’s hot pixie friend with the dirty mouth. Met her at my boss Deacon Cooper’s Thanksgiving. I was miserable and wasted; everyone around was in love and happy while I was fucking lonely and horny.

  We were the odd ones out, and I think Finn Cooper, the closest thing I had to a friend, cracked about hooking us up. Lola smirked up at me with those violet eyes, her tits pressed against my chest. Offered to take me on in the bathroom while Deacon carved the turkey. I didn’t think she was serious.

  Proved me wrong when she walked in on me later. I had just tucked my dick away from taking a piss, and she was on me. I lifted her onto the vanity, then took my cock back out, prepared to fuck her. Never a word spoken between us. I had yanked her to the edge, my cock pressing to her wet pussy, and I saw the sadness in her eyes. Tears ruining the makeup so out of place for a family dinner.

  Without another word, I tucked my dick back in my pants and left. Told the Coopers work needed me. Never ran away from eager pussy before. Lola never let me forget I refused her on Thanksgiving, when we were both miserably alone.

  Taunted me every time we both ended up with our circle of friends. I was fascinated by her sexy mouth and I knew what it tasted like. Sweet, addictive whisky and honey. Lola’s acidic tongue made my dick hard, and I knew she could take care of that for me. Didn’t walk away from her because I didn’t think she could handle my cock.

  Walked away because I didn’t think I could handle her.

  Rather than deal with an awkward scene, I pretend we didn’t make eye contact moments ago. Besides, Lola was clearly hiding. That huge hoodie covers her perky tits and hangs down to her thighs. Its hood is yanked all the way forward as if the black cotton can protect her somehow. Hard to miss a girl like Lola, even with all her effort.

  “Your mayo, handsome.” Mable set a cup of the creamy condiment beside my plate.

  I took it, mixed a dollop of ketchup into it, and proceeded to dip my mountain of fries into it. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched Mable talk with Lola. Couldn’t explain the tension I felt stirring the air as they talked. Mable reached a hand out towards her, and Lola shrunk away. Mable let out a sigh I heard from several feet away before she turned and headed back my way.

  Strange. Lola was bubbly and loud, drawing all the air in the room to her. Seemed to me she liked it that way. Shooing away Mable like that didn’t seem to fit the very little I knew about Lola. Then again, what did I really know about her? What did I really know about any chick, for that matter?

  For some reason, I want to scoop her up. Press her close and hold her tight. I know she recognized me. We’ve hung out too much for her to pretend otherwise. It’s late, though. I’m not entirely sober. I sense she wants to be alone, so I think better of going over to her.

  Finishing my food fast, I drop a few bills on the counter and head back out. The air is crisper and my breath puffs out into the dark sky. Overhead, I make out wisps of clouds, but beyond them I spot some stars. It might be a nice night if I didn’t smell like a bar, dirty sex, and regret.

  For a while, I drive aimlessly. Not ready to go home or even back to the Fire Station. Which is really more like home than my place, if I’m being honest. If I’m not there, I’m at a bar. Any bar will do. Used to have rules about the bars. No country twang, plenty of bar choices on tap, and plenty of pussy. The rules blurred along with everything else.

  It’s been a miserable year. Not for everyone else around me, it would seem. Fuck, maybe I’m jealous. It’s been a while since I was close to any of my guys. My guys. Huh; I’m just six years older than Levi, four older than Cage and Finn. Feels like decades more. I am close to them, though, so I suppose their desertion makes me angry. Resentful.

  I mean, desertion is a bit of a stretch. I was happy for them finding good women and growing up. That’s what you do, right? Get the career, the woman, the home, and, eventually maybe two kids and a dog. I thought I had that once; thought I might end up like them. Now I’m watching it happen, and fuck if I’m not miserable about it.

  Not that plowing my way through the bars is helping. But, at least I can forget how fucking alone I am for a little while. The minute one of those badge bunnies think it’s more, I bolt. It can never be more. Not ever again. I’m not looking to settle down and make one of those women a wife. Levi was stupid enough to do it. Apparently, I was once that stupid too.

  “Happy Holidays, Hunter.” Deacon Cooper’s voice from the last good holiday I had echoed in my head.

  My bike swerves, but I manage to keep her upright. Idling at the corner where I caught myself, my eyes go blurry. Instead of focusing on the city lights or the Christmas decorations in the park in front of me, I’m in the past. Walking into our cute little home, with the reindeer and Santa sleigh out front and the twinkling lights. Holly loved that shit; I didn’t care that our house looked like a gingerbread house.

  It looked like the perfect home to enjoy the holidays in. Smelled like it too, once I walked through that door. Holly had been the hottest mixture of Betty Crocker and Betty Paige. Loved to play homemaker as much as she liked to play wife in the bedroom. Always thought I was a lucky man when she agreed to marry me. Believed it, despite how bad it got.

  By that holiday, just our second Christmas in the city, Holly was a different person. We were high school sweethearts from Brookhaven, a small town in Mississippi. King and Queen of that fucking town. When we moved, they actually threw a huge party for us. I thought we were making the right move. Taking a job as Deacon Cooper’s second in command was a no brainer. Of course, I was moving us to Chicago.

  We had one really good year, Holly and I, as husband and wife. Soon after we wed in a massive town celebrated wedding, I thought I had it all. Holly did too, I thought. After our last holiday home together, we moved. Holly loved the big city at first. Loved rubbing elbows with Deacon and his wife, Gwen, and their impressive friends.

  One day, I knew it wasn’t the same. Knew she wasn’t the same and we sure as shit weren’t the same. I came home and the entire place was empty. Oh, she didn’t leave me; she tossed furniture, ripped down wallpaper, and gutted the kitchen. A busy bee Holly meant trouble was brewing.

  “I hate the place,” Holly fell apart the moment I walked in the door, “I don’t feel like it’s home.” Her golden blonde hair was a messy halo around her lovely heartbreak.

  “Let’s make it home then, honey bee.” Damn, I’d loved that sweet, ornery girl and would have given her a castle if that’s what my princess wanted.

  For months, we worked on that house. I got what she meant, we bought one of those McMansions in a good neighborhood and it was even furnished. It was nothing like the rustic farmhouses Holly and I had grown up on. I though
t making it more like home might help us. Felt like it did at first.

  We made love while we finished floors and painted the walls. Got sweaty against cabinets when I dropped to my knees and tasted her sweet sugar. I loved the fuck out of Holly. I tried my best to prove it by giving her anything she asked for. Anything to keep her happy while we tried to make a life in Chicago.

  I let her repaint the living room four times; we bought two living room sets before she settled on a pricey leather set. I stripped the floors between fighting fires and learning how to captain a firehouse. Fucked her hard or slow; whatever she needed, wherever she needed it. I thought it was enough. Prayed every time she ripped another part of the house apart we could put us back together.

  That last Christmas, after finding out I would captain Ladder 71 after the new year, I was excited. We had finally finished the house. Holly seemed content with the place, at least. The house was decorated like the fucking North Pole, and I had my assignment that would let us settle in for good. Life was fucking good.

  Then I walked in my new home. Brand spanking new, from top to bottom. Only thing in the place I thought I knew was Holly. I heard her right away. Didn’t see her, but I didn’t need to. My wife was loud as fuck when she came. Sweet as sugar until you hit that spot for her just right. Just about spoke in tongues when her sugar began to flow.

  “Ahh…ahh, fuck yeah, fuck me harder. Make it hurt. Yes, Daddy.”

  Pain ricocheted through me as I watched my wife of almost three years bent over our brand new couch, which I could barely afford, taking dick from our carpenter. I didn’t even confront her. Just walked back out, went to O’Malley’s, and fucked the first bunnie who stroked my dick. That’s how it started and how it ended.

  For too long before what would be our fourth and final wedding anniversary, we never talked about it. We fucked everyone but each other, and the house stayed immaculate. Didn’t even pretend we didn’t know what was going on. Said I love you every night and have a good day every morning. It was empty. Cold.