Fire Born (Firehouse 343)

by Christina Moore

  “Um, Martie?”

  She looked over to find Chris staring. “What, do I have something on my shirt?” she asked, looking down and finding to her relief that no food had spilled onto the silk.

  “Not your shirt, no,” Chris replied, reaching toward her with his right hand. He hesitated for a second before touching her, his thumb tracing a short path along the corner of her mouth. As he drew it away, she saw that she had missed a small dot of sour cream.

  “Thanks,” she said, her heart stuttering against her breast as he brought the thumb to his mouth to clean it. He then shocked her when he leaned over and captured her mouth with his.

  Martie reacted instinctively, opening her mouth to his when his tongue pressed the seam of her lips. Chris tasted glorious, his mouth a mix of salt and beer and the food he’d eaten. And male. She might never be able to put it into words, but there was a strong essence of masculinity in the taste of him, and she wondered if the rest of him tasted this good.

  She was stunned when Chris abruptly ended the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers, both of them drawing shallow breaths. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s crazy, but I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you. But I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shh,” Martie told him, touching a finger to his lips before taking his head into her hands and kissing him again.

  Chris needed no further invitation, and raising a hand to hold her head by the nape he lowered her gently to the couch. Martie felt his weight on her and welcomed it, felt his already hardened erection against her thigh. She arched against him as his hand raked up her side, the heat of his open palm burning her through the silk. He stopped at her breast, cupping it and squeezing the nipple to a point through the fabric of her shirt and bra. She moaned into his mouth, her body aching for more of his touch.

  He leaned back on his knees then, divesting himself of his shirt and showing her that the tattoo on his arm was indeed a full sleeve of praying hands, an angel, and birds that looked like doves surrounded by clouds. Though she’d never had the confidence to get one herself, she’d always been attracted to men with tasteful tattoos, so now she was turned on even more. Martie reached for the buttons of her blouse and began to undo them as he pulled the hem from the waist of her jeans, his eyes on hers as he did so. She knew he was searching for permission to continue, making sure she wasn’t having doubts about what they were about to do. The heat, the longing—the need—that she saw burning in the depths of his dark browns was enough reason for her to nod ever so slightly, for surely he could see the same intense want reflected back at him.

  Chris leaned over her again and kissed her deeply, their tongues twining together again and again, before he sat back once more and rose to his feet. Martie took the hand he held out to her and let him pull her to stand with him. They kissed again as he brushed her shirt from her shoulders and drew her close. She encircled his neck with her arms and pressed her tightened, aching nipples to his chest. Chris skimmed his hands down her back, unhooking her bra before moving them further down to her bottom, which he them grasped firmly as he pushed himself into her belly. He was ready for her, he wanted her, and the knowledge had liquid heat pouring from her core, soaking her panties.

  The fire in her veins roared as Chris pulled her bra slowly, teasingly, down her arms to free her breasts. He lowered his head to capture one pink pebble in his mouth and she gasped. Her grip on his shoulders tightened, her nails digging into the muscles there as he feasted on her flesh, moving from right to left and back again. While his mouth devoured, his tongue licked and his teeth nipped, stoking the flames of her passion even higher. For the first time in her life she wondered if she might come just from having her breasts loved upon, for she could already feel a tightening within herself.

  His hands weren’t idle as his lips took their fill. Chris had taken the button clasp in his hands and was now opening the fly of her jeans, drawing the zipper down and spreading the denim far enough that he could slip his hand inside. Martie moaned as he rubbed her intimately through the lace-lined satin of her underwear, the strokes slow at first but becoming more insistent. Suddenly desperate to have him truly touching her, she pushed her jeans and panties down her hips herself, toeing her shoes off and kicking the pile of clothing behind her.

  Chris grinned. “Eager, aren’t you?” he teased.

  Martie gave him a slow, sultry smile. “Like what you see, Lieutenant?”

  “No, I don’t,” he growled, ridding himself of the rest of his own clothing in a flash of movement. “I fucking love it.”

  He reached for her again and Martie went into his arms willingly. The feel of his length pressing into her, her bare breasts brushing against his hard chest, had her sex pulsing between her legs. She ground her hips against him as he kissed her from her lips and along her jaw to her ear. He nibbled on her earlobe as his hand once again moved to her center, and she moaned again when he brushed the sensitive hood over her folds. Chris palmed one breast, pinching and tweaking the nipple as he stroked her labia, and when he dipped first one, then two fingers inside her opening, Martie cried out in pleasure.

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, tilting her head back and her hips into his hand as his fingers slid in and out of her, faster and faster. Soon Martie could feel the first flutters of an orgasm, and she rocked her hips harder against him, moaning, her breath coming in shallow rasps.

  Just as she thought she would explode, Chris withdrew his hand, and in a move that didn’t even give her time to protest, grabbed her ass a second time and lifted her, impaling her on his shaft as he thrust his tongue past her lips. That was all it took to send her over the edge, and she cried out her pleasure into his mouth as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together. Martie jerked against him hard, again and again, riding him as she rode wave after wave of incredible sensation.

  Chris turned around and carefully carried her over to the bed, where he laid her down in the center. Gripping her shoulders in his hands, his mouth fused to hers once more as he thrust into her hard and fast, seeking his own release. Martie raised her hips to meet each thrust, taking him as deep as she possibly could. She wanted him to feel what she had just felt, what she could feel building again—that wild rush of ecstasy that could only be achieved one way.

  She knew he was about to come when his thrusts became frenzied, when his head dropped to the bed by her shoulder and he began to groan. She moaned in sync with him as her own release began to trickle out from her core and screamed his name when her world exploded for a second time that night. Chris’s voice became deep and guttural when at last he climaxed, releasing his seed into her with several hard, almost painful thrusts. As his body began to relax and he collapsed on top of her, Martie realized that he was still shaking. That his gasping, ragged breaths were no longer due to their lovemaking.

  Chris was crying. She could feel his tears as they fell, wetting her shoulder.

  Any other woman, one who didn’t know better, might have been offended. But Martie had seen how tired he was, how much he was hurting, and she knew that he needed this. His sexual release had triggered a much-needed emotional one, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to deny the man a moment to grieve his loss. Saying not a word, she merely wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, making soft shushing noises in his ear…

  …and praying that sleep would claim him at last.

  After several long minutes, during which her heart broke for Chris, Martie noticed that his sobs had stopped, that his breathing had slowed to a steady, if slightly stuttering, rhythm. Slowly and carefully so as not to wake him, she extricated herself from underneath his heavy body. As she stood and stretched she realized she felt a little sore, but she didn’t mind. She had gotten something she wanted and had given Chris something he needed, and she smiled lightly as she looked down at him.

  Of course, as much as she wanted to stay, she knew she couldn’t. After closing the drape
s over the windows she walked around the bed and placed a soft kiss on Chris’s temple, then walked into the bathroom to relieve her bladder and wash up. As she cleaned the evidence of their activities from between her legs it occurred to Martie that there’d been no protection. Chris obviously hadn’t been expecting to spend the night with a woman when he had driven into Billings earlier that day, so he certainly hadn’t had any condoms handy. And she wasn’t on any form of birth control—having a period that was as regular as clockwork and nothing even remotely resembling a sex life for more than three years, she hadn’t seen any point in getting a prescription.

  Martie shook her head as she rinsed the washcloth and wrung it out, then draped it over the edge of the sink and shut off the water, using the towel to dry herself. Yes, it only took having sex once to get pregnant, but a woman’s fertile period was so close to infinitely short that it was a wonder human females got pregnant at all. And she’d just finished a period a few days ago anyway. What were the chances?

  She set her shoulders as she turned off the bathroom light and went to retrieve her clothes, telling herself as she dressed quickly that she wasn’t going to worry about it as there was probably nothing to worry about. Once her shoes were on her feet, she picked up the half eaten plates of food and set them on the room service cart, then reached for her purse. With a glance back at Chris she realized she didn’t want to just disappear on him, that she wanted to leave him some kind of message. Spying a pad of paper on the lamp table where the phone lay, she rifled in her purse for a pen and wrote two words, then pulled the voice recorder she always carried out of her bag. After making sure there was nothing else on the device’s memory, she sat down where she could feast her eyes on his naked, sleeping form, and switched the recorder on.

  Four

  His arm reached out, his subconscious yearning for the feel of her body next to his. Finding the other side of the bed cold, Chris started awake.

  “Martie?” he called out.

  He got no answer. She was gone.

  Sitting up, he looked around and noted that the curtains were closed. Swinging his legs to his left, he dropped them over the side of the bed and leaned forward to grab the edge of one of the drapes to pull it aside. Based on the pink and purple hues in the sky, the sun was just coming up. Martie had arrived last night at about 6:30, the steaks ordered shortly thereafter. The food was brought up shortly after seven, and he had kissed her…

  Chris didn’t know what time that was. He was too interested in tasting Martie to bother looking at a clock. But they’d probably only been eating for about twenty minutes, so the kissing had started at around 7:30, and that had led to their making love.

  When had he fallen asleep?

  To hazard a guess, somewhere between 8:30 and 9:00, which meant he’d been out cold for the entire night. God knew he’d needed the rest, but having chosen the fire service for his profession, he’d taught himself to be a light sleeper—he needed to be able to wake and get moving at a moment’s notice in his line of work, and it disturbed him that Martie had been able to get out of bed and leave without his hearing a sound.

  Of course, Chris wasn’t entirely sure what bothered him more—that he hadn’t heard her leave, or the fact that she’d left.

  Feeling annoyed—whether at Martie or himself he couldn’t say—he stood and headed into the bathroom. Flipping the light on, he saw that the complimentary washcloth was now laid over the edge of the sink, whereas last night when he’d been shown to his room it had been folded on top of the towel (both were on back of the toilet tank at the time). The towel itself was hanging on the towel bar on the wall opposite the sink and commode.

  Martie had used them.

  Feeling like a fool, he reached for the towel and pulled it off the bar, holding it up to his nose and breathing in. The towel smelled faintly of soap and sex—and Martie. Her personal, unique smell was one he’d not soon forget. With a sigh, he threw the towel back over the bar and turned the tap on in the tub, pulling the vinyl curtain so he could take a shower.

  He was in and out in fifteen minutes, and feeling much better for having slept and cleaned up. Of course, there was a dull ache in his chest when he thought of Calvin. That would take more than a good night’s sleep and a shower to cure, if anything ever could. Using the light from the bathroom to guide his way, he headed toward the couch, where he knew his clothes would be. He was surprised to note that the unfinished food and the room service cart were gone, and that his clothes had been laid in a neat, folded pile in the middle of the couch. Chris smiled, feeling his earlier annoyance diminish to realize that Martie had thought to take care of things. It wasn’t until he drew closer that he noticed the note and the recorder sitting on top of his shirt.

  Picking up the piece of hotel stationary, he smirked at the two words she had printed: “Play me.” Beside them was a little smiley face. With a shake of his head, he picked up the recorder, switching it on as he turned and sat down on the end of the couch.

  “Hi, Chris… I kind of hate leaving you like this, but I don’t think I should stay—even though I want to. Just imagine what your lady friends would think if they were to see me coming out of your room in the morning. Wouldn’t that go over well?”

  She laughed a little, then continued. “I don’t want you to think I regret what happened between us tonight, because I don’t. It was wonderful. You made me feel like a woman for the first time in years, and I’m grateful for that. I’m also happy to have helped you begin to grieve for your friend. I don’t know if you’ll remember it, but you cried after we made love—don’t feel embarrassed about that, okay? You needed an outlet for your pain, and mine just happened to be the shoulder you leaned on. I’m glad that I could be there for you when you needed someone.

  “I’d better go now,” she went on with a sigh. “I’m sitting here looking at you, sleeping naked over there on the bed all alone, and I want nothing more than to take my clothes off again and join you. You’re gorgeous, by the way, especially when you have absolutely nothing on. To be honest, I’m a little bit scared by the fact that I was so attracted to you when we first met, and I’m a little scared of how much I like you already. I’m not really the type of girl who sleeps with a guy on the first date, so please don’t take this the wrong way when I say that I want to get to know you better before I sleep with you again. I hope you understand. It’s just that, if we’re going to be friends—or maybe something more—I want to do it right.”

  There was a pause, and then, “I really am going now, before I change my mind. I’ll be back at 8:30 to pick up you and Karalyn—I believe that’s her name—for the drive to Gracechurch. That is, unless you’d rather rent a car like you said you would and drive back yourself. I can just meet you at the fire station if that’s the case. Send me a text and let me know. You’ve got my number. Goodbye for now.”

  Chris rewound the recording and listened to it again. He was touched that she’d thought to leave it for him instead of a handwritten note—that she’d thought to leave a message at all when she could have just left without saying anything. It pleased him beyond measure that she didn’t regret being with him, that he had been the first man to make her feel like a woman in years (What the hell is wrong with the men in Billings? he wondered). He felt his face flush when she mentioned his crying, but if he thought about it from an outsider’s point of view, she was right: he’d needed it. He’d watched his crewmates cry yesterday, had watched Tonja and Karalyn and Irene cry—had even witnessed Bob Dresden shedding a few tears, which he understood as they were good friends, and it was Bob’s wife Beth who had introduced Calvin to Irene nearly thirty years ago.

  But he hadn’t cried himself. It simply wasn’t in his nature to show his emotions, a personality trait that was probably left over from his days as a juvenile delinquent. He hadn’t cried in front of his men, hadn’t even when alone with Irene, Tonja, and Karalyn.

  Yet with Martie, he had. With her he had finally let loose some of
the pain he’d kept locked inside since hearing that Calvin was dead. He remembered, all right—he remembered that after making love to her, he’d simply been too damn tired to keep it all inside anymore. He remembered that she had held him, whispering sounds meant to sooth in his ear.

  When her message had ended a second time, Chris shut the recorder off and set it aside. He needed to get dressed and check in on Irene and Kara. Rising, he donned his clothes quickly, finally taking a moment to look at the clock next to the room’s flat-screen T.V.: It was just after seven. He figured now was as good a time as any to rouse the women and get them moving, especially if they had any expectations of breakfast before leaving town.

  Making a last check of the room to make sure he had all his things, Chris shoved his wallet into one pocket, his cell into another, and Martie’s note and voice recorder into a third, briefly wondering as he left his room whether or not she’d let him keep it. He at least hoped he might get a copy of the message before she needed to delete it, as he knew without a doubt he would want to listen to it again and again, just to hear her voice.

  He really loved the sound of her voice.

  Down at Irene and Kara’s room, he knocked firmly but not too loud, given the hour. Unsurprisingly, Irene opened it within a minute.

  “Good morning, Chris,” she said tiredly as she stepped aside.

  He noted that both beds had been slept in, and that Kara was nowhere in sight. It was then that he heard the shower running, telling him where she was.

  “Morning, Irene. Did you and Kara sleep alright?” he asked as he moved to the couch and sat down.