“Let’s.” She led him into his bedroom, and before he could kiss her, she pushed him backward so his knees connected with the mattress and he sat on his bed.
He hadn’t closed the blinds, so the room was awash with the glow from the streetlamps below. She leaned down to kiss him, and Joe shut his eyes and ceded control … for now. He let her kiss him, let her explore his mouth, and let her mate her tongue to his.
He moved his arm to reach for her, but she blocked his efforts and instead slid her lips down his neck. Her kisses on the sensitive skin of his neck created sweet torture. Then her hands grabbed for the polo waistband and up and off his shirt went, and he sat there with a bulge in his slacks and she stroked his entire hair-covered chest, and where her fingers weren’t, her lips were.
Then her fingers found the belt buckle, and he resisted the urge to grab her hand and make her stop. He’d always been the one to direct foreplay, but he wanted this. Wanted to see what she’d do. His desire to trust conflicted with his controlling nature, so he let her have free reign. The rasp of the zipper going down had him sucking in a fast inhale, and her hand reaching into his boxers had him gasping for air. She was kryptonite. As she circled him and ran a thumb over his wet tip, resistance became futile. He’d let her do anything she wanted.
He kicked off his dress shoes, lifted his hips so she could remove his pants. She slid the garment to his knees, meaning most of his scars were still hidden. She cupped his sac and then she trailed tickling fingers down his inner thighs, down legs he widened to allow better access. She dropped to her knees before him, and he scooted to the edge of the mattress as she brought him into her mouth.
The air whooshed from his lungs as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him. So sweet. His need balled into a fist as she circled him with her tongue as if he were a delicious sugar treat. He held back, wanting, craving to thrust. “Must stop …” he said, words jagged.
“No,” she told him, her fingers making patterns on his inner thigh. Another hand cupped his balls, massaged, and his lower back arched as he couldn’t resist any longer and spilled himself in shattering release.
Taylor’s mouth kissed him through all of it, and he fell onto his back, spent. “Holy shit” was all he could say as his heart rate tried to recover from being shot to the stratosphere.
As he lay there, he’d never felt so vulnerable. He held himself still as she removed the rest of his clothes, exposing his skin. His breath hitched—waiting for the rejection or revulsion that didn’t come. He made himself trust, began to relax as she touched her way down his calves, caressing the scars and the skin that lacked sensitivity. He pushed onto his elbows and then up to a seated position. Croaked out her name, “Taylor.”
Her gaze locked onto his, held it without wavering as she rolled down the second sock and tossed it aside. Their eyes held as she kissed the inside of his calf, and Joe felt a tear threaten and bit his lip. Something inside him shifted. Cracked. She’d stripped him to his birthday suit, albeit now older and damaged, damage he knew she could see in the diluted light. She’d torn down every one of his walls. Before her, he was as open as day.
Normally he liked any sex pitch black, but that would mean he couldn’t see Taylor, whose expression held something he’d never seen on any woman’s face before. He fought back the worry and watched as she took a sip of the beer she’d brought in. “My turn,” she said.
Then standing in front of him, she swayed her hips to silent music, crossed her arms in front of her and peeled off her shirt. He would never look at pink and black stripes the same way again. The push-up made globes of her breasts and its lacy edges hinted at her areolae. He began to move, but she shook her head, so he stayed put and enjoyed the shimmy as she stripped off the black jeans until she wore only the sexy bra and matching thong.
He hardened, not embarrassed to let her see how hot and ready he was again. She took a fingertip and drew a line down his shaft. With that, he moved. Took control back. He stood, drew her to him and crushed his mouth onto hers until he’d made her limp like a cooked noodle. He then threw back his comforter, flipped her into his arms, and placed her onto another one of his indulgences—six-hundred-count sheets as soft as butter.
Kissing her was heaven, and it was his turn to once again sample her body. This time instead of his fingers, he placed his mouth at her core and drank her sweet essence, nectar he’d sampled from his finger after he’d left her house. He hadn’t been able to help himself. Now he slid his palms under her and lifted her to his lips and drank, drawing out wave after wave as she quaked and shattered. He drew back, placed two fingers against her slit to give her another shockwave. Her fingers had gripped the sheets, and he put the heel of one hand to her mound and then replaced his mouth with two fingers from his other hand, which he slid in and out until she came again.
Then he reached into the nightstand for a condom, from an unused box he’d had for what seemed like forever, and parting her legs, slid home.
As he entered her, Taylor’s only cognizant thought was “Finally.”
She wiggled to allow him deeper access, thrust her hands into that gorgeous, tempting hair. She clutched the strands, stroking both his head and his upper back as he went up on his elbows so he could push deep. His eyes had turned to a fathomless, deep blue gray, and she stared into them as she met him thrust for delicious thrust. His largeness stretched her, but her body accommodated and trembled as he rocked her world to another earthshaking orgasm, one whose heights were like nothing she’d experienced before. She clung to him, the intimate act sealing her fate. He’d claimed her, made her his.
Afterwards, they lay intertwined, and she could feel the scarred skin she’d touched earlier against her. She faced him and his hand found her breast and brought her nipple to a straining peak. He kissed her lips. “Good?” he asked between kisses.
“Great,” she said. “You fulfilled your promise.”
He slid a hand between her legs and circled, taking her wetness and making her even slicker. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Chapter Ten
An exhausted Joe rolled into the firehouse at seven a.m. He’d had very little sleep.
Not that he minded. When he kissed her good-bye for the third time, this one out in the parking lot, he’d had no regrets. Neither had she.
They hadn’t made any specific plans except to touch base sometime Tuesday about the next few photo shoots. As he worked the next weekend, he would be out of the loop.
“Lieutenant, congrats! We heard you won.” Reid greeted as Joe entered the locker room. They all went on shift at the same time.
“I like how none of you losers bothered to show,” Joe replied, hanging up his personal clothes. He was already in his blue pants and shirt. Given the hot June day, most of his guys were in regulation shorts.
“We’ll be there at Guns ’N Hoses,” Chris promised. “Have we missed that yet?”
“No,” Joe conceded, shutting the locker.
Kyle tilted his head. “You look different.”
“You would too if you went three rounds last night.”
Kyle shook his head. “No, that’s not it. You’ve got bags under your eyes.”
“I do not.”
“Yeah, you do. You either had a wicked case of insomnia or you got laid. Since that last one’s not possible …” Kyle’s eyes widened, and Joe knew he’d somehow given himself away. “You got laid.”
“What?” Reid whipped around. “You got some?”
Chris peered closer. “Yeah, you can tell he did. Who was she?”
“It’s the photographer. Has to be,” Reid said. “I knew you liked her. Spill the details.”
“As if,” Joe retorted.
“We were getting worried about you. Did you give her the pink panties?”
“Hell no.” Joe planted his hands on his hips, the memory of the little black and pink thong making his cheeks heat as part of him stirred. He better get them all moving before he em
barrassed himself. “Don’t you all have work to do?”
“We’re still transitioning.”
Joe knew that. While they technically weren’t on the truck until eight a.m., the first hour was used for meetings, acclimation and checking equipment. Until eight, the previous crew was still on call.
“Was it good?”
The question of manhood demanded he answer. “It was great. Now get the hell out of here.”
“Our lieutenant’s in love.” Reid gave a whistle. “Hell is freezing over.”
“Ha-ha. Keep it up and you’ll be on bathroom duty for a month,” Joe threatened.
“Enjoy it while you can. You marry them, and it tapers off when the kids come,” Chris said. “Not that that’s going to happen to me.”
“The man’s engaged and thinks he’s an expert. And no one said anything about marriage.”
“But you know she’s thinking it,” Reid said. “All women do. Except maybe your sister Elaina.”
“You better not be having sex with my sister.”
Reid backpedalled. “No. No. Of course not.”
Uncertain, Joe rolled his eyes and strode toward the office that would be his for the next two days. He pulled out his cell and checked. Nothing. He’d told her to text him if she needed anything. Of course that had been hardly an hour ago. So why was he checking like some giddy high school boy?
“Joe.”
He paused. His boss was in the stationhouse and stood there with Lieutenant Mike Dexter, whose shift Joe was about to replace. “Hey, chief. Dex. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to say good job last night,” the chief said. “Thought he might have had you for a minute there, but you pulled it out.”
“Had it all the time,” Joe said.
“Glad to hear it. We’re counting on you in November. Want to keep the title. Feel free to rest up today if you’re not busy. You look like it was a long night.”
“Thanks.” It had been a long and delicious night, one Joe couldn’t wait to repeat.
* * *
Taylor’s meeting with her applied project chair started at two, and amazingly she was running on time. She’d left Joe’s around six a.m., gone home and straight back to bed, this time for much needed sleep, sleep she’d gotten in short snatches before Joe had woken her up and taken her all over again before he’d had to leave for work.
Her body felt delightfully sore in all the right places, and she had that eternal optimism that comes after being warm and cherished and held tenderly.
She kept that optimistic buzz until the end of her presentation, when her professor told her, “I’m just not feeling this. What you’ve proposed doesn’t push the envelope. Yes, it’s a photo story like you’d see in New York Times. But your goal was to make more of a personal connection. I’m not feeling that level of emotion.”
She stood in front of the projector screen, the large image of Susie behind her. “But that’s what this book is about.”
He shook his head, took off his wire rim glasses, and wiped off some lint. “No, it’s about healing. It’s about humanity. While these are multiple subjects celebrating their lives, I’m thinking that it might be better for you to focus on one person and show a character arc. Connect us to this little girl, for instance. Go behind her daily life.”
“She’s in Maine for the summer.”
He shrugged. “Then pick someone else. For instance, who is the one behind the book? Whose idea was it?”
“Joe. He’s a firefighter. He’s her brother.”
“I take it he’s burned?”
She sucked in a breath. “How did you know?”
“Educated guess. As a media communications professional, we study people. That’s part of our job, as we are reporting on their lives. We choose what to reveal and what to hide. Show me pictures of Joe. Surely you have some.”
“Yes, but not of his burns. I haven’t gotten to him yet.”
“Why not?” He drummed his fingers nonstop, that annoying habit she hated but had to tolerate. She reminded herself that her professor had come in on a Sunday since she had work all the rest of the week and since he’d been out of town. “Surely you have others of him.”
“I do, but—”
“Show me.” His tone brooked no argument.
So Taylor clicked on a folder and brought up the family shots. Her professor said nothing as she ran through them and, worried about his silence, she opened another folder and showed him the untouched photos of Joe boxing. “I took these last night, so I haven’t done anything to them yet.”
The photos were in the order she’d taken them, so there was Joe in quiet contemplation in the locker room lacing and unlacing. Then she had him in the ring, right down to the primal victory scream.
“This man is your subject.”
“My subject.”
“Yes, him and no one else. You’ve captured who he is, but you’ve only begun to scratch the surface. How was he burned?”
“Grass fire when he was twelve.”
“And his sister was in the middle of it?”
Her professor was perceptive. “Yes. He went in to save her.”
“How did the fire start?”
“I don’t know.”
Her professor tapped a pen against the wood conference table. “Find out. There’s a story there or he wouldn’t be doing all this.”
“He couldn’t save her in time and she was injured. It’s why he’s a firefighter today.”
Her professor rose to his feet so he stood even with her. “Taylor, this is your subject. A series of ten to twenty portraits that reveal the inner workings of this man. He’s clearly a family guy, but he also has a Neanderthal need to climb into the ring and pummel some other guy senseless. This is your project, and it’s one I can easily approve, which would allow you to get your diploma—should you deliver it to me within the next three weeks before summer session ends. You do want to graduate, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then get him to let you photograph his burns. You’ll need that one special cornerstone shot that lets me see inside his soul. The rest are up to you, so long as you reveal who he is.” He pointed to the shot of Joe screaming with victory. “That’s a great picture. I’ll look forward to seeing the rest. E-mail me when you’re ready. And, no promises, but be good enough and you might still make the juried exhibition.”
With that, he left. Taylor fell into one of the leather conference chairs with a hard thump. She leaned back, swiveled, and stared up at Joe’s picture. All her previous bouncy energy evaporated. Take Joe’s photos.
The man couldn’t even go into the boxing ring without being covered up. He’d left her mother’s house that first day rather than reveal he’d been burned, something she’d have discovered the moment he took off his pants. Joe Marino was a complicated man. She might have broken down a huge barrier last night, but she knew she still had far more walls to tear down, and if she told him about this, he’d reinforce all the ones still standing. Susie wanted him in the book, but even she’d abdicated the problem of Joe’s agreement to Taylor.
“Private” described Joe perfectly. She remembered his words “No choice,” words she’d mocked. She realized he wouldn’t be Mr. September if some higher up hadn’t chosen him and given him an ultimatum.
He hid vulnerability beneath that tough guy exterior and cheeky, charming attitude.
She closed the screen on her laptop so the excited figure on the screen vanished into black. She had to graduate. There was no way she could afford another semester. She had no other options.
Joe Marino was now her applied project.
Chapter Eleven
“So you made Joe your project?” Marci blinked in disbelief as Taylor carried over two glasses of water. “Are you crazy?”
“I don’t have a choice,” Taylor protested, passing over a glass. Neither had wanted alcohol tonight. Taylor sighed. She hadn’t planned on telling Marci about Joe, but the secret had slipped out. Marci
was her best friend. Had been there through thick and thin. She knew she could trust her with the moral quandary Taylor now found herself in.
Marci, not even in the apartment a full ten minutes before Taylor had blurted out the truth, made herself comfortable by kicking her feet up onto Taylor’s coffee table. The AC wasn’t doing a good job, and Taylor made a mental note to call the landlord. The window unit probably needed to be replaced, or at least recharged.
“You know he’s not going to go for it. What am I going to do? I have to graduate.” Taylor paced. “I haven’t even asked him to pose for me. He’s not going to agree.”
After her meeting with her professor, she’d been processing images of Joe all day until Marci had popped by and distracted her. They’d even ordered pizza, which was on the way. “Joe likes to help people. Surely he’ll do this one thing for me.” Taylor spoke aloud, as if that would help make Joe agree.
“True.” Marci nodded. Drank more water. Talked while Taylor paced. “Thanks for asking me to go last night. It was a good match. I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun. Thad and I went out dancing afterwards.”
“Clearly he got you home safe and sound,” Taylor replied, grateful Marci had temporarily distracted her from her dilemma.
Marci drained the glass, leaned back. “I don’t know how safe it was, but he was sound all right.”
“Marci. You didn’t.”
Marci shook her head. Fanned herself. “No, we just had a great make out session in his car and I sent him on his way. The sun was coming up. I’d prefer my neighbors not see me in a car that early in the morning. God knows what they already think of me.”
Taylor arched her eyebrows.
“Seriously,” Marci returned with an exasperated sigh. “No shaking of the peaches or playing with the sausage because I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. But believe me, I wanted to. It was hard to say no to asking him up, or just having sex in a Porsche, but I did … say no, that is. A damn convertible Porsche. Anyway, he says he’ll call, but they all say that.”
Taylor tried to encourage her friend. “Perhaps this time will be different.”
Burning for You Page 14