Hook & Ladder 69: Eighteen Authors...One Sexy Firehouse.

by Anthology

  “Don’t.” Luckily, my reputation proceeds me so one word is all it takes, and they go back to scrubbing.

  Asher steps out of the spray and whistles as Ritter pulls up in a navy blue sedan the next second. Nervously, I cross in front of her car as more of the crew joins in, whistling and making cat calls. Climbing in the passenger side I start to apologize for my brothers, but Ritter holds up a finger to silence me. Her phone cradled on her shoulder, she whispers, “It’s my boss.”

  The drive is short and silent as I listen to their very one sided conversation. Ritter doesn’t hang up until we arrive at the burned out building. I get out of the car feeling like an idiot for thinking this would be anything but a business call but make an effort not to slam her door.

  Closing her car door just as carefully, she sighs and speaks softly, “Sorry, I forgot I had a conference call.” Then she smiles at me, big—something I’ve never seen before, erasing that unwelcome feeling from a moment ago, making me hope again there’s something more brewing between us. Her eyes scan me like she’s checking if I wore street clothes. Ritter’s still in her skirt and heels from earlier. She catches me looking. I glance away as naturally as possible and for the first time notice she’s parked far away from the building she wants to inspect.

  I ask something I’ve been holding in. “What are we doing here?”

  “I told you. I have a warrant.”

  “And you need my help?”

  “I need someone’s help,” she says simply and starts to the building. I follow her, watching her walk carefully on the gravel. Damn, it’s sexy and amazing that she can do her job in those 4 inch heels. Not being able to peel my eyes from her moving in front of me, I realize she’s staying in the shadows. Ritter is creeping along, and I fall in line briefly until she suddenly hunches down.

  Something’s up.

  Purposely, I step far out into the fading sunlight.

  She dashes behind the bushes and reaches out to pull me in to join her. Shoulder to shoulder, we’re so close all I’d need to do is turn around. I imagine taking her lower lip between my teeth.

  “Look, Jones, you’ve got me. We aren’t supposed to be here,” Ritter murmurs.

  I try to keep my voice quiet too. “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been told to drop this.”

  “So, why are you involving me?” That came out wrong. I instantly regret it.

  Her course tone deepens my regret. “I need some help. The captain would understand, but he was out. Are you coming or not?”

  “Of course I’ll help you,” I say, my voice holding much more than necessary.

  Silence hangs between us until she steps out of the bushes. We sneak to the front door of the vacant building, the one right beside the one that’s completely destroyed. The door’s unlocked, I see as she pushes it open just wide enough for us to slip in. A musky odor hits me right away as I watch dust dance in the streams of sunlight coming in, our only light source. Quietly, I trail Ritter to an interior door. She tries it but it’s locked.

  Turning around, she almost bumps into me. We’re so close I can smell her hair, hints of vanilla instead of mildew.

  “I could shoot the lock off,” she whispers, reminding me she’s armed. “But I think that would give us away.”

  I get what she’s putting down and oblige. Nodding my head to the side, I direct her to step back. I ram my shoulder into the door. I know the right spot. It opens easily.

  “How can you even do that?” she’s amazed.

  I chuckle. “Don’t you detectives do it all the time?”

  “Only on t.v… Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Nah, I was a linebacker in college.” I hold the broken door open for her.

  She passes by me, asking, “Alma mater?”

  “MSU, Missouri State University.” I don’t tell her I didn’t finish my degree. It’s a long story.

  Ritter keeps talking, though quietly, as she slinks around, inspecting the room. “In Springfield? What brought you to St. Louis?”

  I keep by the door with my arms crossed and scan the room with my eyes. “Family’s here. I’m from East St. Louis originally. Family moved across the river when I was in high school. How about you?”

  “My family’s here too. I went to Northwestern, in Illinois. Seems like ages ago.” She’s back in front of me, leaving the room.

  “Tell me about it,” I joke, secretly pleased. She’s probably closer to my age than I imagined. Never can tell a woman’s age these days and you don’t dare ask.

  Ritter steps back out into the hall and studies the busted door. “So, this is why they call you Hammer?”

  “Well…”

  “It’s not?” She’s interested now.

  “You want the truth?”

  Her face lights up with curiosity. “Of course.”

  I’m hesitant but reveal, “I’ve had the nickname since grade school, way before football.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Go on…”

  “You remember hammer pants?”

  She covers her mouth, trying not to laugh as she got it. Yeah, she’s not too young.

  I shrugged. “What can I say. I was one stylish little kid back in the ‘90’s, but don’t tell the boys at the firehouse. They think it’s because of that,” I say, pointing at the splintered wood.

  We make it to another door and again, I have to force entry.

  Behind it sits a man.

  “You!” Ritter screams.

  The man runs off.

  Gun suddenly in her hand, she takes off after him. I shadow her as she chases the man through several rooms and another door. I lose them for a moment before I discover them heading down the stairs to the basement. I practically tumble down the stairs after them with a million thoughts in my mind. A fire, I know, and it’s not like we don’t encounter criminals on our calls, but I’m not armed. Ritter is, but what worries me is whether the guy she’s chasing is armed too.

  Stepping into the basement, I’m blind. It’s much darker in here, and I’m unsure which way they went until I see Ritter’s flashlight illuminate the man. He’s escaping through the high window. My eyes adjusting now, I see her. Taking off her heels, she starts to climb the wall to go after him. I’m over in a flash to stop her from putting herself in anymore danger. I pull her down into my arms.

  Fighting, she screeches, “What the hell are you doing? He’s getting away.”

  I pin her in my arms. “How are you so sure this is your firebug and not just some scared homeless man?”

  “There’s been two. Two fucking fires in my jurisdiction in which a man was burned to death in a vacant home, in this case an apartment building. And the guy who you just let get away was spotted at both scenes.”

  I back off. She’s a cop for God’s sake. Holding up my hands, I say a heartfelt, “Sorry.”

  Exhaling, she’s clearly angry, but holsters her gun. Ritter straightens herself, running her hands over her clothes, seemingly calming down during the process. Her voice is composed. “No need to apologize. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

  “Why are we here again?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “Evidence. Someone doesn’t want this arson properly investigated. That’s bigger than that man who just got away.”

  “You think it’s someone on the force?”

  By the little bit of light coming in through the high basement windows and her Maglite shining from its spot on the ground, I see her shrug. Though, the look on her face says there’s more to the story than she’s offering.

  “Fuck!” Ritter belts, jumping up and down.

  I go to her again as she hops up on the table behind her.

  “What is it?” I ask in a panic.

  “I’ve got a fu… frigging splinter,” she grumbles.

  I bend to get the flashlight and shine it as she brings up her bare foot to tug the splinter out. She blows the hair out of her face when she’s finished.
Her breath hits me. It’s sweet like a mint. We are face to face again but this time I don’t back off. Ritter, Jessica glances at me through lowered lashes and this time she doesn’t blink.

  But she’s seems to be all business. “What do you know about arson, Jones?”

  My brain is mush. I don’t want to think about my training. My thoughts are much simpler and I say, “It can be motivated by anything.”

  Her eyes narrow. “So, what’s motivating this man?”

  “Profit, cover-up, revenge, anger…” I ramble offhand as I lean in even closer until our noses are almost touching.

  She doesn’t pull back. “What about thrill?” she asks, closing her eyes. The corners of her mouth rise into a tiny but sexy smile.

  “What kind of thrill?”

  “Sexual,” she breathes.

  Ignition...

  Adrenaline pumps through me as I instantaneously develop a rock hard erection, but my knees knock as I wonder if I should go in. I inhale the smell of ash and mildew, taking in her mild perfume under it all, something sweet amongst the unpleasant.

  Her eyes fly open, two blue lanterns in the dark. “You don’t think fire is sexy?”

  “Fire?” I close the small gap and kiss her but just barely. “We need it,” I mutter with my lips against hers. “Enjoy it,” I go on before I endeavor to deepen our kiss. When I run my tongue across her mouth, she relaxes, letting me in for a flick. I pull back and add, “We think we can control it.” I kiss her again, harder now, coiling my tongue with hers. Reaching around in the dark, up her skirt, I clutch her upper thighs in my hands.

  She breaks our kiss and our eyes lock again. Her chest rises and falls. We’re both breathing heavy. Ritter’s voice is soft, vulnerable. “Next thing you know it becomes bigger than you can imagine.” Slipping her arms around my neck, she lures me back into a heated kiss. At the same time, she surges forward to rub herself against my erection.

  Combustion, baby.

  My hands travel further up her skirt to seize her round backside but not without noting where her gun is holstered, like an armed tramp stamp.

  Gripping her ass cheeks, I heave her even harder against me. She sucks on my tongue, the incredible sensuality of it stokes my fire. Before long I’m laying frenzied kisses down the soft skin of her neck and my big fingers are fumbling hastily with the tiny buttons of her blouse.

  Fuck it.

  I yank her shirt open, breaking off a few buttons. She gasps and I spy her next expression in the near dark—hungry. She lays her hands on the front of my shirt before gripping the fabric in her fists and ripping, popping my buttons off too. Her soft hands weave in to my open shirt and around as she runs her palms along my bare skin, over the ridges of my muscles, my chest and my six pack abs.

  Oh, God. Her touch feels unbelievable.

  I tear her blouse off her shoulders and next her bra straps one by one, slower but eager still. After a little help from her with the hampering contraption, she sits before me topless, her pale skin brilliant against the dark. I spot something else with her chest exposed. The scant light glints off a gold necklace and tiny cross hanging low between her breasts. I glance down at her breasts far too long before I take them in my hands. I close my eyes. Heavy, soft, warm—I’m reduced to internal grunts.

  Ritter melts into my hold as I run my thumbs across her nipples, feeling them respond until they are stiff peaks. I lean down and suck one into my mouth. Her arms go around me, and she scratches at my back as I bite down gently. She yips and groans.

  Fuck, I can’t take much more.

  Her titty still in my mouth, I lift up her skirt and stick my thumbs in the sides of her panties. Somehow, we get them down in one piece though I don’t know where they go. I undo my belt, sling it off and unbutton my pants.

  “I can’t,” she pants.

  Rising up, I see her eyes are serious. “Okay.” I step back.

  Ritter grabs ahold of my arms before I can go too far and explains, her voice pleading “I’ve made the mistake of sleeping with someone right away before… I don’t want to make it again. But I don’t want you to go.”

  Her words give me license to lean back into her. My hand treads up her open thighs and finds her soft hair and wet pussy. Trapped in my pants, my dick throbs as I rub around, finding the ball of her flesh, her tight slit and then the right spot to punch my finger in. I go slow, making the most of inching into her even if it isn’t my cock. She makes a noise of appreciation when I’m all in, urging me on. I bring my thumb to the party, applying pressure to her clit as I pump my finger in and out of her until she’s dripping wet. I add another finger. All the while, I watch her face turn sultry.

  My dick, no longer able to be pressed against her, is about to explode. Lucky for me, she reaches down into my open jeans. Her soft hand delicately tries to wrap around my big cock before she seizes it with a confident force that causes me to sigh in gratitude. I can tell the moment she feels how big it is because her breathing stops. I take the opportunity to grab hold of her lips, nibbling that plump bottom one first. As we kiss, she pumps, skillfully—and it’s too much—the tug of her grip—the light scrapes of her nails. I thrust my hand, my fingers slamming into her pussy just to come out again, even wetter. I repeat, just like I long to fuck her. Adding a third finger, I imagine her taking my big dick. I think about plunging my blade into her over and over as I fuck her with my hand. Our kiss becomes messier, erratic as we both come. Trembling, she buries her face in my neck. I wrap my arms around her and hold her for a long while.

  Later, Ritter drops me off at home since my shift is over. She parks right in front of my apartment building, under the street lamp. Unlike in the dark of the basement, we can see each other clearly. We look like we’ve been in a fight, our shirts ripped open and barely staying closed. Her hair is a frizzled mess, but her face is positively glowing.

  “You want to come up?” I ask casually. It’s not like I’m looking for an encore. I just want to be near her.

  “Maybe another time,” she declines politely, dashing my hopes.

  No, I’m not going to let this one get away. I find the courage. “I’m off tomorrow night, go on a real date with me?”

  She thinks a moment. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m off too.” She pauses too long.

  I wait. I’m holding my breath.

  “Okay,” she finally accepts, a hint of happiness in her voice. “But after you go back to the Himmler building with me.”

  My brow creases.

  “I still need some evidence,” she responds like it’s nothing.

  “Alright.” I don’t sound too thrilled.

  She puts her hand over mine. “It’s a date.”

  I look at our hands together. “I get the feeling you’re just using me to break down doors and let bad guys get away,” I joke, trying to make light of what’s happening here.

  Ritter calls my bluff and leans over to kiss me. Grabbing the collar of my shirt, she forcefully tugs me to her.

  Our kisses are just as passionate as before.

  I walk into my apartment on cloud nine—so happy, I call my sis for my earful.

  Iesha answers on the first ring. “Ian, you motherfucker, you’re supposed to give me away at my wedding. It’s next week and you can’t call me back? Momma and Daddy are rolling in their graves right about now.”

  “I’ll be there. I’m taking the day off. I promise.”

  “I know all about your promises to be here. You missed your fitting.”

  “No, I mean it this time.”

  “What about the rehearsal dinner and the rehearsal. You gonna’ be there too?”

  “I’ll take my vacation time. I’ll take the week off. I’ll be there.”

  “You gonna’ bring a date?”

  Jessica firmly on my mind, the taste of her on my lips, her scent on my fingers, still, I really mean my next words, “Yes, yes, I hope to.”

  Chapter 14

  Burnt Sugar by Emerson Shaw

 
I am a firefighter. It’s in my blood to walk into the belly of the beast and scream “game on.” The first whiff of smoke flicks a switch in my brain, and I’m wired to fight the angry monster and rescue those from its bite. Having it rage around me and know I’m going to be the man to tame it, pumps my blood. I love everything about it.

  That wasn’t how today had gone, though.

  The guys and I had returned from a standard run: cat rescue. Hold your snickering. It happens, and I’m sucker enough to climb up the ladder and get them down every time. I love all creatures furry and small. The guys have given me a colorful nickname because of it, but I don’t care, others have been called worse.

  I peeled out of my gear, all forty-five pounds of it, thanks to a slight miscommunication from dispatch. Cat rescues don’t normally require fire retardant clothing. A sturdy pair of gloves, yes. Fire retardant clothes, no. But on a day like this, whether I wore full gear or the standard uniform, I would be drenched in sweat within seconds of stepping into the heat anyway.

  Ash Flaugherty, a third generation firefighter and my best friend, backed the truck into the garage, and the other guys went through the standard check list after returning from a run. I, however, was officially off duty after working a forty-eight hour shift. I was headed into the city to see what kind of trouble I could scare up, which knowing me, wouldn’t be much. I’m a low-key kind of a guy.

  Oz came up behind me and slapped my shoulder. “Where you headed tonight, McKitty? Gonna see if any more pussies need to be rescued?”

  Subtleties weren’t Oz’s thing. In fact, I’m not sure he knew the meaning of the word. He was rude and usually offensive, but for some unknown reason women lined up outside his door. All right, it might not be completely unknown. He has these deep dimples and electric blue eyes women bend over backwards for, and that isn’t a metaphor.