The Complete Firehouse 56 Series

by Chase Jackson

  Her hand slipped away and she slid back down into the water, gliding away from me.

  Fuck me…

  I grunted, pulling myself up from the edge of the pool. I peeled off my shirt and undid the front of my jeans. As soon as I undid the zipper, I felt an immediate sense of relief tingle through my suffocated shaft. I kicked off my jeans, then I jumped straight into the water.

  I crashed through the turquoise waves and I let my body sink all the way to the bottom of the concrete pool. All the way down, I tried to convince myself that this was horrible idea… but reason and logic had gone out the window. All I knew was that I wanted her… and she wanted me too.

  I kicked off the bottom of the pool and surged back to the top, popping through the surface and taking a deep gulp of breath. I opened my eyes and immediately found myself nose-to-nose with Des.

  She was hovering directly in front of me, and before I could think twice I reached forwards and gripped onto her. As I tugged her towards me, her thighs eased apart and wrapped around my waist. I felt the scratch of lace rub against my chest as our bodies latched together.

  Our lips found each other like a pair of magnets. This wasn’t a gentle kiss, like before… this time, it was messy.

  This kiss was wet, desperate, and urgent. We were both gasping and panting as our lips slipped and slid together. I scooped my hand around her waist, cradling her ass and dragging her closer to me. Her hips bucked forward, thrusting against my throbbing rod.

  That thrust was almost more than I could take, and I pulled back. Des immediately pouted.

  “Don’t stop,” she whimpered.

  “Oh, I’m not fucking stopping…” I promised her. Then I gripped her waist and pulled us both towards the edge of the pool. In one swift motion, I had lifted her out of the water and propped her ass on the concrete deck, so that she was sitting in the same spot I had occupied moments earlier.

  She was dripping wet, and her bra and panties were soaked through and clinging to her skin. I could see the rosy-pink outlines of her nipples through the lace bra, and her panties were so damn soaked that they clung to the shape of her mound, forming a perfect outline of her anatomy.

  I wanted to bury my face in those tits until they smothered me… but her pussy needed my attention more. I eased her knees apart and pressed my lips into her inner thigh, kissing my way towards her juicy wet center.

  “Rory!” she gasped, stiffening as I got closer and closer. She reclined backwards, propping herself up on her elbows as her back arched up.

  I sunk my teeth into her inner thigh and bit down gently, sucking in the sensitive flesh until her knees were shaking on either side of me.

  By the time I reached the lace panties, I was desperate to taste her on my tongue. So desperate, that I ripped the flimsy fabric straight off of her. She gasped again, and I opened her legs further apart so that I could see all of her glistening, quivering sex.

  Her plump lips were swollen and oozing with excitement. I spread her slit apart with my fingers and traced around her rim with my thumb. She was tight… and just imagining how her walls would feel around my cock sent a tremor through me.

  I thrust my thumb into her hole and dug my tongue up her slit until I hit her hard clit. It was swollen and pink, like a tiny little raspberry, and when I flicked it with the tip of my tongue her entire body bucked towards me.

  “Rory, I’m--I’m--” she stammered, rocking her head back and forth.

  “Are you close?”

  She nodded her head and whimpered softly, practically begging me to let her finish.

  I had never seen this side of Des before. She had always been so shy, so reserved, so quiet… but now she was writhing on the concrete like a wild animal, and I was the one holding her by the reins.

  Her hands reached up, gripping around her own tits and squeezing through the lace. She moaned softly and her eyes rolled back.

  I buried my head between her soft thighs, and with one swift flick of my tongue her entire body crumbled. She convulsed as the orgasm roared through her body, and she made a sharp cry as her head tilted back and her mouth fell open.

  When it was over, she looked like she was seeing stars. She rocked forward, gasping for breath, and I reached up to steady her.

  “Holy shit,” she murmured.

  “We should probably get back to the apartment,” I whispered, pressing my lips into her stomach.

  “Get back?!” she gasped, glancing down at me. “Bu--but… we… you…” she glanced down at me through the water.

  “We have plenty of time for that,” I said.

  The truth was, I wanted nothing more than to ravage her; to thrust inside of her until we both exploded. But Des was special, and I wanted our first time together to be special, too.

  Not here. Not like this...

  CHAPTER TWENTY | DESIREE

  “Newspeak is the name of a language that is spoken in the dystopian novel titled ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’ by George Orwell. The book is called ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’ because that is the year when it takes place. However, it was actually written by George Orwell in 1949. So it was a book about the future. In the future, George Orwell imagined that people would adapt a new language. The name of that language is Newspeak…’

  I slammed my head against the coffee table, drumming my forehead repeatedly in an attempt to eviscerate the sheer terribleness of what I had just read from my memory.

  In lieu of another pop quiz, I had tasked the students in my first period AP English class with writing a 500-word short essay explaining the significance of Newspeak in George Orwell’s ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four.’

  I figured this would be an easy A for any student that had bothered to pick up the book or flip through the first few chapters. Unfortunately, it was starting to seem like I had overestimated my class once again.

  If the first handful of essays were any indication, it seemed like my students hadn’t even bothered to skim Cliff Notes. I capped my red grading pen with a heavy sigh and stood up from the table. If I was going to make it through the rest of these abysmal essays, I would need wine. Lots of wine.

  Luckily I had picked up a fresh bottle at the grocery store, and when I popped open the fridge I was relieved to see that Kas hadn’t gotten her grubby little hands on it yet.

  I hugged the bottle against my stomach and pulled open the utensil drawer to find a bottle opener.

  I was still rummaging through the drawer when I heard the apartment door open.

  My eyes shot up and I watched my roommate shuffle in. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of oversized black sunglasses, and her frame was obscured in a ginormous sweatshirt that fit her frail frame like a potato sack. She looked terrible… which wasn’t exactly surprising, considering the fact that she wasn’t usually conscious during daylight hours.

  “Kas!” my eyebrows raised up in surprise. “It’s 5 p.m.… what are you doing out of the tomb at this hour?”

  “I had to get my eyelash extensions redone,” she sighed, snapping a piece of bubble gum between her teeth. Then she noticed the bottle of wine and added, “Oooh, pinot greej! Yes please!”

  I didn’t offer, but… ok.

  I sighed as I placed the bottle on the kitchen counter, then popped open a cabinet and grabbed a pair of wine glasses.

  “I’m actually, like, super glad you’re here,” Kas said, thunking her baby pink BCBG flip flops against the floor as she stomped into the kitchen. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Ok,” I said slowly. I kept my eyes on her as I reached for the wine bottle, then wedged the corkscrew through the foil until I stabbed cork. I couldn’t get a read on Kas’ face; between the dark sunglasses and the botox-frozen expression, she was completely devoid of emotion.

  I twisted the corkscrew into the neck of the bottle, then I pried out the cork with a soft pop. I had barely finished pouring wine into the first glass before Kas reached across the counter, grabbed
it by the stem, and yanked it towards her mouth.

  With one giant glug, she polished off the entire glass. My eyes shot wide open, and I blinked at her in horror.

  “Umm… is everything ok, Kas?”

  “More,” she gasped, shoving the wine glass in front of me. “I need more.”

  I frowned. I hadn’t even filled up my own glass, and Kas was already asking for round two?

  Whatever…

  I poured a second serving of wine into her glass, then filled my own.

  “Cheers,” I remarked under my breath as I took a sip.

  “Mmm,” Kas murmured as she swallowed half of her second glass of wine. She thrust the glass down dramatically, then adjusted her black sunglasses.

  “I needed that,” she said. “Thank you, Des.”

  “Umm… sure. Anytime?”

  “I needed that,” she said again, “Because what I’m about to say is very difficult for me, but it needs to be said.”

  She clutched a manicured hand to her chest dramatically and made a heavy, pained sigh.

  “Kas… is everything ok?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I’m fine, I’m fine. But…” she shook her head and raised the wine glass, dumping the entire contents down her throat with one glug.

  I raised the bottle, silently offering a refill, but Kas shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “I just need to say it. I need to rip off the band-aid. That’s what my shrink always tells me. He says, ‘Kas, just find your voice… just be the brave, courageous woman I know you can be!’”

  Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what your shrink says… I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Luckily, Kas didn’t seem to notice.

  She took another deep breath, then she slid off her sunglasses.

  “Desiree, there isn’t an easy way to say this…” she said. “So, I’m just going to say it.”

  “Ok.”

  “You need to move out.’

  “That’s-- wait, what?!”

  “Oh God, I knew this was going to be hard for me to do,” Kas turned away and immediately began fanning her face with her hands. “I can’t cry! I just paid $280 to get these eyelashes, and if I cry, they’ll all fall out!”

  “Kas, I don’t understand,” I stammered, slamming my wine glass down on the counter.

  “Please don’t make this harder on me than it already is,” Kas said, holding up her hand to stop me.

  “Well maybe it would be less hard, if I actually understood what was going on?”

  “I already told you,” she groaned. “I need you to move out. Like, ASAP.”

  “But… we still have six months left on our lease!”

  “My lease,” she snapped. “My name is on the lease.”

  Technically she was right, Kas had found the apartment, then I had found Kas on CraigsList. The lease had been in her name, but I had assumed that it was updated when I moved in...

  “My name is on the lease, too,” I insisted. “You told me that you contacted the landlord and had my name added to the lease agreement.”

  Kas huffed out another sigh and shook her head.

  “I never did that,” she said.

  “But you told me that you--”

  “I lied,” she shrugged.

  “Why would you lie about something like that?!”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe that’s something I should talk about with my shrink…”

  “I can’t believe this,” I murmured, sinking my fingers through my hair and shaking my head.

  “Desiree, I can see that you’re upset,” Kas said in a completely non-empathetic voice. “But really, you should be happy for me.”

  “Happy? For you?!”

  “Yes,” Kas nodded. “This is just a speed bump in the road towards my happiness.”

  “Your… happiness?!”

  “I found love, Desiree,” Kas said. “I met someone and he’s going to be moving in, and--”

  “Wait,” I held up my hands. “You’re kicking me out because of some guy you just met?!”

  “You’re clearly upset,” Kas sighed. “This isn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

  “What were you expecting?! You’re kicking me out of our apartment!”

  “My apartment…” Kas snipped under her breath.

  Unbelievable, I thought to myself, shaking my head. Unbe-fucking-lievable.

  “So… according to Google, I’m technically supposed to give you a thirty-day eviction notice,” Kas said. “But I was kinda hoping that you could, like, having all your stuff out of here within the next week? Stuart wants to start moving his stuff in next weekend--”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not. I will be taking the full thirty days, thank you very much.”

  Kas blinked at me, and for one vengeful second I wished that she would cry, just so her $280 bullshit eyelash extensions would drip off. But she didn’t cry. Instead, she just sighed and reached for my wine glass on the counter.

  “That’s my wine!” I snapped, snatching the wine glass away from her grasp.

  Then, wine glass in hand, I stomped towards the coffee table and plopped myself down to grade the remainder of my essays.

  Suddenly my AP students’ abysmal attempts to describe Newspeak didn’t seem quite so bad...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | RORY

  It was a Friday night and, for the first time since I had moved back to Hartford, I had the apartment all to myself. Charlie had been invited to a slumber party with a few of her new friends from school, and she had already packed up Frozen pajamas and toothbrush into an overnight bag before I even had a chance to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’

  I wasn’t sold on the idea, but after an entire evening of puppy-dog pouts and pleading, I had finally given in.

  Besides… Charlie wasn’t the only one with big plans for Friday night.

  I checked the time on my watch. 6,30 p.m., on the dot. I climbed out of the Challenger and tapped the locks, then I strutted towards Marcy’s Diner.

  As soon as I pushed through the door, I was greeted by the sticky stench of waffle batter and bacon grease. Grease that, most likely, had been caked on the fryer in the kitchen for at least thirty years. And that’s probably a generous approximation.

  A waitress in a retro blue smock was hunched over the hostess station playing Candy Crush on her iPhone, and she didn’t bother glancing up at me when I stepped inside.

  “Sit anywhere,” she said, waving a hand at the room full of empty booths and tables.

  I aimed straight for a booth at the back of the restaurant. It had been over a decade since I had last visited Marcy’s, but that booth hadn’t changed at all, the benches were still covered in faded red vinyl, and the glass orb-shaped light hanging over the table still had a crack running all the way up one side.

  I slid into the booth and made the mistake of resting my elbows on the table, only to discover that they were coated in some sort of sticky residue.

  I guess we’re really getting the full Marcy’s experience tonight…

  The metal chimes on the front door twinkled, and when I glanced up I saw Des stepping into the restaurant.

  She was wearing a little white sundress and a denim jacket. Her black hair was damp and tousled into a messy mane of curls.

  It didn’t matter how many times I saw her… she took my breath away every damn time. And when I thought about the way I’d devoured that sweet pussy in the swimming pool, I felt my cock rise to attention, too.

  Her eyes landed straight on my booth in the back. Well, technically it was our booth. Des and I had a history with Marcy’s Diner… with this booth, in particular.

  “Hey stranger,” she cooed as she sauntered towards me. “You come here often?”

  “That was supposed to be my line,” I grinned back, keeping my eyes locked on her as she ducked down onto the vinyl bench across the booth from me.

  “God, I haven’t been here in year
s,” she said, glancing around the diner. “But somehow, it’s exactly the way I remember it. Isn’t it funny how some things change, and some things stay exactly the same?”

  “I’m starting to realize that, yeah,” I said as I plucked up a pair of laminated menus that were wedged behind a paper napkin dispenser and syrup bottle at the edge of table.

  “A menu?” Des raised her eyebrows. “You mean… we’re not ordering the usual?”

  “Good point,” I conceded, dropping the menus back behind the napkin holder. “Double order of cheesy fries and a chocolate malt?”

  “Two straws,” Des grinned. Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink and she pressed her lips together to stop herself from smiling.

  “It’s ok to smile sometimes, you know,” I teased. “Especially when it’s a good smile, like yours.”

  Des bit down harder on her lips and her dimples popped in.

  “Ditto,” she said. Then she nodded at my Sisters of Mercy t-shirt and added, “Mr. Always-Wearing-Black.”

  I let myself smile at that, then I stood up from the booth and walked to the bar to place our order. When I got back to the table I slid into the vinyl seat and grinned at Des, stroking my chin through my beard.

  “So… what do you remember most about this place?” I asked.

  “What do I remember most?” she repeated thoughtfully as she gazed around the old diner. Then her face got serious, and she lowered her eyes to stare at the sticky tabletop.

  “I remember that night,” she said. “The night I found my mom.”

  I didn’t say anything. I just listened, hands folded on the table in front of me.

  “We were in middle school,” she said. “It was winter time, and I had spent an entire week using the computers in the school library tracking down the phone number and address of every single person with my mother’s name in the United States…”

  From the diner’s kitchen, I could hear the bubbling hiss of fryer grease and a blender whirring, but other than that the restaurant was totally silent. It was just the two of us; just Des and I.

  “I wanted to call each and every one of them, until I found her,” Des continued, “But I couldn’t use the phone at my dad’s house. I knew he’d figure it out once he saw the phone bill… so I decided to use a payphone. And the only payphone in town…”