Blaze: A Fireman Romance (Hard n' Dirty Book 4)

by Renee Rose

Neither of those motivations would be reason to vilify Blaze, though, would they? They show he cares.

  He cared enough to pull strings and make arrangements for me.

  He shouldn’t have done it without asking, but he did act with my best interest in mind.

  Tears pop into my eyes again and I blink them back. “Yeah, he’s a good guy,” I manage to say, probably not pulling off casual as well as I hope.

  Blaze is a good guy. He’s a great guy.

  And I probably owe him a chance to explain himself. I’ll send him a text when I head home to open the door for a talk.

  Blaze

  I wait outside Lia’s apartment for ninety minutes before I see someone approach. I’m not sure if it’s lucky or unlucky that I recognize the guy. He’s the geeky neighbor who asked if she was okay that night I left the door open.

  “Excuse me—hang on!” I call out, jogging up to him.

  He flinches and throws me a suspicious look over his shoulder, but the flowers catch his eye and he stops. “Hey, you live next to Lia, right?” I speak fast before he pushes in and leaves me with my dick hanging in the wind. “Today’s her birthday and I wanted to leave this for her. Could you let me up? Or will you leave these in front of her door for me?”

  He gives me another guarded sweep of his eyes, but snatches the vase with the giant bundle of flame-colored flowers from my hand.

  “This too.” I thrust an envelope forward. It’s my apology and the outline of how I hope to fix the situation.

  The neighbor gives it a mistrustful glance, and I draw up just a bit, using my size now to intimidate him. He grabs it and pushes in.

  “Thanks, man!” I call after him and return to my park bench where I can keep an eye out for Lia’s return. I’ve never felt more like a stalker. I think about leaving about twenty times. But it’s too late now—the note went upstairs. She’ll be looking out her window. If she reads it.

  I guess the chance of her chucking it straight in the wastebasket is medium to high.

  When I finally see her approach, my chest cinches up tight. There’s no spring in her step. Her youthful face appears older, and tired. Dark circles are under her eyes.

  Shit. I did this to her.

  I don’t get off the bench until she’s inside. I’m not going to force my presence on her until she’s ready to talk. I need to give her space. But I also need her to know I’m going to do everything in my power to make things right.

  I pick up the paper bag of lighter fluid beside me and get to work.

  It’s showtime.

  Lia

  When I get to my door, I find a giant vase of flowers propped against my door. The flowers are spectacular—like nothing I’ve ever seen. Brilliant flame-orange tiger lilies mixed with blood-red roses.

  It’s a fire bouquet. The flowers you give to a pyro.

  My foolish heart picks up speed, thrilled to be honored this way. I pick them up and find a long envelope behind with my name scrawled on the front in block letters. I open the door and stumble in, setting the flowers down to tear open the envelope.

  Lia,

  You were never a project to me. You were (are) the brightest thing to come into my life in a long time. Maybe ever. I think we had (have) something special together, and I sure as hell am going to do everything in my power to get it back.

  I’m so fucking sorry I tried to dick with your life without talking to you first. I never should’ve presumed that way. I understand now that I took the dynamic we have in the bedroom and applied it to real life and that was wrong and offensive.

  I want you to know that I put you back on the schedule starting tomorrow, and I got myself transferred to another station, so you don’t have to worry about anything being awkward when you go back to work.

  That doesn’t mean I don’t want to work this thing out with you—I definitely do. I’m going to do everything I can to prove how much I respect you as a person, a firefighter and the woman who turned my world on its head in bed.

  But I know I tend to move too fast and smother, so I want to give you space and time. That’s why I’m saying this in a letter and not crowding you in person.

  Lastly, I want to say I don’t need to fix you. There’s nothing wrong—you’re perfect as you are. In fact, I want to honor and love everything you love—including fire.

  Please look out your bedroom window.

  My breath sucks in and I’m already running to my bedroom and pulling open the shade.

  I spot Blaze below, standing in the middle of the street, facing my window. As soon as he sees me, he strikes a match and drops it into the street.

  I cover my mouth with my hand, choking on a cry.

  There, in the middle of the dark, empty road, is a fire. Not just any fire—flaming words: I [giant heart] U Lia.

  My vision blurs as I watch the flames curl and lick and then die out.

  Blaze holds up a finger. Uses a bottle of lighter fluid to write something else and throws another match down.

  Sorry, it says.

  “Hey you!” One of my downstairs neighbors leans out her window. I can hear everything through the single glass pane windows in this old building. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m calling the cops!”

  I throw my window open. “It’s okay!” I open my window and yell down. “He’s with the FDNY. He can put it out.”

  Blaze straightens and pulls the hem of his FDNY shirt down to display the big white logo scrawled across his massive chest. Then he turns back to me and holds up his finger one more time.

  He writes again. This time:

  Happy Birthday.

  I pull my head back out of the window because I don’t want him to see me cry. Somehow this has turned into the worst and best birthday of my life.

  When the flames extinguish, all he does is lift a hand in my direction and walk away.

  He meant it about giving me space.

  I can’t help but notice the gaping hole left in my chest cavity where my heart used to be. Space from Blaze feels all wrong.

  So does working at the station without him.

  I hate his solution.

  I shut my window but stay there, forehead pressed against the glass, remembering the beautiful flames shaping my name.

  He loves me.

  He said so.

  And how could I not believe it? He’s willing to leave his station and his crew.

  For me.

  And he’s not making my pyromania wrong—he gave me gifts of fire. I laugh, suddenly realizing how fabulous it is for a fire-junkie like me to end up with a guy named Blaze. It’s like fate drew us together.

  Chapter 15

  Lia

  I literally can’t stand being at work without Blaze. Especially knowing it’s my fault he’s gone.

  The rest of the crew is as freaked out as well. No one knew his absence was coming, and everyone wants to know what the hell is going on. Especially because the new captain is a doofus.

  I mean, he’s fine. Whatever. He’s just not Blaze.

  “Captain MacKenzie and I swapped stations,” Captain Elmore tells us when we all show up. “He’s over at the 151st and I’m here with you all.”

  “Well, why?” James demands.

  Elmore says, “Personal reasons,” and trucks off for the office.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Rocket says.

  I spin around and head to my room without saying anything, but I don’t last long there. Everything about this firehouse makes me ache for Blaze.

  I find my way back out to the hallway where Rocket, Scott and James are still standing, discussing Blaze’s absence. “It’s because of me,” I blurt. My cheeks heat when they all stop talking and stare at me. “We, um... got involved and he figured it wasn’t a good idea for us to work together.”

  If I thought they weren’t sure they wanted me on the team before, it’s clear now. Their looks make me want to sink into the ground and stay there.

  I swallow. “But, um, I’m going t
o leave so he can come back. This is his station. He shouldn’t have to leave it.”

  The guys still stare at me like I have five heads and some Medusa-like snakes spinning from them.

  “Bullshit,” James spits. “That’s total bullshit.”

  “I know—I’m sorry, and—”

  “No, I mean why can’t you both just work here?”

  Now I’m the one who goes silent. Do they actually want me to stay? And this is from James?

  “Yeah, I don’t see the big deal,” Scott concurs.

  Rocket bobs his head. “Me neither.”

  I rub my lips together, formulating a plan. “Well, let’s go get him back. We’ll drive the truck over with Elmore and demand a swap.”

  The guys relax into grins. “Sounds like a plan to me,” Scott says. “I’ll go tell the captain.”

  On the way over, the guys pepper me with questions. “So are you two in a fight or something? Over who leaves here?”

  I keep my eyes on the road, putting my lights on when traffic sucks and we can’t get through. “Sorta, yeah. It was more than that, but yeah.”

  “So is this gonna be the make up? Like we’re all gonna witness it?” Rocket asks.

  My cheeks grow warm. “Shut up. I’m not going to French kiss him in front of you or anything.”

  “Well I was just thinking we should go in with the big guns. Like you should buy some roses and we can set up the ladder so you can go and get him Pretty Woman style,” Rocket says.

  I laugh.

  “Yes!” James says. “You have to. Captain will never live it down for the rest of his career.”

  “Um, wouldn’t that be reason enough not to do it? Plus, making things public would ensure they never let us work together, no matter what,” I say, even though I’ve already decided to go to the training Blaze signed me up for. I think his instincts for me were actually dead-on, I was just too busy being pissed to realize it.

  “Yeah, that’s true,” Scott agrees. “Okay, no ladder and roses. We’ll just go in like it’s a kidnapping. We’ll throw a bag over his head and wrestle him out.”

  “No, no, no wait,” James exclaims. “First we truss Elmore up and then we offer him like a hostage exchange.”

  “Perfect,” I agree. I glance over my shoulder and find them all smiling, including Elmore, who is offering his wrists up to be bound.

  We pull up in front of their station and get out, shoving our hostage in front of us while we walk, gang-style into the open bay.

  “Your captain for our captain, right now,” Scott yells. “Unless you want us to throw him in the Hudson.”

  Chuckles greet us. Their crew saunters out, including Blaze who appears, scratching his handsome jaw. His gaze dances over me, and when I wink, a broad grin creases his face.

  We pull the paper bag—all we could find—off Captain Elmore’s head and I attempt to put it over Blaze’s, which forces me to jump like a little kid. Fortunately, Blaze lowers down to make it easier for me, his blue-eyed gaze burning into mine, lighting a fire in my low-belly, a tingling between my legs.

  His gaze promises retribution, play—so much more.

  He even holds his hands out and we wrap a rubber tube—our makeshift rope—around his wrists. Then I take one of his elbows and Rocket takes the other and we escort him back to the fire truck.

  Just as we get a call.

  I flip on the sirens and we’re off—no time to hash things out or celebrate, just the team, reunited, doing what we do: save lives and put out fires.

  Epilogue

  Blaze

  I finish my preparations and do a quick pickup of my apartment before Lia arrives.

  Tonight is punishment number three.

  I’ve been trying my damnedest not to move too fast again. And failing miserably. It’s been four weeks since Lia and the crew came to get me from the other station, and I’ve done everything I can to do this right. I’ve kept the kink to a minimum, let her lead.

  To my delight, she did end up taking the certificate training to be a fire inspector, which is both wonderful and horrible, because she’s been too busy to hang out.

  But she’s the one who asked me for this. Reminded me she still had a punishment coming.

  She told me about her birthday—how her family already knew she was responsible for the fire and had forgiven her. I think her guilt is mostly gone. Which means tonight is purely for play.

  I think that’s better, anyway. I don’t want her thinking I’m trying to fix anything.

  She knocks on the door and I answer it. Even though I told her what to wear and should be prepared, my dick punches out like a flag when I see her schoolgirl outfit.

  “In my bedroom—panties and shoes off, but leave the rest of that cute little outfit on. Then you’re going to go onto knees and forearms with your nose to the corner.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” She flashes me a naughty smile—probably guessing she has me by the balls so hard right now.

  I have to close my eyes and count to fifty to keep from following her right in. But I wait. I don’t even let myself squeeze my aching cock through my jeans. I’m going to make this night good for her—memorable. I walk stiffly—because my pants are too tight—to the kitchen and grab the ginger finger floating inside a bowl of iced water.

  I did a little research—surfed the spanking porn—and came upon a thing called figging. It’s basically using a ginger butt plug as punishment. It causes a burning sensation in the anus, which seemed appropriate for my little pyro.

  I open the door.

  “Jesus fuck,” I curse. The sight of Lia nearly drops me to my knees. I’ve never seen anything so flaming hot in my life. She’s in the position I described, her ass lifted in the air, the navy uniform skirt flipped up on her back to give me the full view of her enticing bare ass and the sweet little pussy glistening below.

  Now I can’t help but squeeze my cock. “Good girl.” My voice sounds scratchy. I kneel at her side and run my hand over her fine ass like it’s a masterpiece—which it is. Then I add my own color to the masterpiece by smacking, hard.

  She grunts but stays in position. I slap each cheek, alternating, until pink handprints show up on her caramel skin. Then I use two fingers to pry her asscheeks apart and press the tip of the ginger finger I carved into the shape of a butt plug against her anus.

  She squeals and attempts to pinch her cheeks together. I keep up the pressure. “Take your punishment, Lia.” I make my voice firm.

  “Wh-what is it?” her voice wobbles, but I doubt it’s from fear.

  “Ginger. Have you ever heard of figging?”

  “Did you say ginger?”

  “Open, Lia. Now.”

  She relaxes and I push the ginger in. It’s not particularly wide, so it goes in without lube, which I learned is important when figging.

  “Good girl. Yes, I put ginger root in your ass. Girls who play with matches get their assholes set on fire.”

  “Ohmygod,” she whimpers.

  I reward her compliance by stroking her dewy pussy, slipping one finger inside her, then two. She moans, but I don’t give her more than a couple pumps before withdrawing and circling her clit.

  She whimpers again and rolls her hips back even more.

  I slap her pussy and get up. “Don’t move from this position, baby. I want you to stay here until your asshole’s on fire and your pussy’s leaking like a faucet.”

  “Blaze,” she pants.

  “You tell me when it’s time. Ask for your spanking and I’ll give it to you good, baby.” I move to sit on the edge of the bed and take off my shoes and shirt. “And then I’ll fuck you until tomorrow with that ginger still in your ass.”

  Lia groans and rolls her head around on the cushion I put down for her to kneel on. “You’re killing me, Blaze.”

  “Oh I’m just warming up, little girl. Warming you up.”

  Waiting sucks. According to my research, it takes about ten minutes for the ginger to start to burn. I can hard
ly stand it. My situation may be more comfortable than Lia’s, but I have to look at her while my jeans strangle my cock.

  The first few minutes, she’s still. Then she starts to shift around from knee to knee. Her anus clenches around the ginger and she lets out a groan. She whines and rubs her face on the cushion, moans some more. When the clenching of her anus and pussy grow more frequent and her whimpers more plaintive, I call her over.

  “Ready for your spanking, angel?”

  She stands up, smoothing her skirt. Her face is flushed, pigtails askew.

  “Come lie over Daddy’s lap.” I pat my knee.

  She comes immediately, like she knows I’m her salvation. Tips herself over my knee and wiggles her cute little ass.

  I flip her skirt up and pump the ginger finger in and out of her. She moans her pleasure, her distress. I spank her. It’s a good, solid spanking—hard slaps that make her jerk and twist, and I don’t take it slow. I give it to her fast and hard until she’s squirming right and left, whimpering and moaning for release. And then I plunge three fingers into her her wet heat, make them into a cone and fuck her with them.

  Her pussy’s never felt so hot, so wet, so swollen. “Blaze, please,” she moans.

  “You ready for my cock?”

  “You have no idea,” she moans, and I lose all control.

  I hold her torso down while I pull my leg out from under her, so she’s bent over the bed now. I twiddle the ginger in her ass with one hand while I work open the button of my jeans with the other. Then it’s a rip, snap, roll to get a condom on and push against her entrance.

  I sink into her easily. She’s tight, but so juicy wet, so ready, her pussy seems to pull me in, welcome me. Her muscles squeeze and she moans wantonly. I interlace my fingers over the tops of hers and fuck her deep. Nothing compares to the glory of being inside her, of knowing she wants me to take her as hard and rough as I crave.

  I slap my loins against her pink ass, listening to the little grunts and cries she makes.

  “More,” she moans. “Harder.”