Smokin' Hot Firemen

by Delilah Devlin, Jo Davis

  He grinned, dimple flashing. “I know. But, Red, so do you. And I promise, I’m coming home to you every night or morning—depending on my shift. But it’s always to you. You got me?”

  I did. I so got him.

  “Come on, let’s get this little one with the right people and go home.” He tugged my chin up and planted a sooty kiss across my cheek. “I’ve got plans for you and those stilettos.”

  SAVING CHARLOTTE

  Sabrina York

  Mark Conner fought his way through the smoke and flames to the third floor of the apartment building. A skitter of concern writhed in his gut. This fire was moving fast. Despite the nearly fifty pounds of equipment, he picked up the pace and motioned to Izzy to do the same.

  According to the wailing mother on the street outside, there was a child still trapped up here.

  Two doors flanked the top-floor landing. Without discussion—they hardly needed it anymore—Izzy turned right and Mark turned left. In tandem, they kicked in doors.

  Mark angled his flashlight and scanned the smoky living room. Nothing. Smoke roiled around him; sweat prickled his brow. There wasn’t much time.

  Then he heard a faint cry. He shouldered his way down the hall and into the bedroom…and froze.

  A second was far too long to stare. Lives could be lost in a second. But the sight that greeted him nearly brought him to his knees. A sudden, inappropriate lust snarled through him. He forced it to the back of his mind. For later.

  He’d expected a small child, coiled in a corner.

  Not an exquisite angel bound to a bed.

  And she was exquisite. Her skin was milky white and shimmered in the caress of his flashlight beam. She writhed and cried out and fought at the bonds holding her down. Her lush hair was a dark cloud against the pillow. And her face…it took his breath away.

  Tears scored her cheeks. Panic widened her eyes. “Help me,” she said in a failing voice.

  A loud pop brought him back to the moment. Yes, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—and he’d seen plenty of naked women tied to beds—but if he didn’t get her out of here, she was going to die.

  He rushed to her side and examined her bonds. He knew instinctively there was no time to untie her. Instead he reached for the cutting tool clipped to his belt and quickly slashed the ropes at her wrists and ankles. He wrapped her in a blanket and tossed her over his shoulder.

  He met Izzy on the landing; his buddy held a small bundle in his arms. They nodded to each other and pounded hell for leather down the stairs. The building was weakening. Mark recognized the sounds, the feel of it. They had seconds to escape, if that.

  They made it out—bursting through the door in a hail of fire and smoke—but only just. As they emerged out onto the street, the building collapsed behind them. A loud cry went up among the firefighters and they all snapped into action, training their hoses on the structure. The building was a lost cause, but they could save the neighboring homes.

  Mark ignored the cacophony. He carried his precious burden across the barricaded street to the paramedics. Luke was busy fitting an old woman with an oxygen mask, and Samuel was wrapping a burn.

  Gently, Mark lowered the woman from his shoulder. He arranged her on a brick planter, careful to keep her nakedness covered.

  He pulled off his helmet, mask, and hood and unstrapped his SCBA gear to wipe the sweat from his brow. “A-are you all right?” Something clogged his throat. Probably an unholy reaction to her ethereal beauty.

  Hell and damnation. She’d nearly died. How could he think about fucking her? His cock was thinking about it. It was hard and heavy and tight.

  She nodded. A lone tear tracked its way down her sooty cheek.

  He forced himself to look away from her delicate, sculpted features, her hollowed cheeks, her wide, doe-like eyes and trembling lips. Instead, he directed his attention to her wrists and began undoing the knots. He bit back a curse. Whoever had tied her up was an idiot. For one thing, the rope was bound far too tight. Even if she hadn’t been fighting for her life to get free, it would have cut into her skin. As it was, her wrists were raw, slick with blood.

  “You should have this tended.” He didn’t mean to sound so gruff. It galled him to see a woman abused like this. He released her wrists and went to work on her ankles. It took a while, because the knots were an undisciplined mess.

  Mark knew he was delaying the inevitable, avoiding the question he had to ask. He hated to embarrass her after all she’d been through, but duty was duty. Reluctantly, he met her gaze—it seared him. He cleared his throat. “Do I…would you like me to notify the police?”

  Her eyes widened. Lips formed a silent no.

  “You weren’t tied up against your will?”

  Heat prickled his nerve endings when she lowered her lashes and shook her head.

  Not against her will. Holy hell.

  Mark glanced over his shoulder. The building was now a smoking relic. “Was he in the apartment?” He kind of hoped she’d say yes.

  She didn’t. “No. He t-tied me up and left.”

  Mark froze. His nostrils flared as outrage cut through him. What kind of Dom tied up a woman and left? “He left you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was soft, sweet. Smoky. She studied her tender wrists for a moment, then met his gaze. “He went to the bar for a drink with some friends. Said I was to ‘think about it’ while he was gone.”

  What an ass.

  Of course, no one would expect their house to catch fire while they were out gallivanting with friends, but leaving your trusting sub tied to the posts, exposed and vulnerable and completely alone, was unconscionable.

  “How long have you been with him?” He didn’t know why he asked. He was only torturing himself. She belonged to someone else.

  “A year.” She swallowed. Mark watched her throat work. He knew a raging urge to taste it. Lick it. Suck on that soft, creamy flesh… “We’d never tried this before.”

  Oh hell.

  A dismal curtain fell on his soul. He’d assumed, from her lowered gaze, her posture, her submissive mien, that she was deep in the life, that she lived it, breathed it, craved it like he did. If this disastrous outing was her first taste of bondage, she would never try it again.

  It was a pity, a damn shame he hadn’t found her first.

  He pitched his voice low, so no one else would hear. “For the record, a loving Dom never leaves his woman unprotected.” He couldn’t resist cupping her cheek, thumbing away the fresh tears that welled at his words. Couldn’t resist a whispered “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  She said nothing at that, but he could tell she’d heard him. Her expression took on a glow, a peace, and—dare he hope it—a tinge of relief.

  Luke finished up with his patient and collected his bag to come over.

  Mark knew it was time to release her. He didn’t want to. He wanted to hold her forever. But she wasn’t his.

  Still, he couldn’t resist leaning closer, capturing her gaze, and murmuring, “If you ever want to try this with someone who knows what he’s doing, someone who will honor your desire, come to Station 12. Ask for Mark Conner.”

  Her lips parted in an astonished O and a shiver racked her frame. But she said nothing. With one last lingering look, he turned his back and walked away, knowing, in his heart of hearts, that he’d never see her again.

  It was a shame. A damn, stinking shame.

  She could have been the one.

  She could have been everything.

  It took Charlotte a month to dredge up the courage to take Mark Conner up on his offer. Breaking up with Bill had taken three minutes. An easy thing to do after what had happened. Her existing doubts about their relationship had only bolstered her resolve.

  Besides, when Mark had stared into her eyes and issued his challenge, she’d known. She’d known she was just settling with Bill, that there could be so much more.

  And she ached for more.

  She’d always suspected s
he was a submissive. Had always craved a harsh hand on her ass. Ached to relinquish control to a strong partner. To be dominated completely—mind, body, and soul. But she’d never met a man with whom it felt right. She’d never met a man who made her feel like that. Not until Mark.

  Still, it took her a month to get over the paralyzing fear. What if he was everything she’d ever dreamed? And what if he wasn’t? What if she’d imagined the connection, the scorching passion between them? What if it had all been a construct of her mind, a reaction to the adrenaline surging in her veins?

  What if he, like every other man she’d ever met, was a disappointment?

  After weeks of driving herself crazy, she finally decided it was better to know than to wonder. And she made her way to Station 12.

  The big garage door was open as she approached the firehouse. The trucks were out and parked in the driveway. A large, muscled man in tight jeans and a clingy blue T-shirt was in the process of coiling a hose on the floor of the bay. He looked up and broke into a smile.

  “Well, hello there.”

  Charlotte flushed a little beneath the heat of his gaze. Yes, he was a gorgeous man. But he wasn’t the man she wanted. “I’m looking for Mark Conner.”

  The cute fireman put out a lip. “Damn. Hey, Izzy, where’s Conner?” he bellowed.

  Another fellow leapt from one of the trucks. Charlotte recognized him from the night of the fire. Clearly, he recognized her too.

  His brow arched. “You’re here for Mark?” He blew out a whistle. “I think he’s in the gym. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Charlotte followed Izzy to the back of the station. She tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Anticipation and dread warred within her. Would he be all she remembered? Could he?

  Izzy paused at a door and, with a quick glance in her direction, pushed through.

  She followed. The clang of weights, the smell of sweat assailed her. It was a small room, packed with workout equipment—treadmills, steppers, resistance machines, and barbells. It was also packed with half-naked men. The panoply of rippling muscle made her knees weak.

  When they caught sight of her, they all froze, and silence blanketed the room—but for the growling snarl of one man hefting a heavy load.

  Mark.

  Charlotte’s gaze found him and all the other preening men faded into the background. She stared at his chest, broad and straining, slick with sweat. The bulging muscles of his biceps quivered as he held the weight high; his neck bunched. The cut, ribbed surface of his abs tightened. His thighs—grounding him, steadying him—were like tree trunks.

  Breath escaped her. A dizzying hum echoed in her head. Heavens. He was a titan.

  He lowered the bar back into its holder with a grunt. He looked up. And froze.

  They stared at each other for a long moment. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Incredulity crossed his features, followed by a dark wash of hunger. At least she hoped it was hunger.

  He stepped forward, grabbing his shirt. But he didn’t put it on. He just used it to mop up his sweat.

  “Hey Conner. You have a visitor,” Izzy said in a sing-song voice that broke the spell.

  All the other firefighters returned to their workouts.

  But Charlotte was barely aware of them. She was barely aware of anything. Anything but Mark.

  He stepped closer, scrubbing at his neck with the damp shirt.

  His scent surrounded her. The smell of sweaty man, of hard, clean work. Of power. It made her tremble. Almost on autopilot—she’d practiced this for days—she put out her hand. “Mark Conner?”

  “Yes.”

  His palm slipped into hers and electricity sizzled and spat between them. He was so warm. So big. She wanted him. He didn’t release her hand right away. His thumb skimmed over her skin in a soft caress.

  “Ch-Charlotte Raskin. I…I wanted to thank you for saving my life.” There wasn’t much more she could say, not here, surrounded by an avid audience.

  But Mark knew. He knew there was more between them. He’d started it. He took her elbow and led her out of the gym, down the hall, and into a spotless, airy kitchen. When Izzy followed them, Mark shut the door in his face.

  Suddenly they were alone. Mark stared at her as though he’d never seen anything quite so fascinating. It made her uncomfortable, warm. Little prickles of awareness coursed over her skin. Though he had done nothing, said nothing lurid, she felt her body soften and warm.

  Restlessly, she shifted from one foot to the other.

  He blinked as though jostled from a deep reflection. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said. His voice was deep, rough.

  “I was nervous about coming.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Understandable. How are you doing?”

  “Better.”

  His gaze scorched her. “Did you lose the loser?”

  She couldn’t hide her smile. “Of course.”

  “And did you think about what I said?”

  “Of course.”

  “And?” Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she saw a flicker of doubt cross his tight expression.

  “And…yes. If the offer is still good.”

  He blew out a harsh breath. “Oh, it’s good.” He stepped closer, so close she was enrobed in his heat. He put his hands on her shoulders and tugged her against his bare chest.

  She skated her palm over his tanned muscles; they rippled at her touch. He was warm and hard and slick.

  He growled low in his throat and bent his head. “Good,” he murmured as his lips teased her cheek, her lids, her chin. “Good.” And then, when she could bear the soft sweet tantalizing caress no longer, he settled his mouth fully on hers.

  His taste was exquisite, his essence excruciating. Heat consumed her, burned her. The sensation of this man, this big muscled man, possessing her mouth made her weak. Made her wet.

  She responded, giving him back the energy, the heat, the passion he gave her. His hands rose, roved. His fingers found her nipples, aching and swollen. She winced at his caress. Agony speared her. She burned with hunger for more.

  His kiss intensified. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.

  She quivered, opened to him.

  “Ah,” he breathed into her mouth.

  And then he entered her.

  It was only a pale reflection of what she really wanted. Nothing more than a kiss. But Charlotte was beyond logic. Her mind, her body, her soul were fully engaged in this tangling.

  She came. A tiny shudder. A soft moan. A mere shadow of what was to come.

  He pulled back, gasping. A feral light limned his expression. “Come home with me,” he rasped. “Now.”

  It was his first command of her.

  She could hardly refuse.

  His apartment wasn’t far from the fire station. He didn’t know why he kept it, because he spent most of his time at work, but now he was glad he had someplace private to take her.

  He closed the door behind her. It was all he could do to take it slow. What he wanted, what he really wanted, was to bend her over the couch and fuck her, right here, right now. But he couldn’t. He wanted this to be right, to be perfect for her.

  God help him, he didn’t want some mindless tryst. Not with her. She was special. Maybe even the one he’d always searched for. He wanted to keep her. He wanted her to stay. Hell, he just plain wanted. Desperately.

  “Take off your panties.”

  She jumped a little at the harsh tone of his voice, and he winced. He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt. But then a light, that delicious, delightful light, gleamed in her eye. He knew she liked it.

  She reached up beneath her skirt and slipped them off. She held them awkwardly, clutched in her fist. Her gaze dropped.

  “Keep your eyes on me, Charlotte,” he instructed. “Always on me.”

  With something akin to relief, she obeyed.

  “Now put your panties on the table and sit. Lift up your skirt. I want your bare ass
on the chair.”

  A flicker of panic crossed her face, but she did as he asked, flinching only slightly at the cool kiss of vinyl.

  “Are you wet?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me.”

  “Yes, I’m wet.”

  He tsked. Her idiot boyfriend had done no training whatsoever. Mark wondered if the dipshit even knew the rules. “Call your Dom ‘Master’ or ‘Sir.’”

  “Yes, S-sir. I’m wet.”

  “Very good. Nice.” He stepped behind her and, bless her, she tried to keep her eyes on him. “Do you really want this, Charlotte?” He settled his hands on her shoulders, slipped them lower to cup her breasts. They were full and soft and warm. Her nipples pressed on his palms. It was all he could do not to rub his thrumming cock against her back. He’d spent many nights, too many nights, thinking about this, aching for it.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Have you thought about this like I have? Have you dreamed of this moment?”

  She shuddered. “Yes, Sir.”

  He dipped his head and sucked on her earlobe. He let his mouth explore her fragrant neck and nest in the thick coils of her hair. “Did you touch yourself?”

  “Y-yes.”

  His cock twitched at her error. He tightened his hold on her nipples, through the soft satin of her blouse, until she gasped. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Her breath came out in low, trembling pants.

  She was just as hungry as he was, just as lost to this. The knowledge seared him like a racing fire. “Lift your skirt.”

  Slowly, she drew up her hem. His heart thudded at the sight of her naked lips. He loved that she’d shaved for him.

  “Open to me.”

  Ah. She knew, she just knew, what he wanted. She spread her legs and drew her swollen lips apart, exposing the thick bundle of nerves nestled there. It glistened.

  “Are you wet for me, Charlotte?” His voice was a wraith, low and dark.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He roughly massaged her nipples.

  She bit her lip to hold back a sob, but it escaped.