Smokin' Hot Firemen

by Delilah Devlin, Jo Davis

  She pulled him to her and opened her arms and her body to him, knowing she was the luckiest woman in the world. No man could make her heart race quite like Jonah could, and she was looking forward to spending a lifetime fulfilling fantasies with a heroic man who knew just how to make her temperature rise.

  UNEXPECTED DETOUR

  Ily Goyanes

  José looked down at his bare chest and admired the soot stains. He’d been jogging by one of the many cafeterias in downtown San Juan, noticed smoke billowing from the building up into the azure sky, and had run inside to see if he could help.

  Out for his morning run, he’d run into the burning building wearing only basketball shorts and his well-worn running shoes—not exactly regulation—but that hadn’t stopped him. His captain would have his ass on Monday, at least on paper, but the write-up in his personnel file wouldn’t reveal the pride and admiration his brothers-in-arms would demonstrate behind closed doors.

  He felt a light touch on his bicep and looked down to see the young lady he’d pulled out of the cafeteria and away from the fire. Like many Puerto Rican women, she had large brown eyes and thick, dark hair. She smiled tentatively, but squeezed his muscular arm affectionately.

  “Gracias,” she said. “Me salvaste la vida.”

  José turned towards her, his six-three frame towering over her barely-over-five-foot body. “De nada. I was just doing my job.” She was unusually beautiful, José noticed, wishing that his last heartache hadn’t diminished his spirit to the point where he couldn’t ask a woman out on a date without feeling as if he would have a panic attack. He ran into burning buildings for a living and went cliff diving for fun, but the thought of being hurt again terrified him.

  Her eyes opened wide when she realized that he spoke English—not everyone on the island did. She clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh! You are a fireman?” she asked, speaking English with a cute sing-song quality he found endearing.

  José nodded. “Ten years now, ma’am. I joined the academy right out of high school.”

  “My name is Isabella. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  José noted the curvy body under her soot-covered sundress. Even through the loose cotton, there was no mistaking her Latin curves. He put his hand out. “I’m José, and the pleasure is all mine.” And it was, he thought. Her golden skin and thick wavy hair were the stuff his dreams were made of.

  She winked at him then, and he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his body. The men at the firehouse called that feeling a “rescue high.” But José felt as if the heat taking over his body on this particular occasion had more to do with the woman he’d rescued than with the rescue itself.

  When their hands met, he could tell she was feeling it too.

  Isabella blushed and looked down. When she looked up again, there was a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Can I take you home?” she asked, quickly adding, “I mean, can I give you a ride home? You saved my life, it’s the least I can do.” She looked back at the cafeteria, and then back at him. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be getting the day off.”

  José chuckled, and before he knew what he was doing, he put his arm around her protectively. Being saved was even more intense than saving someone. He knew she was experiencing an altered state of consciousness. Almost dying had this eerie way of making you feel more alive.

  He heard sirens approaching and felt a sudden and irrational worry. He didn’t want this to be the last time he saw Isabella. In fact, he wanted more than anything to let her “take him home.” Putting aside his cultivated caution with the opposite sex, he blurted out, “I appreciate the offer, but why don’t we stop by your place so you can pick up a change of clothes? Then you can give me a ride home, take a shower, and change while I fix us something to eat.”

  She looked up at him again, her warm, tan hand caressing his bare arm. “You cook, too?” she asked, winking again.

  José nodded. “Not that well, but I do make a mean pan con churrasco and papas fritas.”

  Isabella smiled. “A steak sandwich with fries happens to be my favorite meal.”

  A few seconds later, they were climbing into her jeep. Isabella put on some Robbie Williams and his sultry voice filled their heads. As Isabella drove, José looked out at the green mountains. He’d been born to do this—save people. Although he’d been born in Puerto Rico, he’d grown up in the States as an Army brat. His father had pushed him to join too, but José knew he wanted to serve his people at home—not in some godforsaken desert. As a firefighter, he witnessed the results of his heroic efforts firsthand.

  After his first fire, when he’d scooped a six-month-old girl from her crib seconds before it went up in flames, there was no turning back. Esmeralda, now ten years old, still emailed him and referred to him as padrino, godfather.

  Isabella couldn’t help but sneak looks at José as she drove. He seemed lost in thought—Robbie Williams could do that. He had a serene look on his handsome face. She took in his long eyelashes, his thick, tousled hair, his chiseled brow and sensuous lips, and couldn’t stop herself from imaging how he would look without the basketball shorts and running shoes. She pictured his tall, muscular body naked, about to enter her…

  Just as the image entered her mind, José turned to look at her. She immediately glanced back at the road, staring straight ahead and gripping the wheel as if her life depended on it.

  José smiled. “Are you a native?” he asked.

  He felt comfortable around her, easy, the way he used to feel around women before the divorce.

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ve never even been off the island. I work at the cafeteria while I go to school.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “I want to be a pediatric nurse. I love babies,” she said shyly.

  José smiled and placed his large hand on her thigh. “I bet they love you too.”

  Isabella felt a rapid heat spread through her thighs, up over her mound, and into her belly. It was as if all her nerve endings were on fire—she felt so physical, so engaged, so alive. She took his hand and placed it between her legs, inviting him to feel the heat and moisture he had created.

  José’s hand was directly on the crotch of her moist cotton panties. His prick hardened instantly and he applied pressure to her swollen pussy, his fingers rubbing her swollen lips.

  The jeep veered off the road as Isabella drove into the nearest village, making the turn for El Yunque, the island’s national rainforest. As she drove up the winding road that led to the top of the mountains, José continued to caress her increasingly wet cunt.

  She pulled haphazardly onto the side of the road and they both dismounted without saying a word. Holding hands, they meandered through the trees until they were at least twenty feet from the road, surrounded by overgrown foliage and the inimitable chirping of coquis, the national frog.

  She put her arms around José’s neck and looked deep into his dark eyes. “Te necesito,” she said huskily.

  José grabbed her and pulled her tightly against him, his hard cock pushing against her flat belly. “I need you too,” he growled before pressing his lips down on hers.

  Their mouths opened and their tongues explored. The heat they felt was primal. Surrounded by the sounds of the rainforest, San Juan seemed to exist on another plane. There was no place here for courtship, rules, etiquette. Their lust was overwhelming, and its call had to be answered immediately.

  José slipped her sundress off as she pulled down his shorts. He quickly kicked off his running shoes and dropped to his knees in front of Isabella. First, he undid her sandalias, and then he pulled down her pink cotton panties.

  Isabella let out a loud moan as José pressed his face tightly against her wet pussy and inhaled her scent. He parted her lips with his strong fingers and traced her slit with his warm, wet tongue.

  “I need you,” she moaned, grabbing onto his thick black hair. “I need you now.”

  José stood up and lifted her slight body over his shoulder, c
arrying her to a nearby tree. After setting her down on a pile of leaves, he knelt between her legs and looked up at her pretty face. “And you will have me,” he said, his voice shaky. “But I need to taste you first.”

  Isabella opened her legs wide as José’s face neared her sweet spot. Her mind, body, and soul cried out in unison as soon as his thick tongue landed on her clit. She pulled at his hair as he lapped up her juices, crying out his name.

  José had never tasted anything as sweet as Isabella’s beautiful, shaved cunt. He sucked on it greedily, pushing two fingers inside of her and working her tight hole. His cock was over nine inches when hard, and he wanted to make sure she was ready for it.

  Isabella thrashed about on the leaves, her pussy clenching and unclenching as she came for José. Her fingernails left bright, red marks on his neck and shoulders as she clawed at his flesh, trying to get him to come up for air.

  “Please,” she whimpered, unable to wait for his cock any longer.

  José knew she was ready. He moved away from her intoxicating scent and lay on top of her, their bodies producing a heat that rivaled any Puerto Rican summer night.

  Isabella wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him even tighter against her. “Te necesito,” she said again, tracing his jawline, chin, and lips with her tongue. “I need you inside me. Fill me. Take me right here, right now.”

  José’s prick was more than ready, and had been since she had taken his hand in the car and placed it between her caramel-colored thighs. Now he pushed his massive cock head against her tight hole, immersing the first few inches of his swollen meat inside her.

  Isabella groaned and pulled him in deeper. “All of it. Please. Por favor, José. I need it.”

  Her words lit a fire inside him, and he pushed his dick the rest of the way in. They both let out a loud groan as he filled her wet pussy.

  “Sí! Sí!” Isabella cried, her hands clutching his firm ass, pulling him in as much as she could.

  “Ay, Isabella,” he groaned, her tight, warm cunt like heaven around his prick. He moved slowly, with smooth strokes, taking his time. They kissed like beasts, biting, sucking, and chewing each other’s tongues and lips, hungry and feral.

  “You feel so good,” he groaned next to her ear, his hot breath sending shivers throughout her body.

  Isabella looked up at him and slowly rotated her hips, working his cock. “So do you. I love the way you fill me. No man has ever gone as deep or made me stretch as wide.”

  They locked eyes as he continued to move inside her. They fucked in silence for several minutes, his strokes slowly gaining speed. “Ay, ay, ay,” Isabella moaned. “Dios mío! Sí! Por favor, no pares,” she said—oh God, please don’t stop.

  “I don’t intend to, chiquita,” he said, pushing deeper. “At least not until we’re both satisfied.”

  “Papi,” she moaned. “Please. I want you to fill me up. Shoot your seed inside me. Fill me with your come.”

  José had to stop for a second because he almost came after hearing those words. He regained control of himself and began to pump his cock fast and deep into her eager hole. “Is that what you want, mami?” he asked, looking so deep into her eyes that Isabella felt as if he could actually see inside of her. “You want my come inside you? Filling you? Marking you?”

  Isabella let out an animal-like growl as her clit exploded into a half dozen orgasms. Her body trembled underneath his, and José shoved his fat dick deep into her, holding it steady inside her as she shook. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Please, José! Hechame la, llename,” she cried. Shoot your load inside me, fill me up!

  José could no longer restrain himself. He held her hips down against the leaves as his cock head erupted, shooting a hot stream of salty come inside of Isabella’s wet cunt. They held each other, their bodies still shaking and spent for several minutes, indulging in long, slow kisses, savoring each other’s mouths.

  José pulled away for a moment and looked at Isabella’s beautiful face. “I guess now we’re even,” he said seriously. She stared at him, confused. “¿Por qué dices eso, José?” she asked.

  “I say that because it’s true,” he replied, kissing her neck, cheeks, and chin. “First I saved your life, and then you saved mine.”

  RESCUE ME

  Maggie Wells

  The pounding started just as Addi Mason rinsed the conditioner from her hair. Too tired to deal with Mr. Grabowski’s incessant complaining about the height of her grass, she groaned and dunked her head back under the spray. This was America, damn it. If she wanted to let her lawn grow over the two inches her nosy neighbor deemed optimum, it was her business, not his.

  Another round of pounding echoed through the empty house, and she yanked open the shower curtain, glaring at the bathroom door. He even measured it! The man actually took a ruler and measured individual blades of grass. He claimed they were over five inches long but she wasn’t about to double-check him. Hell, five inches wasn’t enough to get any woman excited.

  She switched off the water, yanked a towel from the bar, and wrapped it around her dripping body as she climbed from the tub. The wood floors were cool as she stomped through her bedroom, ramping up to give the old man a piece of her mind.

  The sound of men shouting carried through the door, slowing her footsteps at the end of the hall. Had Mr. Grabowski formed some kind of posse to bring her to lawn care justice? She almost ran back to the shower, but another round of rapping steeled her resolve. Knotting the bath sheet between her breasts, she marched forward to meet the enemy head-on, but drew up short when a sharp crack split the air.

  Her front door exploded.

  One second it was intact; the next, shards of shrapnel from the wood frame were showering the rug and pinging off the walls.

  Addi screeched, instinctively raising her arms to shield her face. The hulking figure of a man filled the open doorway. She had barely a moment to register the vision of a firefighter in full gear before he lunged through the door, barreling straight for her.

  She sucked in a sharp breath and the knot unraveled. Damp terry cloth hit the floor in a heap at her feet, and his hard shoulder pressed into her stomach.

  He lifted her off the ground and tossed her over his back as if she were no more than a curl of ash. A cool draft wafted across her bare ass. The rough, fire-retardant fabric of his coat abraded her nipples. His helmet crashed to the floor as he whirled. Peering under his arm, she yelped when she caught a glimpse of two more uniformed men in the open doorway.

  “Hansen! Hansen, goddamn it! We’ve got the wrong house!” one shouted.

  “We’re supposed to be going to four-forty-four, not four-oh-fo—oh shit.” The other man tipped his helmet back, revealing eyes as big as dinner plates.

  The two men froze for a second then sprang into fast forward mode. “Hansen, come on. Wrong house. No fire here.” They scurried across her scraggly lawn to the waiting truck.

  Addi blinked in confusion as her feet touched down again. Gloved hands grasped her upper arms, making sure she was steady on her feet before casting about in a wild circle. The firefighter spotted her towel laying discarded on the floor and snatched it up, holding the sodden bath sheet out to her as if he were giving her a precious gift.

  “Sorry.” The apology came in a rush of breath. Then his eyes widened in astonishment. “Addison?”

  She jerked the towel from his hands and pressed it to her chest, praying she’d unfurled enough to cover the pertinent parts. Struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that her hoo-hah had just been on display for all the neighbors to see, she shook her head to clear the haze. Her assailant knew her, but she was at a loss. He was tall. And blond. And familiar in a gut-twistingly handsome way. Like a movie star. But in her foyer.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said as he backed up a step.

  Her hero came equipped with a raspy rumble of a voice that didn’t quite match his angel-kissed face, but proved sexy enough to make her want to drop her towel again. She thought about rel
easing it for a full second—then she remembered that somebody’s house was on fire.

  “Four-forty-four. That’s Mrs. Wilkins,” she murmured.

  The information seemed to snap him from his daze. “Shit!” He scooped his helmet from the floor and clomped his way to the front door. “I have to go.”

  Clutching damp terrycloth, she inched toward her decimated door. Cool air rippled her skin, and her brain finally made the connection. His name sprang to her lips as he took off at a sprint. “Trey!”

  Trey Hansen, once Oakdale High’s resident heartthrob, the bad boy smart girls like Addison avoided like the plague and dreamed about every night. The girls in French Club called him “Trés Handsome” and the nickname was dead on. He was the one she’d daydreamed would ask her to prom.

  She would have turned him down, of course. She and Mike Mason had been a couple since Algebra I, but it would have been great to be asked by Trey. Not that he ever noticed her. He was the kind of guy who never gave her a second glance.

  “Sorry about the door!” His shout carried over the dull roar of the engine. “I’ll come back!”

  She stared out into the waning daylight, watching as he grabbed a rail on the back of the fire truck and swung himself onto the slow-moving vehicle. The truck surged ahead. When the sound of the engine faded, the rustle of shrubbery caught her attention.

  Addi tore her gaze from the swirl of red lights, slowly becoming aware of the water dripping from her hair, the painful prickle of splintered wood under her bare feet, and the stunned gaze of her elderly neighbor. It took three blinks before her brain engaged. She tightened her hold on the towel, tipped her chin up a notch, and leveled Mr. Grabowski with an unflinching stare.

  “Those kids need to stay off my lawn,” she announced, then turned her back on the shocked septuagenarian.