by Megan Hart
“Call the fire department!” I shouted this to a startled-looking Shelly who’d come out from behind her desk at the commotion we made hurtling ourselves through the door to the ramp.
Shelly didn’t hesitate, just picked up the phone and dialed as, panting, Jared and I flew down the hall. Jared slid on the tile floor of the entryway between where we were and Shelly’s desk and wiped out.
“Jared!” Shelly shrieked, and dropped the phone. She ran to him and knelt, even as he groaned, tried to sit. “Are you all right?”
His hand, wet, came up to clutch the pristine white sleeve of her demure button-down blouse. It left a print. “Yeah. I just about busted my ass, but—”
Leaving Shelly to tend her wounded soldier, I grabbed up the handset she’d dropped and dialed 9-1-1, explaining quickly what we needed before hanging up again. In seconds the ringing of the phone distracted me from the intimate picture before me, and I was glad to have someplace else to look.
“Frawley and Sons, can you hold—”
“Grace?”
“Yes?” I answered automatically, reaching for the pen and message pad to write down the number, for surely I’d need to call him back after I dealt with the fire department. I could still smell smoke, and visions of my house on fire made my fingers clumsy enough to drop the pen.
“Are you all right?”
It was the same thing Shelly had just asked Jared, and I stopped my restless fumbling and went still. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Sam.”
The fire station was no more than a block away, and yet the crew still used the sirens.
They were loud enough to make conversation difficult, should I have been able to think of something to say, which I could not.
“Grace? Are those sirens?”
“Sorry,” I blurted as I watched through the windows for the truck pulling into the parking lot. “I can’t really talk right now.”
“Grace, wait! Don’t hang up—”
“Sam, my washing machine exploded and I think there’s a fire!” I cried. “I can’t talk now!”
The fire truck slid into place along the curb and Dave Lentini hopped out along with Bill Stoner and Jeff Cranford. I’d gone to school with Dave and Bill, and Jeff had been a year ahead of us. In their firefighters’ outfits they looked exotic and sexier than usual, even though I knew they weren’t going to start bumping and grinding and stripping out of them. I yanked open the back door for them and waved them inside.
“The basement,” I said. “Be careful, a wire pulled loose and there’s water—”
“Got it.” Jeff pointed to his heavy rubber-soled boots. He hefted a handheld chemical-fire extinguisher and I felt immediately foolish for not using the almost identical one we kept in the prep room.
“Is he okay?” Bill, not just the local firefighter but also an EMT, jerked a thumb at Jared, who was now sitting up with Shelly’s help.
“He slipped.”
“I’ll take a look.”
Dave and Jeff headed toward the basement stairs while Bill gently shooed Shelly away from Jared, whose face had gone pale. In the seconds it took my heart to slow its adrenaline-induced pounding, I realized I still held the phone against my ear. Sam’s breathing tickled my ear.
“Sounds like you’re having quite the day,” he said.
“We’ve had an accident. I really have to go.”
“Grace, wait. Is everything all right? Are the firefighters there?”
“Yes.” In fact, Jeff had already reappeared and given me a thumbs-up, situation under control, A-OK. “They’re here. I think it’s going to be all right.”
I waited. My heart started its frantic thumping again.
“I want to take you to dinner.”
“I’m busy tonight.” It wasn’t quite a lie. The mess downstairs would practically guarantee I’d be busy tonight and for a lot of nights in the future.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Sam—”
“Why not?” His question sounded reasonable enough to deserve a reasonable answer, or at least a legitimate excuse, but I had none.
“I just can’t, okay? I’m sorry, Sam, but I can’t do this right now. I’ve got to go.”
Jared was still not on his feet. Worry etched Shelly’s pretty face. She’d taken his hand in hers, their fingers linked as Bill felt around Jared’s ankle. I listened hard for sounds from downstairs, but Jeff had disappeared again and I heard nothing.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My thumb, which had been creeping toward the disconnect button, stopped. I pressed the phone momentarily closer against my head, and the back of my earring bit into the softness behind my ear. My lips parted, and a sigh escaped me.
“Just have dinner with me.”
I closed my eyes and the world settled into darkness around me, just long enough for me to pull in a breath. Then another. I thought of blue eyes and dark hair, and the taste of him. The way he’d felt inside me.
I didn’t believe in white tunnels of light; and I didn’t believe in fate.
“I’m sorry. I really have to go.”
Before he could say anything more to change my mind, I ended the call and turned my attention to the disaster in front of me.
“What a mess.” My dad clucked his tongue and surveyed the laundry room.
“No kidding.” I rubbed my forehead. The fire had fortunately been put out before it had time to do more than singe the rafters, but the heavy, electrical smell of the smoke still hung in the damp air. The water from the burst connection had all swirled down the drain in the floor, but a thin film of sludge still clung to everything the water had touched. It was going to take hours of labor to clean.
I hadn’t really wanted my dad to come, but once he heard about the fire, there was no keeping him away. He was already pissed off I’d waited until the next morning to call him. My excuse had been that I’d assumed he’d have already heard about it. Annville didn’t keep secrets very long, and more than one of my parents’ neighbors kept their police scanners on all the time.
“The cleaning service will be here in the morning to take care of it. And Jared’s got to stay off his ankle for a day or so.” I pressed my middle finger between my eyes to stave off the headache.
My dad shot me a look. “Cleaning service? How much is that going to cost?”
Irritated, I gave him a look right back. “A lot. Of course.”
The frown he pulled told me he didn’t much care for my attitude, but then I didn’t much care for his. “If you got started now—”
“Dad!” For once, he stopped, so I didn’t have to talk over him. “I’m not doing this myself.
I need the cleaning service to take care of this because it has to be done right, and it’s too much for me to do myself. It would take me days and even then, I don’t have the equipment. So lay off, okay?”
My dad huffed. “I’m just thinking of the cost, Grace.”
“Dad. I’ve got it covered. Stuff like this happens. We’ll be fine.”
Sure. If I planned to survive on ramen noodles and bargain-priced mac-n-cheese for a few months. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it still sucked. I could deal with the reduced grocery budget, but this also meant my social life was going to be seriously curtailed. That sucked even worse.
My dad sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I can come in. Get a start.”
“Dad, no!” I mirrored his stance. “I don’t need you to do that.”
He looked around again at the mess, then back at me. “With Jared out, you’ll need some help around here, won’t you?”
“I’ll be fine. I won’t be going anywhere, anyway.” Not without the money to pay for my dates. Sam’s phone call rose to the top of my mind like a raisin in champagne, refusing to stay down no matter how I tried to squash it.
“How much is it going to cost?”
I tossed up my hands and left the room, leaving him to contemplate the damage I’d
“a
llowed” to happen to his precious business. Upstairs I found Shelly at the coffeemaker, her hands wrapped around a mug from which she kept taking rapid, nervous sips. Not only wasn’t she a champ at brewing it, Shelly didn’t drink coffee. She didn’t even drink soda or tea.
“Is that decaf?” I pointed to the carafe. She shook her head and gulped another mouthful from her mug. I poured myself a cup and added sweetener and milk from the small fridge.
“Shelly?”
She gave me a timid smile. “It’s not so bad once you get past the taste.”
I nodded solemnly as I sipped. “Uh-huh.”
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in our mutual silence.
“How’s Jared?” I asked her.
“Oh, he’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain.” Her timid smile faltered. She poured more coffee into her mug, though it wasn’t yet empty. “He has to stay off it, that’s all.”
I pretended to study a pile of brochures in the printer tray as I sipped my own coffee.
“Yeah, I know.”
Shelly gave a garbled squeak and gulped down more coffee. A sideways glance showed me pink cheeks and bright eyes. She looked tired and hopped up at the same time. Too much caffeine. I recognized the feeling.
“My dad’s hanging around,” I told her to save her from answering my question. “Just ignore him, okay?”
Shelly put her mug down on the counter. “Your dad?”
I smiled. “Don’t let him get to you, Shelly.”
Her smile got less timid, and she lifted her chin. “I won’t. You’re my boss. Not him.”
“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.” I gave her a trigger-finger salute and lifted my coffee mug. “Good coffee, by the way.”
She beamed. “Thanks.”
The phone rang, and she went to answer it while I took my mug and went to my own office to pore over the diminishing balance in my checking account and wonder what I was going to do.
The answer to that was simple enough. Spend less money. I sighed, drinking coffee.
The situation wasn’t dire just yet. I lived frugally enough—aside from my dates with Jack.
So I’d put off getting a new couch for a while. Not eat lunch out so often for a few months.
It was a matter of priorities, that was all.
Jack met me in the same room we’d used the last time. I knew it not by the verdigris-colored number on the door but by the patch in the wallpaper above the bed and the stain on the bathroom sink where someone had left a cigarette to burn too long.
We didn’t say hello. He didn’t smile. The door closed behind us and he pushed me up against it with his hands already pulling up my skirt and his mouth already fastening on my throat. He pressed his teeth to my flesh. I reached for his belt. He grunted and wound his fingers in my hair when my hand dived inside his jeans.
Jack pushed me onto the worn carpet that offered no padding for my knees. I might care later, when they sported dark purple bruises the shape of a quarter, but right then the sting of him pulling my hair mattered more.
He freed himself from his jeans with a practiced hand and got himself fully erect in three strokes, up and down. I could have pulled away, freed myself from his grip, but that wasn’t the game we were playing. I let him push my mouth onto his cock, and I took him down as far as I could while my hand crept between my thighs to stroke myself through the thin cotton of my panties.
I hadn’t told him on the phone this was what I wanted. I’d only told him what I didn’t want. No talking. No coyness. I wanted fast fucking. Ruthless was the word I’d used, not sure he’d understand what I meant, but Jack was a champ. He’d gotten better at this, and at that moment it didn’t matter if he’d learned it from my tutelage or someone else’s with more money to spend. All that mattered was the way he pushed his hips forward to thrust inside my eager mouth.
This was about me. For me, as it always was, but giving pleasure can be better than receiving, if you’re in the right frame of mind. I’d knelt this way in front of other men and fucked them with lips and teeth and tongue. Made them come while they muttered and groaned and pulled my hair. Today I was doing it for Jack, who was doing it for me, and somewhere along the way it stopped mattering just who this was supposed to be for.
He shuddered, groaning. The sweet/salt musk of semen flavored the inside of my mouth, but he hadn’t yet come. I sucked him softly one moment longer and slid my hand along his wet length to take the place of my tongue.
I’d have finished him with myself just a few seconds behind, but Jack pulled me to my feet and grabbed both my wrists. Breathing hard, he let go of one of my hands to reach for the straight-backed chair beside us and yanked it closer. He moved fast but sure, pulling a condom from his jeans pocket and sitting on the chair without letting go of my wrist.
“Put it on me,” he demanded, and pressed the foil package into my palm.
He lifted his ass to shove down his jeans and briefs to his ankles while I ripped open the foil. I slid the latex down his length as he reached beneath my skirt to yank down my panties.
Then he put his hands on my hips and turned me, facing away from him, then guided his cock inside me with an expert hand.
I teetered momentarily until I braced my hands on his knees and shifted my feet flat on the floor. Jack didn’t move while we settled. This angle, with me sitting on his lap but facing away from him, was different even than if he’d entered me from behind, and I took a second or two to breathe with it.
“Look in the mirror,” he told me.
I looked up. I could see myself clearly, my hair tumbled over my shoulders and my face flushed. I looked fully clothed, my skirt pushed up on my thighs but still mostly covering me, and my shirt completely buttoned. Of Jack I saw nothing but his hands anchoring my hips, and when I tried to shift so I could see his face, his fingers bit down against my skirt.
“No.”
I stopped.
“Unbutton your shirt. All the way.”
With clumsy fingers I started to do as he said, as he began a slow, subtle upward thrust.
His thighs flexed beneath my ass. His fingers inched my skirt higher and higher until the first glimpse of my pubic curls peeped from beneath the hem.
Under my shirt I wore a simple cotton bra without lace or frills. My nipples stood out clearly through the thin fabric. Jack’s hand slid up and over my stomach to cup one breast, and he pinched my nipple.
“Take off your bra.” His voice had gone lower. Deeper. His mouth pressed against my back, and the heat of his breath seeped through my blouse. “Look at your tits.”
A crass word, tits. Crude. I licked my lips when he said it, and did what he’d told me. My bra hooked in the front and it took no more than a flick of my thumb to loosen it. The fabric cupping my breasts fell away and my bared skin humped into gooseflesh, then heat when Jack’s hand slid across them.
His other hand pulled my skirt even higher.
“Can you see your pussy?”
That word is soft and hard at the same time, crude and innocent all at once. I never think of my breasts as tits, my vagina as a pussy. I use cunt if I think of it as anything, cunt a word with power.
“Yes.” I had to lick my mouth again as I said it. As I watched Jack’s hand slide between my thighs and find my clit with his middle finger. As he began to rub me in slow, even circles in time with his slow, shallow thrusts.
He stopped a moment and withdrew his hand. When he returned it, his finger was slick and wet. The thought of him licking it to better slide against me forced a groan from deep in my throat, and my body jerked.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes…” The word became a hiss of pleasure as his circling finger sent warmth throughout my body.
Just as I could have pulled my hair from his grasp, I could have moved on his erection, but there was sweet anticipation in the torture of his slight movements and the slow, slow motion of his finger on my clit.
“Can you see me touching
you?”
“Yes.”
“Watch.”
“I’m watching.”
I moaned when he withdrew his finger from my flesh again, and louder when he returned with it even wetter than the first time. He would have tasted me that time, and I groaned and closed my eyes.
“Watch,” Jack ordered, and I wondered how he knew I wasn’t.
I couldn’t see his face in the mirror. Only his hands, one still on my hip and the other working between my legs. I couldn’t see his face, but maybe he could see mine, and that thought tore forth another ragged groan. My face, my shining eyes, my mouth slack with pleasure. My tits, nipples tight and red with arousal. The curve of my belly and fluff of dark curls parted by his fingertip.
Jack hadn’t been moving inside me very fast or hard, but now he stopped entirely. His finger rested without mercy on my clit, and instead of the slow circles he began a rhythmic pressure, firm and steady, the motion of his hand so slow I couldn’t see it.
I could feel it, though. Push. Release. Push. Release. Far slower than my heart, which beat fast in my wrists and throat and also inside my cunt and beneath the kernel of my clitoris.
The salt of my sweat burned my lips until I licked them, and then it burned my tongue. I watched the pink ribbon of my tongue slide across my mouth and the glimpse of teeth as I bit my lower lip against the low cry easing out of me.
“I can feel you getting hotter.” Jack pushed his face against my shoulder blade. “Your clit’s getting bigger under my fingers. Watch yourself. Are you watching?”
“Fuck, yes,” I managed to say. I wanted to ask Jack if he was watching, but I could only stare at my reflection.
I’d never seen myself come before, not even the reflection of my lover’s gaze. I always closed my eyes at the end, as if my ecstasy could be made greater by the colored light-show orgasm created behind my eyelids. But now, myself the only one watching, it seemed important to see.
My body ached for Jack to move and thrust, but he denied me that unvoiced desire. His finger pressed me in its slow pattern, then stopped. Circled me once, twice, until I was on the edge, my thighs quaking with the effort of release, only to stop again. I moved my hips then, desperate for the pressure on my clitoris to send me over. I pushed up with my hands, lifting my body, but Jack’s hand tightened on my hip and I stopped. I could have moved, could have taken what I wanted, but I didn’t.