by Lisa Ladew
Eme shook her head and pushed the thoughts away. They weren't falling in love, and they weren't getting married. They were on a date. Their second date. And if she got to know him better, that didn't mean they were getting married. Hell, she could take him to her house and fuck him all night long if she wanted to, and that still wouldn't mean there would be any sort of a future for them.
Eme's face heated as she thought about that. She wanted to take him home and fuck him, which surprised her. She wanted to see if the man was as thoughtful of a lover as he was a courter. She wanted to touch him, have him touch her, and see what a physical relationship was like when she wanted it. She'd had sex with Dusan hundreds of times, thousands maybe, the first time on their wedding night when she was sixteen, with hopeful stars in her eyes about what the marriage would mean to her. She'd learned quickly it meant only pain, and sex meant only what Dusan wanted.
She snuck a glance at the strong man beside her, wondering freely what it would be like with him. Would he talk to her as they moved together? Would he stare into her eyes? Would she feel the connection that she felt at that moment, but a thousand fold? She bet he would care about her pleasure, and she wanted desperately to know what that would be like.
The truck slowed as Bronx looked for a parking spot. She looked out of the window. "Golden Gate Park?"
"Local bands are having concerts all week. Tonight it's a Blues band. My brother told me about it. He might be here."
She watched his profile in the dim light, not asking which brother. She wanted to meet them all. He eased his truck into a spot, then turned it off and looked at her. "Ready?"
"Yes," she breathed, meaning she was ready for more than just the concert and wondering if it showed on her face.
It must not have, because he got out of the truck and came around to her side, helping her out. Or maybe he was just a gentleman.
They walked down a path into the park, hand in hand, his thumb still doing that hot, friction thing across hers. God it was making her crazy, in a very good way.
She could hear the music and she liked it, especially with Bronx at her side. It got louder, and the path opened up into a clearing where people were sprawled across a hill, all pointed at the band in the distance.
They stopped walking and Eme felt her body want to move to the deep bass harmony that drifted their way.
Bronx leaned over and whispered in her ear, sounding completely erotic even though his words were anything but. "Do you like hot chocolate?"
She almost groaned, as a shot of him pouring hot chocolate on her body and licking it off shot through her mind. Or something less liquid. Like chocolate sauce. Whatever. She nodded, her eyes on the ground, her mind still seeing him licking his way down her body. He pulled his hand out of hers. "Be right back."
Eme watched him stroll away, his ass moving deliciously under his jeans. She felt her teeth clench together and realized she was imagining biting him on one perfect ass cheek, chocolate involved or not. Her eyes went wide and she pulled her gaze away. What was wrong with her?
She felt, rather than heard someone come up behind her and she turned quickly, but not before a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. A silent cry came out of her mouth and she whirled around, staring straight into the cold brown eyes of Du—but wait, no, it wasn't Dusan. What in the hell was she thinking?
It was Captain Isaacs. Top. By the looks of him he had been drinking heavily. His shoulders curved forward and his entire face was flushed, as if he'd run there from somewhere far. The smell coming off of him confirmed that he had been drinking, and not beer. Something hard.
"If it isn't Miss Goody-two-shoes," he slurred, but his eyes were focused, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. "You made a mistake, missy, you know that?"
Eme tried to back up, but he came forward with her, sticking his big snout right in her face. "Where you going, Miss Priss? I'm right here."
"Captain Isaacs, you don't want to do this."
"Don't tell me what I want to do. You don't have any idea what I want," he said, his thick tongue coming out to wet his lips, pushing the smell of alcohol right at her.
His right hand was still on her shoulder and he raised the left one too, curling it around her torso, brushing purposely up against her breast as he did so. The sensation made her want to scream. She pushed at him with her hands but he was a brick wall.
He smiled at something, then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "You can make it up to me. Let me show you what I want."
His wide face came towards her and she turned her head, thinking only that she couldn't let his lips land on hers, couldn't allow him to force his tongue into her mouth.
She saw someone coming fast as two white cups of hot chocolate spilled to the ground along the path. Then Bronx was there, his hands on Isaacs' arm, bending the wrist far enough that Eme was afraid it would snap. Isaacs was pulled away from her as he grunted in pain, then contorted his body to try to lessen the torque Bronx had on him.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Bronx snarled, his eyes flashing in the dim light, his expression hardened and violent like Eme had never seen on him before.
Chapter 26
Bronx
He might actually fucking kill someone. Bronx hadn't felt so mad since, well, since ever. Generally, he was slow to boil, but when he saw his boss draping his drunk body all over a stricken-looking Eme, even as she pushed and pulled away and turned her head in fear and disgust, something in him snapped like a rubber band stretched to its limit.
Bronx felt his teeth grinding together as he torqued harder on Isaacs wrist. Fucker deserved a broken arm. Deserved to be fucked up the ass with a broom handle, actually, so maybe he would think twice next time about touching a woman who so obviously didn't want to be touched.
He grabbed Isaacs' other arm and spun him around, then leaned close to his head, dimly aware of people in the vicinity turning their way, gasping, pointing, scrambling. "I said, what in the fuck do you think you're doing? Answer me before I go Mike Tyson on your ear and you end up a few ounces lighter."
"Rosesson," Isaacs panted. "Let go of me now and maybe I won't get you fired."
Bronx twisted the arm he had ahold of until he heard tendons creak and a low moan came out of the piece of crap in front of him. "Try to fire me, I don't give a shit. But if you ever lay one grimy finger on Lieutenant Avalon again, going to work will be the last thing on your mind. You got me?"
Isaacs stared straight ahead, a nasty bead of sweat rolling down his temple, headed straight for the ear Bronx was so close to. Bronx prepared to clamp down harder and force out the answer he wanted when Isaacs nodded, one stiff move of his head. At the same time, Eme grabbed his shoulder, and whispered fiercely in his ear, her accent stronger than he had ever heard it. "Let him go, Bronx, the poes is not worth it."
Bronx blinked at the strange word and did as Eme asked, pushing the old, drunk fucker three feet down the path. Isaacs stumbled with the momentum and fell into the grass.
Eme put a hand on his arm, her eyes wide and frightened. Bronx pressed his lips together and looked around, taking several deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. He'd never snapped like that before. Sure, he'd been in a few fights, had a few arguments, but the sheer violence that had welled up out of him was something completely new.
He grabbed her hand. "Maybe we should leave." Her wide eyes found his and she nodded. They hurried up the path, Bronx looking back only to make sure Isaacs was still on the ground. He was. He'd laid back and put his hands flat out, like maybe he was going to take a breather. Good idea.
They hurried toward Bronx's truck, Bronx's blood still running hot, his big steps eating up the ground. He tried to slow down so Eme didn't have to run to keep up with him, but he needed to move, needed to burn off the adrenaline. Maybe she did too.
They broke out of the park onto the sidewalk and turned right to traverse the few blocks to his truck. When they reached it, he stepped between two cars
, intending to help Eme into her seat, but he felt irritation worm its way into his thoughts. Fucker had ruined their night and Bronx couldn't think of anything else to do.
Eme stopped him, pulling on his arm. He looked around to make sure no one was coming after them. The sidewalk was empty. Before he knew what was happening, she pushed him up against the hood of his truck and she was on him, her hands in his hair, her mouth on his mouth, her tongue pressing for entrance.
Bronx froze for a minute, surprised, but then his body responded before his mind fully got in gear. His mouth opened, accepting her, letting her penetrate him as she would. His arms slipped around her and pulled her close, his fingers running down her body to her ass. She groaned into his mouth and her hands went to his chest, then his hair, then ran back down, gripping, pulling, testing.
Bronx whirled her around in one motion, then lifted her and sat her on the hood of his truck, so he had to look up to kiss her and so his body was between her thighs. He could feel heat pitching off of her, especially where her legs joined, and he pushed his chest up against that spot, wishing they were in private.
"Bronx," she gasped between thrusts of her tongue into his mouth. "You shouldn't have done that. He's your boss, isn't he?"
Who was she talking about? In his frenzy to learn her taste and the curves of her body under her clothes he couldn't think of anything but her. Oh. Isaacs. The dickhead. Loathe to part from her, he spoke directly into her mouth, letting her tongue flick over his lips, his hands plying her thighs and running over her ass and lower back. "Fuck boss. He doesn't deserve that job. Let him try to fire me, he'll have the fight of the century on his hands."
Eme seemed satisfied with his answer and she stopped talking as they pawed at each other, heat binding them together like rope and chasing the night's chill away. He couldn't stop himself, he ran a hand up her side and cupped one perfect breast, running his thumb over the hard nipple he could feel through two layers of fabric.
She moaned and drug her hands up his sides. "Take me home," she said into his mouth. "Let's go to my place, unless yours is closer."
Bronx's already erect cock jumped and hardened to stone at the roughness in her voice. God, how was he going to separate himself from her long enough to—
She solved that by pushing him away from her and jumping down. "Open the doors," she said, running to the passenger side of his truck.
Bronx got moving, saying a tiny prayer of thanks. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted a woman in his life, and she wanted him right back.
Chapter 27
Eme
The lock on the door to her building was sticking, making Eme want to scream. It should have taken him thirteen minutes to get from the park to her place, but he did it in just under ten. She'd worked her hands on his thighs the entire drive as he stared with single-minded intensity out the front window, but she hadn't quite dared to touch the hard length she could see even in his jeans. It had never wilted, but looked uncomfortable.
She rattled her key around, feeling Bronx's hands on her ass, the backs of her thighs, her hips, touching like he was just barely holding himself off from dropping her to the ground right there on the doorstep. God, the thought set her off to new heights of desire. Sex for her before had always been the result of Dusan's cold need for release. Never had she imagined this kind of passion, this want, this magical need could be involved. She felt like if she didn't have Bronx naked and inside her soon she might combust, all of her molecules deserting her body in flight.
And she liked him, that was the best part. She didn't hate him, didn't fear him, didn't want to stick a steak knife into the meaty part of his neck at dinnertime. She liked, admired, respected, and wanted him. Now.
The lock twisted to the right. "Finally!" She yanked the door open and they both spilled inside. She grabbed Bronx's hands and pulled him up the stairs at a dead run. Neither of them needed to try to get feisty there. She had neighbors. And she couldn't handle one more start and stop. The next time she put her hands on him, she wanted to be able to put her hands on all of him.
They reached the top floor and she let go of him long enough to get out her next key, then slam it into the lock. This one opened easily, thank the heavens. They spilled into the room and Eme shed her jacket and pulled her shirt over her head without even thinking. Her apartment was a studio, and her only bed was right there in the living room. She traipsed to it and whirled around, sitting down, kicking off her shoes, then raising her eyes to Bronx.
He stood at the door, gently closing it, watching her, his eyes hooded and barely visible in the dim light coming in the room from the large bay window. His fingers found the lock, then the deadbolt, as he stared at her. Eme reached behind her, her blood pounding in her ears, the scent of the flowers he'd gotten her filling her nose.
She wanted this. She wanted everything about it. And she told him the only way she could think of without saying the actual words. She unhooked her bra and pulled it off, dropping it on the floor next to her.
His light groan told her everything she needed to know about where to go next. He stalked towards her, even as she stood again and undid her jeans, dropping them to the floor.
He stopped a foot from her, his hands reaching out to span her waist. "You are so beautiful," he said, for the fifth time that evening, then his head dipped and his mouth latched on to her breast.
The sensation shot through her, and she let herself go, her arms hanging backwards as he curled a hand around her waist, his other at her hip. He held her up completely, taking all of her weight, as she let him do what he wanted with her body. She was his, as completely as if he'd made her out of clay. She only needed to learn his every desire and she would respond to it. Right now his desire was to make sweet electricity crackle through her body with his tongue on her nipple.
Bronx lowered her to the bed and gently stroked her other nipple with his thumb, as he paid homage to the one under his tongue. She bucked her almost-bare hips, fiercely glad she'd worn her cutest pair of panties. At the time it had seemed frivolous. She'd had no plans to allow the man into her bed, into her body, but then she hadn't known him as well as she did now. She was half a heartbeat away from allowing him into her very soul, if he wanted.
She writhed underneath him and plucked at his shirt. Obediently he pulled the thing off, dropping it onto the floor to make friends with her bra and pants. His mouth found her other breast and his hand switched sides, his thumb now flicking lazily over the nipple of the breast that had before only known his mouth. His other hand traveled lower, over her stomach, drawing lazy circles there that sent sensation screaming up her torso, forcing a choppy moan and pant from her mouth.
"Fuck, Bronx, what are you doing to me?" she blurted out, dismayed to hear her accent, heavy but sounding neither Irish nor German, penetrating each word.
Even though her body didn't cool even one degree, the sound of her own voice in her ears did something to her, brought her back to herself, her worries, her cares, who she actually was and what was actually at stake for her, and she jerked backwards with a curse. Her hands found a sheet and pulled it over her body as she sat up and scrambled away from the man she desperately wanted to only get closer to.
She stared at Bronx, her lungs heaving, waiting for his anger that was sure to follow. She'd led him on, thrown herself at him, and now she was cutting him off. Men didn't like to be toyed with like that. The only question was, what would he do with his anger? He wasn't a hitter, she knew that, didn't she? But he could still yell. Still fire names at her. Still tear her down emotionally and leave her shaking in abandoned horror.
She could handle it.
She hoped.
Chapter 28
Eme
Eme curled her legs underneath her and fastened the sheet around her, unsure if she should say anything. She didn't know his buttons. Didn't know what made him mad and what kept him cool. What in the hell had she been thinking? That was the thing. She hadn't thought at all. H
er body had been running the show.
Bronx reached out to her, then seemed to change his mind and lifted the hand to his hair, running his fingers through it. "Hey, Eme, sorry, was I moving too fast?"
Eme blinked. His tone was gentle. His face soft. His eyes caring and focused on her.
"I'm sorry," she sputtered, speaking slowly and carefully, being sure to keep her accent off her words. "It was me, I wanted you to move fast, but ah, I, ah, I got scared."
He smiled and dropped his hand. "Cool. I get it. We don't have to do anything."
Eme felt her body shudder thickly, as if throwing something off. "You-you're not mad?"
Bronx stared at her for a long time, and she had the strangest feeling that he was reading her mind, reaching in through the library of her thoughts and pulling out anything relevant to the situation. His face softened even more and he shook his head.
Her eyes dropped to his jeans, where she could still see the outline of his erection. He saw her go there and he shifted on the bed, pulling a pillow in front of him. "Hey, well, that part of me might be a little upset, but it's what, only a quarter of me? And it's stupid, always has been. There's like seventy-five percent of me that's totally cool with whatever you want."
Eme sniffed a silent laugh. "Really, it's that, um, big?"
A wide smile spread over Bronx's face, like he'd gotten off a good joke and she'd understood it instantly. "Absolutely, you want to see?"
Eme laughed out loud this time and gave him a skeptical look.
Bronx pulled the pillow closer to him, his voice light and teasing, completely at odds with his words. "Come on, you're a firefighter, you're qualified to handle large, dangerous tools."
Eme couldn't help it. She snorted and covered her mouth, embarrassed, but Bronx only smiled.