Burn

by Shey Stahl

  “I can’t resist a man in a uniform,” I tell him, licking my lips, shifting my weight to one foot to make the curve in my hips more apparent.

  “I can’t resist a beautiful woman in a red dress.” His stare darts to my lips and I know he’s thinking the same thing.

  I motion him forward with one finger. He willingly leans in closer, licking that bottom lip I bit yesterday as he was coming inside of me on a massage table. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. My panties are red too.”

  “Let me see,” he demands, voice rough with need, his stare never wavering.

  What the fuck is with this guy that I can’t resist him?

  In a moment of weakness, I ask, “Do you have to go right away?”

  No, Mila. Bad. Idea.

  Oh, but look at him. This is a very good idea.

  Caleb glances over his shoulder to the firefighters behind him, and they laugh, shaking their heads like they know what he’s about to do. Lifting his head, he nods down the hall. “I should, you know, check the building. See if there are any signs of smoke just to be on the safe side.”

  I start walking. “I’ll show you around. I think I saw something down the hall.”

  We’re in the men’s bathroom moments later and Caleb locks the door behind him. It’s a surprisingly clean bathroom too. I’m impressed. The Grand Hyatt knows how to roll.

  I can’t think of what to say to him so I sit on the counter and spread my legs the best I can in this dress. Like hey, want some?

  Not classy.

  With his eyes on me, he makes his way over to me, unzipping his jacket and untucking his navy blue shirt from his pants. Working on the Velcro of the pants, he gets it undone, then the zipper, but doesn’t unfasten the pants he’s wearing underneath them.

  Christ, he wears a lot of layers.

  He goes to remove the helmet on his head with the number L10 on the front of it and below that “RYAN” in red letters.

  I stop him. “No,” I say, smiling as I adjust myself and my dress on the counter. “Leave it on.”

  Caleb grins, one side higher than the other, the bright white lights above my head catching his smoldering stare. It’s then I notice the slight scruff he had on his face the other day is gone.

  “You shaved?”

  He nods. “Department policy.”

  They can’t have facial hair? Weird.

  When he drops his shoulder to take the tank off his back and the mask, I stop him again, my hands on his shoulders. “Don’t think I’m some kind of freak but can you, um . . .” Too late. He thinks that already for sure. My face heats, I’m going to hell. “Can you, like leave all this on and put the mask on?”

  And while I maintain my dignity on the outside, for the most part, inside I’m screaming at his face to run away. I would if I was him.

  The look he gives me is a straight up, Who the fuck is this chick and what kind of kinky shit is she into?

  But then there’s a side of him that’s just as intrigued.

  His hard eyes stare down at me, filled with what I think is lust, but I have no real indication as to what he’s feeling. He could be thinking, fuck, this chick’s crazy but I’ll still fuck her.

  “You want me to put my mask on?”

  This is ridiculous. I nod, biting my lip. “Please?”

  He stares at me for several seconds. “This tank weighs forty pounds.”

  He’s moments away from running away. I know it. My bottom lip jets out. “Pretty please?”

  Caleb chuckles. “Oh, what the hell.” Smirking, he shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s doing this. The grin fades and he becomes focused, like adjusting all this gear is second nature to him. He tightens the straps on his back, buckles it in the front and then takes the mask that’s hanging on another strap in his hands.

  As I sit on the edge of the sink watching all this, crazy with anticipation, he removes his helmet, sets it beside me and then puts his mask over his head. It’s a tight fit as I’m sure it’s meant to be and then he pulls a black hood over the top of it, pulls cords and straps tight and reaches behind him and turns the tank on behind him. It makes a high-pitch chirp sound, then another couple beeps and a hiss as air moves into the mask.

  His eyes are focused on mine with the same intensity mine are about the time he takes a breath.

  He’s Darth Vader, and I’m soaking wet.

  The black mask is cone shaped, narrowed at the end with a round valve that’s connected to the tank with a black hose. Reaching for the helmet, he places that on his head and then breathes in again, another hissing sound as the tank on his back helps him breathe.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he asks, his voice muffled by the mask.

  With my eyes on his chest and the whistle that beeps on his shoulder. I grin like a fool listening to his every breath. I don’t know why but this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I fight the urge to clap my hands together.

  I point to the gauge on his chest with the red button. “What’s that?”

  “My PASS. It whistles when I don’t move for fifteen seconds.” He winks. “I’m sure we won’t have that problem.”

  Standing between my legs, Caleb’s fingers slowly trace my clit over my panties. “Miss me?”

  Don’t answer him. Make him think otherwise.

  Too bad my body gives it away. Responsive whore. I move my hands to his chest, feeling his T-shirt under his jacket and notice he’s got suspenders on underneath the jacket.

  Well look at that. No wonder his pants aren’t falling down.

  From there on out, Caleb’s movements are quick, and I’m assuming because he’s still on duty and probably doesn’t have a lot of time to be fucking someone in a bathroom, or he’s having trouble breathing and wants to take the mask off. It’s like one of the sleep apnea masks people who snore use, but sexy.

  He slides my panties off, or rips them, I’m not sure because once my hands move to his jacket and grip the thick material, I lose all sense of control.

  Pulling out a condom from a pocket in his turnout pants, my cheeks heat again.

  He keeps condoms in there?

  I watch closely as he works on the button and zipper of the pants under his gear and then he’s pulling out his cock, so hard and ready and fucking beautiful.

  I want to sigh at the vision before me, but I don’t, thankfully. I don’t want to appear too eager.

  He strokes his cock from length to tip, eyes on mine, heat radiating through me and I think I’m going to burst into flames right here.

  Rolling on the condom in the next movement, Caleb smiles but says nothing.

  Swallowing, I lift my eyes to his. “You have condoms in your turnout gear?” My voice is soft. I’m almost embarrassed he’s prepared. Does he usually fuck women in bathrooms after he puts out fires?

  Crap. I hope not.

  His stare meets mine, but he doesn’t reply. I’m learning quickly Caleb only answers the questions he wants to. Or maybe talking with the mask on isn’t easy?

  Reaching between us, he widens his stance and then slides easily inside me, and I forget about him being prepared as I stretch around him. Now I’m thankful he was so prepared.

  My eyes travel over the length of his body, but more importantly, his turnout gear and that fucking mask. Goddamn, so hot!

  “Fuck.” He moves, then groans, and winces in pain, shifting his position as if he’s uncomfortable.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My balls are pinched.”

  I giggle. “Oh.”

  After adjusting his pants, he brings me forward again and I curl my arms around his neck, my legs spreading wider to allow him better movement.

  Hot bathroom sex isn’t what you think it would be. It’s one, hard to balance your ass on a counter. And two, quite difficult to keep from falling into the sink. Oh and don’t forget the ass cramps. Or your legs shaking when you’re trying to hold them up. It’s all rather awkward.

  All that asi
de, take a firefighter in turnout gear, helmet and mask on, fucking you on that counter, you forget all about points one to three. At least I do.

  His breathing is what gets me the most as he’s holding me against the sink, fucking me relentlessly and then slips one hand between my legs, circling my clit.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asks, the subdued tone shooting a jolt of pleasure through me.

  Why is this so insanely hot?

  When I don’t answer his question, he stops and pulls his hand away, damn near causing me to moan as he waits for my answer.

  I nod frantically, gripping the straps of the pack on his shoulders and yanking him to me. “I do . . .”

  “Good girl.”

  He’s got talented hands for sure because I’m dripping all over him in like two minutes, my legs tightening around his waist as I toss my head back against the mirror behind me. It takes everything in me not to scream out as my pussy clenches around him. The tightness starts in my belly, spreading through me like a wildfire. He slams his hips into me, relentlessly drawing my orgasm out.

  With my head back, his fingers move from my clit to my mouth. “Suck,” he says, demanding more than asking as he forces my mouth open and sticks his fingers in my mouth. Immediately I taste myself on him, and it excites me even more.

  His breathing intensifies, and he’s practically panting underneath the mask, and I’m getting concerned because it seems like this is a lot of fucking work and I’m worried.

  Tossing his head back, he groans deeply and moves faster, the vision of me sucking on his fingers exciting him.

  His helmet falls off, hits the ground at his feet with a thud, but his movements never stop. I’m sad the helmet’s gone but when he thrusts into me harder, his hands on my ass moving me into his motions harder, I forget about the helmet.

  There’s some kind of buzzing sound, and I jump, looking back at him. “What the fuck is that?” I ask wide-eyed.

  Caleb laughs, breathlessly and leans in a little more so his face is right next to mine, the mask against my cheek. “Tanks almost out of air . . .”

  “Oh my God, move faster!”

  The mask hisses in my ear as he breaths. “I’m fucking trying! This shit is heavy and hard to move in,” he tells me, and I think he’s kind of getting pissed because it’s probably really difficult. Like trying to fuck someone with a forty-pound weight on your back. Wouldn’t be so bad but we’re standing, or he’s standing, and I’m half on the counter, mostly off it.

  His undershirt is soaked with sweat, and the mask is now fogging up, but Caleb doesn’t stop and moves faster, determination in his every move, the breathing ridiculously labored.

  Before I know it, he grunts—which inside of that mask sounds like Batman—and pushes inside me once more and then stops, his body shuddering with heavy breaths, hunching over me as he comes. He pulls out, just a little, then slams into me once more, groaning as he releases, again and again.

  With his head forward, the mask near my face, not only is it sexy as hell, but he says something I can’t quite make out.

  The tank on his back is buzzing, there’s something on his chest, a red button flashing and beeping as he rips the mask in one fluid motion, gasping for air and steps back, leaning into the wall for support. “Goddamn . . .” he gasps, shaking his head. He’s soaked in sweat. It’s beading down his face like he’s crying, his hair soaked as he fights for breath.

  My eyes widen. What if he passes out? I can’t go out there and get the other firefighters. They’ll think I’m some kind of freak.

  “Are you okay?” My eyes drop to his cock. It’s still hard, and the sight before me makes me laugh. Here’s a firefighter in full gear with his pants unzipped, cock out, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern. And he’s covered in sweat.

  It’s hot as hell, but I laugh.

  Caleb’s head snaps up. “What are you laughing at?”

  “I don’t even know.” I giggle, covering my mouth with my hand. “You’re sweating like crazy.”

  I think it pisses him off because he steps toward me, grabs the back of my head and clamps his mouth down on mine and kisses me. Forget the fact that he’s sweating all over me, because I do. This kiss, it’s meant to show me I have absolutely nothing to laugh at right now. It’s the kind of kiss that stops fucking time is what it is.

  He kisses me with such ferocity I don’t have time to respond. His tongue invades my mouth, groaning as he deepens the kiss. Being that he’s still out of breath, the kiss doesn’t last long before he pulls away attempting to draw in air.

  His chest heaves with his rapid breathing, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me as he rips the condom off and tosses it in the garbage can near the paper towel dispenser. He begins righting his gear and adjusting himself without another word.

  Did I piss him off? I can never tell with this guy.

  It takes me a moment, the blood rushing back to my legs when I peel myself from the counter and reach for a paper towel to wipe myself and my face off.

  Bending over, Caleb retrieves my panties and his helmet from the floor.

  I hold my hand out. “Can I have my panties?”

  He replaces his helmet on his head and pockets my panties in one of the many compartments in his coat. “Nope. Mine now.”

  Damn it.

  He doesn’t zip the coat and then stands before me, his jaw clenching as he backs me against the tile wall near the door, one hand beside my head, the other slowly making its way from my hip to the side of my breast. “Next time I see you wearing this dress, I’m ripping it off you,” he whispers into my ear, close enough for me to feel his breath and then moves past me out the door.

  With a deep breath, I smooth out the dress, and I’m actually impressed I didn’t rip it. I’m getting pretty good at this dirty sex.

  I wait five minutes before I come out of the bathroom, trying not to appear too obvious.

  Making my way back through the lobby and to the hall, I can see Caleb getting into the fire truck and the other guys patting his back, like they’re proud of him. No doubt he told them what just went down.

  Nixon’s not pleased when I return. He’s standing in the back and pacing the marble floor by the door. “Where were you?”

  I shrug and reach inside my purse for my lipstick. “Bathroom.”

  His gaze holds mine. “Your hair and makeup are a mess.”

  Shit. But you know what? I don’t care. What happened in there was totally worth it.

  “Were you in the bathroom with that firefighter? The one I saw at the hotel? Because I just saw him walking from the same bathroom.”

  I flinch, shocked he’s acting this way. He has no fucking right to accuse me of anything, regardless of the truth. “Nixon, I’m tired. I’m just going to head home.”

  But he doesn’t let me and grabs me by the elbow. “Tell me you weren’t in there with him.”

  Anger rises inside me, my face flushing as I rip my arm up and out of his grasp. “I don’t have to tell you shit, Nixon. I’m going home.”

  Dejection flickers briefly in his eyes, but he’s quick to blink it away. And he then he glances at the lobby I just emerged from and the street he more than likely saw the fire truck pulling away.

  He leans in, close enough I feel his breath on the side of my neck and the wine he’s been consuming all night. “I suppose you’ve had a long night.”

  I pull back and he winks.

  I want to slap him across the face as he downs the rest of his wine and tosses the glass in a nearby garbage can. It shatters on impact, echoing through soaring ceilings of the building and I’m left standing there, alone, wondering what the fuck just happened.

  Ventilation

  Important procedures in firefighting in which the hot smoke and gases are removed from inside a structure, either by natural convection or forced, and either through existing openings or new ones provided by firefighters at appropriate locations, like the roof. Proper ven
tilation can save lives, and improper ventilation can cause backdraft or other hazards.

  Finn stares at me when I’m on the truck. “Dude, are you okay?”

  I blow him off. “I’m fine.”

  I’m not fine. Never fuck a girl with all that gear on. I feel like I’m dying of heat stroke.

  Tentatively—probably because he knows one wrong move and I’ll knock him out—Finn touches my cheek. “You’re sweating like crazy.”

  I slap his hand away with mine. “Don’t touch me.”

  Beside me, Owen knocks my knee with his when we’re back on the truck. “You fuckin’ away your demons, boy?”

  Who the fuck is he calling boy?

  I don’t answer him. I don’t want to. I don’t because he’s absolutely right. It’s what I do. I shouldn’t have just done that with Mila, but goddamn it, I can’t help it when it comes to her, despite the trouble I could have got myself into.

  And then I think about Owen’s words. Fuckin’ away your demons. There’s certainly nothing to this; it’s just sex and a means for release.

  As long as I was fuckin’ around with Gemma, I never once told her I loved her. Never intended to because I didn’t feel that way about her. And it’s a good thing because look how that turned out.

  Whenever that alarm goes off at the station, I’m ready and willing to give my life to save a nameless face. What I can’t give is myself to another, and I don’t even know why, just that I can’t.

  Conversation on the truck grabs my attention for a moment. Finn arguing with Evan now.

  “Shut up.” Evan shoves him across the seat and into Owen near the window. “I’m going to punch you in the ovary.”

  Finn throws his hands up and drops his helmet on the floor of the truck, completely frustrated with something. “I have to do something. Even the girls I bring home my parents don’t approve of.”

  “Why’s that, Sparkles?” Owen laughs, joining their conversation. “Did you pay for them?”

  “No.” Finn glares at him, aware he called him Sparkles. He hates the nickname Owen gave him over the chick, or shall I say, man from Neighbours. Let the record show she was in fact packing.