by Ivy Jordan
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
MR FIREFIGHTER
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan
Click here to get my book The Sexy Billionaire for FREE
MR SERIES
Click here to read Mr. Doctor, Book #1
Click here to read Mr. SEAL, Book #2
Click here to read Mr. Billionaire, Book #3
Click here to read Mr. Cowboy, Book #4
Click here to read Mr. Lieutenant, Book #5 – Coming April 30th
Click here to read Mr. Firefighter, Book #6 – Coming May 6th
Click here to read Mr. Sheriff, Book #7 – Coming May 13th
Click here to read Mr. President, Book #8 – Coming May 20th
Click here to read Mr. Roommate, Book #9 – Coming May 27th
Click here to read Mr. Neighbor, Book #10 – Coming June 3rd
Click here to read Mr. Mechanic, Book #11 – Coming June 10th
Click here to read Mr. Daddy, Book #12 – Coming June 17th
Click here to read Mr. Lumberjack, Book #13 – Coming June 24th
Click here to read Mr. Prince, Book #14 – Coming July 1st
Chapter One
I was beginning to think I didn’t belong in this town.
The small room where I would audition for the leading role in an independent film was filled with typical L.A. women. It felt as though every eye was on me when I entered, like they were wondering why I was there. I was beginning to wonder the same thing.
“Name and role,” the lady at the desk asked as I approached. She didn’t even bother to look up as she scribbled down my name next to the role of Lucinda, the abused housewife that kills her husband.
I took a seat next to one of the Barbie look-alikes, and re-read the part I planned to use in my audition.
The only jobs I’d managed to snag since moving to this town were two commercial roles, a few print ads, and a nobody role in a cheesy, low-budget play. I needed this part. I needed something. Otherwise, I was heading right back to Lydick, Indiana to work in my grandfather’s hardware store. I couldn’t go back. Not after promising to be somebody. That look of disappointment in my father’s eyes when I turned down the scholarship to Notre Dame still haunted me at night. When I called home, I could still hear the pain in his voice.
One after one, the blonde Barbies all took their turns in the casting room. My anxiety started to take hold of me as the room started to clear out. I stroked my long brown hair nervously. I was next. Deep breaths, inhale….exhale... “Emily Warren,” the woman at the desk called out. She pushed her glasses up on her nose as her head lifted to scan the room for the one belonging to the name she’d just called.
“Here,” I said nervously.
“This isn’t attendance. Go on inside,” she said, sarcasm oozing from her tongue.
Her lips curled into a half smile as she lightly shook her head. I knew that look. I’d had it given to me time and time again. It was the look that said, “You’re different. You don’t belong.”
I’d been on dozens of auditions, but they never seemed to get any easier. “Hello,” I said, clearing the lump of nerves from my throat as I entered the small room.
The heavy door shut behind me, slamming and causing me to jump. “Sorry,” I apologized to the three uninterested faces behind the long desk that sat against the far right wall in the room.
“Emily Warren?” the woman in the middle of two men asked. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her eyes were narrowed and small.
“Yes,” I said quickly, moving to my spot in the center of the room.
“You are auditioning for Lucinda?” the woman asked, then looked to her left, and then to her right.
The two men on either side of her didn’t seem to notice her glance. It was obvious she felt I wasn’t right for the part, but I had to push through.
“Yes,” I announced with a cheerful smile.
“Do you need someone to read with you?” the man on the left asked.
He was older, but handsome. His bald head was shiny, creating a small glare that I couldn’t seem to quit staring at. “No,” I said, pulling my eyes away from his head.
“Go ahead whenever you’re ready,” he said, offering the slightest hint of a smile behind the thick coat of his beard.
“I’ll be reading the speech Lucinda gives the cops,” I stated.
They all nodded and then turned to the page in the script that matched my audition.
Tamara, one of my three roommates, had taught me how to cry on demand. I read the speech, pleading with the cops to believe I didn’t mean to hurt my husband, even though fifteen bullets had been found in both his chest and back. A tear rolled down my cheek, which I slowly wiped away, and then let my head fall into my hands in dismay.
It felt good. Real good. “Thank you,” the woman in the middle stated without emotion.
I hated casting agents. They never showed any emotion. You had to leave the audition not knowing if they hated you or loved you.
The bald man leaned back in his chair towards the man on the other side of the woman. They were whispering as I gathered my script, and the rest of my belongings, ready to head out for the three-day torturous wait for rejection.
“Wait,” the bald man said quickly.
My heart throbbed in my chest, so hard I was afraid they could hear it. I stared in his direction, trying my best to avoid eye contact with the glare spot on his head.
“I think we can all agree that your acting ability is spot on,” he said.
Oh my God!
“We had originally decided to cast someone more…more L.A.,” he continued.
Yeah, more L.A. I knew what that meant. Blonder, bustier, faker.
“I think we may have overlooked a great opportunity to cast someone with a more girl-next-door look. You’d be perfect. The audience would fall in love with you, and believe that you’d end up in an abusive marriage,” he said with a smile.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I look corn-fed and stupid? Who cares, if it gets me the part.
I smiled, even though I wanted to scold him with a mean glare for his inconsiderate and completely inaccurate words.
“Are you comfortable with the sex scene?” the man on the right asked. His eyes were wide and his lashes thick, thicker than most women’s.
“Yes. Totally,” I boasted, even though ‘comfortable’ was a strong word. I was willing. Comfortable? Not so much.
“We’ll call you and let you know within three days,” the woman spoke up, obviously ready to debate the boys on why I wasn’t right for the part.
“Thank you,” I said, and then left the room where I felt degraded, judged, and somewhat ecstatic that I’d won over two-thirds of the table of assholes in the room.
My phone rang, playing my ringtone of Nirvana’s ‘All Apologies’ as I walked down the narrow staircase of the building and out the front doors to the sun-streaked sidewalk. It was October, and it was ninety degrees with full sun—unusual, even for Los Angeles, at this time of ye
ar. I still wasn’t used to it. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it. At home, it was probably forty degrees, and the trees were all shedding their leaves, the grass turning brown, and the threat of snowstorms right around the corner.
Tamara’s face lit up on my screen as I slid the answer button. “Hey girl,” I answered.
“Oh, thank God you answered,” she sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“My fucking model didn’t show up,” she snarled though the phone.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“Can you get here in twenty minutes?” she asked with desperation spewing from the edges of her voice.
“I can get there in five,” I replied.
“Oh my God! You’re amazing,” she squealed.
I shoved my phone into my purse and hailed a cab. I was only a couple miles from her studio, but the hot sun deterred me from trying to make the walk.
Tamara had been trying to get her big break as a photographer for years and had sunk every dime she made into newer and higher-end equipment. I knew how important this job was to her, and to her career, so I was happy to help.
After paying the cabbie, I rushed into the white stucco building where Tamara worked. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, or what she’d have me modeling, but I didn’t care. I was on cloud nine. Two out of the three assholes liked me for the part. I had a chance. A real fuckin’ chance.
“Oh, thank God,” Tamara rushed to me with open arms.
A quick squeeze to greet her, and I was rushed into the dressing room. “What’s the ad?” I asked.
“It’s a new water brand,” she said, pushing a skimpy red bikini into my hands.
“Oh, wow,” I laughed, looking at the tiny suit.
“I know. You’ll be doing me a real solid. I need this to be perfect,” she pleaded.
“Of course,” I said, swallowing my modesty and agreeing to put on the tiny red bikini.
An Asian woman, whom I couldn’t understand when she talked, started fussing with my hair. A flamboyant man with wavy blond hair sat down in front of me with a large bag of makeup and brushes. “Here. Wipe off that horrific makeup,” he said with a snotty tone as he handed me a cloth and tube of makeup remover.
I did as I was told. This wasn’t unusual treatment; I’d gotten enough work to know that. The town was harsh, and the people harsher. It was a good damn thing my parents had raised me to have thick skin.
“You ready?” Tamara yelled.
The makeup and hair artists cleared the way, and I slipped behind the curtain to change into my suit.
As I exited, the man with all the makeup brushes was there to greet me. He didn’t say anything as he knelt to his knees and started brushing my inner thighs. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and I was just thankful I’d waxed earlier that week.
“You look amazing,” Tamara assured me as I entered back into the studio.
A large area was coated with thick layers of sand, and an umbrella stuck out with a backdrop of the ocean.
One of the hottest men I’d ever seen walked out of the other dressing room wearing nothing except firefighter pants and suspenders. Oh, my!
I shot Tamara a look of excitement with my teeth showing, my eyes wide, and my body so tense I could snap if I made any sudden movements.
“Emily. This is Josh. Josh, Emily will be filling in for Sandra today,” Tamara said as she moved behind her camera.
I extended my hand to him with a smile. “You want me—er—where do you want me?” I stammered.
He grinned, showing off his perfectly white teeth. I watched his strong hand as it slid across his squared off chin, as if he was thinking about my mistaken question, and then through his thick, wavy blond hair. Jesus, he was fuckin’ hot!
“I believe you’ll need to be in my arms. Like I’m carrying you,” he said, his voice so sweet it could’ve been honey.
“Okay,” I said, feeling my cheeks burning.
I heard Tamara giggle from behind her camera. Thank you, Sandra, for not showing up today; and thank you, Tamara, for thinking of me!
It was awkward at first, but Josh’s natural charm and confident charisma made it easy to relax. He took the lead, pulling me into his arms while Tamara snapped the shots. “Just relax,” he said with a smile.
My body melted into his. Oh God, that was too relaxed. I tensed back up.
His smile was warm and his eyes patient as he stared at me. “Emily. You need to be really into him,” Tamara said. I am; that is the problem!
“He’s the hot firefighter that is there not only to quench your thirst with the water he carries, but to quench your desires as well,” she added, and then ducked back behind her camera.
I took a deep breath. This was her job on the line. I decided to ignore the fact that Josh’s chest was rippled with muscles, that his arms were so thick I couldn’t get both hands around them, and that he smelled like sex.
Tamara seemed pleased with my transition from a giddy schoolgirl to a professional model. She was all over the place, snapping pictures from every direction as I let my hands explore Josh’s body, and my eyes linger on his with hunger and thirst.
He scooped me up into his arms without much warning, causing me to squeal with delight from his strength. “Okay, ready for the money shot,” Tamara said, moving quickly towards us.
Before I knew what happened, or what was going to happen, Josh’s lips were pressed against mine. I don’t know if it was instinct, fear, or just pure physical yearning, but my lips parted, and my mouth opened without hesitation, allowing his tongue to explore mine.
His hand held my buttocks firmly, cupping both cheeks in just his palm. A tingle quickly arose between my legs, and as our tongues entangled together, I let out a soft moan.
Josh pulled back slowly, staring at me with his bright-blue eyes. His lips curled into a crooked smile, and he hummed in a deep tone that vibrated my pussy into submission. I knew he could do anything he wanted with me in that moment. I didn’t care that Tamara was in the room, that the rest of the crew was moseying around the snack table, or that it may all be caught on camera. He put me down. Not what I expected, or wanted.
“That was great, guys. Thank you so much, Emily; you were amazing,” Tamara gushed.
Awkwardness fell over me as I realized I may have been the only one feeling the sexual tension between us. “Anytime,” I replied to Tamara and quickly rushed into the dressing room.
I slipped out of the bikini bottoms, realizing some of my juices had escaped my swollen lips and saturated the crotch of the suit. I stuffed them into my purse, quickly dressed, and promised myself I’d return them to Tamara in the morning after they’d been washed.
After dressing, I said my goodbyes to Tamara. I groaned softly at the realization that Josh had already taken off; when I peeked in to see if he was still around, his dressing room door open and he was nowhere to be found.
“If you want more work, I can hook you up,” Tamara said cheerfully.
“Yes!” I squealed.
“I’ll see you at home. Thanks again, Emily,” she smiled.
I walked out the doors, hoping for relief from the fall day, but instead was hit with an unusual heat wave that made my skin instantly tacky.
“Hey, Emily,” said a familiar, honey-dipped voice—the same one that had made me soil a borrowed bikini just moments earlier.
I turned to see Josh standing by the entrance of the building. Was he waiting for me?
“Hey,” I said as coolly as I could.
“I may be way out of bounds here. But, I felt something between us, and I think you did too,” he said in a hushed voice. Oh, I did, I did!
My eyes were locked onto his, sucked into a trance as he spewed out the most delicious words I’d ever heard. “Can I get your number? Maybe call you for a date next weekend?”
My mouth was open, I knew it was, but I couldn’t close it. I nodded, reached into my purse quickly, and fumbled for my
phone. Where the hell is it?
I finally felt the slick metal case of my phone and pulled it out of my bag. “What’s your number?” I asked, finally able to speak, but with a shaky, excited voice. Play it cool, Emily.
Josh smiled and looked relieved. Did he seriously fear I’d turn him down? Me? Turn him down?
I entered the numbers into my phone as he announced them and saved the entry. “Call me, so I’ll have yours, too,” he suggested. I quickly obliged.
I watched him fumbling with his phone until he had my number saved. “Can I call you in a couple days to set up something for Saturday night?” he asked.
“Yes. That’d be awesome,” I said, immediately regretting my choice of words. I sounded like a valley girl. Like, totally awesome, dude. Ugh!
He winked and then turned to walk away. I stood there, watching, wishing he hadn’t changed from the firefighter pants, and hating that he wore a shirt.
This has to be the best day ever!
Chapter Two
“Here. I accidentally wore this home yesterday,” I said to Tamara as I handed her the washed bikini bottoms.
“Okay,” she said cautiously.
I knew if I started rambling with details, she’d know I was lying. Her bright red lips pursed together as her dark eyes stared into mine, looking for whatever I was trying to hide inside them. “You and Josh really worked well together,” she said, deciding not to push me on whether or not taking the bikini bottoms was an accident or not. Thank God! I didn’t really want to tell her I got pussy juice all over them because Josh made me hot.
“Yes. He was easy to work with,” I said.
“Well, the client loved the chemistry between you two. So, if you’re interested, you can take Sandra’s place,” Tamara announced.
Her hand slid through her short black mane as she waited patiently for my reaction. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I blurted out.
“It’s just another couple sessions or so,” she stated.
“That’s fine. Hopefully I’ll get the part I auditioned for,” I said proudly.