January On Fire: A Firefighter Fake Marriage Romance

by Chase Jackson

  Tonight was my night.

  I was going to find me a little crimson-lipped beauty with long legs for hours and hair that dripped down her back. I was going to wrap my hands within it while I took her from behind, then I’d hold her close to make her feel special before making her breakfast and escorting her out.

  If she was going to be my little slut for the evening, the least I could do was treat her with respect in the morning.

  My cock twitched at the mere idea of it as I climbed into the seat of my car, and I started home so I could go ahead and get ready.

  I had a bed to make just so I could mark it with some lucky woman’s lipstick.

  2

  Ella

  I still couldn’t believe I’d snagged this job. The Rose Club was the classiest lounge in town, and the club’s owner only took on the most talented individuals. I enjoyed it because it was more cabaret than stripper: the nudity was always implied and there weren’t any rooms where men could take us back afterwards and pay us for anything. Many clubs around the city were just like that, but not here.

  Here, I could flourish in my craft without having to worry about being taken advantage of.

  I smoothed my long brown hair back from my face and tied it into a low ponytail before I began applying my makeup. With the harsh lighting a stage afforded, sometimes it was necessary to contour and put a little heavier makeup on. This was my debut number, so all lights would be on me, and that meant I really had to make sure my eyes popped. My eyes were the number one thing men complimented me on. They were these light baby blues that would make any men look ice cold.

  But on me, with my red lips and my rosy cheeks, they added a sense of mystery.

  Especially when I teased my hair out.

  I applied my makeup bases and let them sit while I curled my hair in my hot rollers. People were coming up and introducing themselves, giving me their luck and wishing me well. The thing about this club was that you got one shot: they didn’t hire you unless you could drive the crowd wild with your particular flair. There was a men’s duo dancing and singing team that lead women’s night and there were a couple of drag queens that owned the weekends, but they were lacking in a true, sensual woman to really command the stage.

  Not to make the men whoop and holler, but to make them speechless and drool.

  That was my job: to fulfill that need for this club. If I could, I could quit my day job waitressing. I loved where I was, don’t get me wrong. But, it didn’t pay me the money I needed to live the life I wanted. The only kind of apartment I could afford was one with roommates in the shady part of town. I didn’t feel safe walking around, which meant I had to restrict myself to the day shifts-- which usually didn’t pay much.

  I couldn’t decorate the way I wanted, I couldn’t sing in the shower like I wanted. I couldn’t even own some of the things I wanted, like a queen-sized bed or a little labradoodle. All my life, I’d wanted two things: my own place and my own puppy.

  Working exclusively for The Rose Club would afford me that lifestyle. I could be happy doing just this. Doing what I love and living the way I wanted to live. I didn’t want a family, I didn’t want kids, and I didn’t want anything to tie me down. I wanted my stage, I wanted my puppy, and I wanted my home.

  I let the hot rollers heat up my hair while I began putting on the rest of my makeup. I was a lounge singer all over town, which was why the club owner decided to give me a shot. My resume was massive, and I had a few recordings I could bring him when I came in for the interview. The only reason he called me up after I placed my application was because the last place I sung at was the Brandy Library.

  Apparently, that was his favorite place to frequent when he wasn’t here.

  I took the hot rollers out of my hair and teased it out before I started getting into my outfit. I pulled on black stockings that contrasted with my milky white skin and attached them to the hooks on my tight leather shorts. They stopped just underneath my buttcheeks-- enough to tease the men but still stay appropriate-- and the crimson red corset I hooked myself into matched the crimson red lipstick I was going to swipe onto my lips just before I walked on stage.

  And the moment I hit the stage, the men began to whistle.

  I stood there at the top of the steps, fog covering the stage. I was only afforded one paid number unless the crowd chanted to have me back, so I had to make sure it was a good one. I decided to go with a slow, sensual ballad since I was trying to stun the men speechless.

  So, when my personal lounge arrangement of ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ began to play, I slowly began sashaying down the steps as my fingertips ran down the side railing.

  All I did was slowly walk around stage and sing. The song was slow, the key was low, and every time I went down for a really low note I’d dip down and flick my finger underneath the chin of a man whose jaw was dropped to the floor. A couple of times I did a little twist when a sultry little trumpet would pop up and make a sound, and by the time the song was over I was sitting on a stool in the middle of the room with my legs spread wide and my eyebrow cocked in the air.

  For the briefest of moments, the room was silent. The song had stopped, I was holding my breath so my body wouldn’t falter, and then I heard it.

  It was one voice in the back, and then it trickled into three. The entire back balcony got in on the chant just before it rumbled down to the main floor.

  And I stood to my feet while the chanted my name.

  “Ella! Ella! Ella! Ella! Ella!”

  I slowly inched off the stool and blew a kiss to the crowd before I slowly turned on my heels and swayed my ass off stage. I nailed the number, I knew I did, and while I was never one to toot my own horn, the owner would be an idiot not to hire me.

  Wait until I got to tell him that was my own arrangement.

  I slid my robe on in the back just as the club owner came bursting through. He had a massive smile on his face and he drew me in for a hug, singing my praises and asking me if I had another number prepared.

  He hired me right on the spot, and I was ecstatic.

  I decided to go celebrate with a drink after I walked up to the music booth. I handed him the track for the next number I would do later on in the evening, then I headed to the bar for a martini. I was one of the few women in town who actually enjoyed my martinis dry, and the bartenders were always sweethearts when I asked for extra olives. I was sitting there, waiting for my martini as I watched the next act go on, but there was a movement that caught the corner of my eye.

  A handsome man sitting at the end who had swiveled his stool to look at me.

  He was tall and his shoulders were broad. His rippling muscles were threatening to bulge from the very expensive suit he had on, and his sandy blonde hair contrasted wonderfully with his tan skin. His deep brown eyes stayed hooked on me, his thick fingers wrapped around a glass of amber liquid, and I delicately grabbed my martini glass.

  My eyes couldn’t stop scanning him. He had a striking jawline that tapered into high cheekbones. The smirk on his face told me he was looking at exactly what he wanted to see for the evening, and he raised his glass to me in a toast. I raised my martini glass to him, blushing underneath his gaze. But, his eyes never left mine, even as we wrapped our lips around the edges of our glasses.

  Oh, how his lips seemed to glide across the crystal glasses. I bet they would glide across my skin just as effortlessly, stained with the amber liquid he was drinking while he devoured me whole. I imagined that strong body covering me from the world, shrouding me from the reality of the apartment I’d have to eventually go back to.

  But not for long.

  Not if I could nail this next song.

  I slowly peeled my eyes away from him and threw them back to the stage. I couldn't get distracted now, I couldn't lose this chance. This job could change everything for me. And trust me, it wasn’t easy to change your situation being a lounge singer with no education in New York City.

  I couldn't think about how won
derful those bulging arms would feel around me, though I knew I would think about it when I fell asleep tonight.

  Right now, I had another song to nail. That’s where my attention needed to be.

  3

  Foster

  The moment she stepped on stage I knew she was beautiful, but when she sat down at the bar she was absolutely intoxicating. Those crimson red lips beckoned to my cock while she flagged the bartender down, and I couldn’t help but swivel my chair towards her. The outfit she had on was perfect. It molded to every curve of her body while keeping the most important parts a complete secret. She was a boxed up present-- perfectly wrapped for the shape it was but never once gave away what was underneath.

  I watched her grasp her martini glass and swirl the olives around the edge. She was a classy woman underneath that sultry act. There was hardly a woman in this city who didn’t order a cocktail that was brightly colored, and I watched as her eyes connected with mine. I raised my glass to her in a toast. I was toasting outwardly to her success, but I was toasted inwardly to mine.

  I didn’t know how, but this was the woman I was getting home tonight.

  She turned back to the stage after she had studied me for quite some time and I turned my attention back to the bar. I had no intentions of watching any of the other acts unless she hit the stage again. I could tell by the panting of her chest that she was just as caught up in the moment as I was. And it only solidified my theory when I caught her eyes flicking back towards me.

  Every once in awhile, when she thought I wasn’t looking, those mysterious blue eyes would find their way back to my face. So, I grabbed my drink and headed towards her before I took a seat at the bar next to her.

  “Your performance was incredible. Was that arrangement your own?” I asked.

  I saw the eyebrow she cocked onto her head. I knew she thought no one in the club would recognize how foreign the song was, but I did. I knew of every rendition and every remix that song has ever taken on, and even that was new to me.

  “Yes, it was. I’m surprised you knew that,” she said.

  “A woman like you must have her talents on and off the stage. Call it a lucky guess,” I said.

  “Then I shall consider it as such.”

  “It’s also interesting how you chose the color red anyway, given that your eyes are substantially blue. Most women would’ve played off that,” I said.

  “Well, I’m not most women,” she said.

  “I can tell that simply by the drink you ordered. An actual martini instead of a brightly-colored, sweetened concoction passed off as one,” I said.

  “You are martini connoisseur, Mr…?”

  “Dobson. Foster Dobson. And no, I’m simply a connoisseur of women.”

  “Which translates into ‘I’m going to attempt to take you home with me and make you part of the platter’. Correct?” she asked.

  I heard the bartender snicker and I couldn’t help but grin. Now I understood why she chose the color red. It wasn’t some stereotypical ploy to woo the men from the stage she had just been on. It was the color that matched her attitude.

  And I would enjoy silencing that attitude with my cock tonight.

  “There is no platter, Miss…?”

  “You can simply call me ‘Ella’,” she said.

  “Miss Ella. There is no platter. Simply yourself and a man who wants to let you know how thoroughly beautiful and entertaining you are,” I said.

  “Your words are very kind, Mr. Dobson.”

  “They should be. Everyone deserves a bout of kindness every now and again,” I said.

  She turned her gaze towards me and I caught it. I knew if I could just get her to look at me, to see the passion in my eyes and the way my strong body was leaning towards her, she would cave. I watched her body instinctively lean in towards me, trying to get closer as my eyes fluttered up and down her body.

  “Mr. Dobson?” she asked.

  “Yes, Miss Ella?”

  “It’s-”

  “Yes?”

  “I-”

  “Mhm?”

  Our lips were close. So close that I could smell her perfume. So close I could feel her body heat. So close I could see the shimmering accent of the powder she’d placed onto her luscious bosom before her performance.

  “It has been a pleasure. However, it’s time for my second debut,” she said.

  Before I could register what was going on, she threw back the rest of her martini, slid the olives off the stick with an incredibly long tongue, and left to go backstage. I could feel the bartender smirking at me, taunting me with the laughter that threatened to burst forth from his throat.

  For the first time in my life, a woman had left me breathless.

  I made my way to the side of the stage just as she came back out. The men in the room went wild as I took a seat in a dark corner, and I simply watched her performance. I watched the way she walked effortlessly in her blood red heels. I watched the way her hips naturally swayed to the rhythm of the little number I could tell was also arranged by her. The way her low notes simply slid from her tongue rumbled my chest in a way no woman’s voice ever had before.

  It made me wonder if she sounded like that in bed. If her pleasure would rumble my ribcage or shatter my eardrums.

  I was impressed. With the way she moved and the way she sang. With the songs she had arranged and the outfit she had chosen. She was bringing the entire package to a performance I could tell meant a great deal to her, and I wanted to catch her after tonight and ask her why it was so important.

  Why she was so invested in a club like this.

  I bet she had a story. I bet she had dreams and aspirations this club would help her to obtain. I bet she sat around in whatever dank apartment she could afford on this end of town and daydreamed about song arrangements with her sticky little keyboard. I bet she was a starving artist type-- living off her dreams and passions while eating ramen noodles every night.

  I could treat her to the most decadent foods this city had to offer, if only she’d let me.

  I stood and clapped as her performance came to an end, and I swelled with pride when I saw her scanning the crowd. She tried to make it look as if she were just taking it all in, but her eyes were searching.

  Looking.

  Hunting.

  And I knew exactly who she was looking for.

  I knew exactly what I would do to her. I’d shove my cock between those pretty lips just to see what her throat felt like before I’d spear her down onto my lap. I’d mark her tits and her stomach just so she’d need extra makeup for the rest of her performances this week. I’d bury my face into that sweet pussy and ruin it for any man that came after me. I’d pull orgasm after orgasm from her body until she was begging me to stop.

  Then, I’d give her one last bout of pleasure before I finally let her rest on the silk sheets her juices were sure to drench.

  She walked off stage and I headed towards the bar. I knew that’s where she would be heading. She’d order herself another martini and act as if she was simply taking a break, but the relief would waft over her face when she’d see me sit right down next to her.

  And the pride that flooded my chest when her eyes lit up at my presence made me smirk.

  Deep down, every single one of them was the same.

  “Sir? Put her drink on my tab and close me out,” I said.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said.

  “Consider it a ‘congratulations’. You were phenomenal up there. I expected you to change your costume, but it worked for a second time. It’s hard for a performer to pull that off.”

  “Ah well, I try my best,” she said playfully.

  “Is this what you’ve always wanted to do? Perform in a cabaret club and sway your hips to hungry men whose eyes are full of you?” I asked.

  “I’ve always wanted to perform, period,” she said. “And now that I’ve officially been hired, this will provide for me the money I need to live the life I want.�
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  “Well, then actual ‘congratulations’ are in order,” I said as we clinked glasses. “To the future.”

  “To the future,” she said.

  “So, what is this glamorous life a beautiful woman like yourself seeks?”

  “An apartment I can afford on my own so I don’t have to have roommates and a little labradoodle that curls up with me at night,” she said.

  “I didn’t realize men were being called by dog’s names nowadays. I mean, I know some of us have high sex drives, but that’s a bit much,” I said.

  She giggled and the sound flowed over my body like hot caramel. It was deep and chested. Like the low notes that flowed like melted butter from between her lips.

  Holy hell, I was never going to want her sounds to go away.

  “Clever. I meant an actual labradoodle. They aren’t the cheapest dogs to own, but they’re beautiful and incredibly loyal.”

  “So is the right man, if you play the game correctly,” I said.

  “Are you putting your bid in the hat?” she asked.

  “I could be convinced, for the right price,” I said.

  I watched her cheeks flush red, and for the first time her innocence pulled to the front. I caught of glimpse of just how round her cheeks were and just how doe-eyed her blue eyes were. She obviously contoured her makeup to make her features seem slimmer on stage, but the way her petite little nose crinkled when she laughed flooded my system with a sense of relief.

  And I honestly wasn’t sure why.

  “And what price would that be?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you join me on the third floor and we can talk about it without all the hustle and smoke around us?” I asked.

  I watched her smile, and the sultry maiden from the stage was gone. In her place was a flourishing young woman who had just been handed her dreams. She’d been handed a way to fend for herself in the way she wanted, and the unadulterated happiness in her eyes that sparkled only added to the innocence I was slowly pulling to the surface.