by Jenna Gunn
“Why are you so shocked?” he asks with a sly grin, turning my own question back on me.
I can’t help but smile back. It’s infectious. He’s different in here, more relaxed. His face is the same, though - the chiseled jawline, the high cheekbones. He’s not wearing a jacket this time, and I can see the muscles in his arms, the definition of his biceps.
“You don’t seem like the sort of person to joke around,” I tell him.
At this, he laughs, and it’s a deep belly laugh. “Well...what kind of person do I seem like to you, Raina Groves?”
There’s something about the tone of his voice, the way he looks at me over the rim of his glass with a smile in his eyes. My heart skips a beat.
“A rude, overworked firefighter,” I tell him.
“Rude?” he cries in mock indignation. “Why, I never! Overworked...that one’s wrong too.” He laughs. “Rockville’s a small town. Why do you think they have firemen getting animals out of trees instead of animal control?”
“Is there an animal control around here?”
“Yeah, but they’ve only got two guys, and they’re...well, let’s just say I wouldn’t trust them around a ladder. Or a tree.” He drains the rest of his lemonade. “Or scissors.”
I laugh, and he smiles at me.
“You have a pretty laugh,” he says.
I look at him. His eyes have changed - they’re softer. His hands lay on the counter, and they’re huge, easily twice the size of mine.
“You have big hands,” I blurt out.
He laughs even harder, throwing his head back. It’s so contagious that I laugh along. Finally, he holds his hand up, palm toward me. “Are they that big?” he asks.
“I mean, compared to mine.” I reach over the counter to put my palm against his. My fingers barely reach past his knuckles.
“You’re at a weird angle,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Come around here.”
I come around the kitchen counter, and Alex swivels to face me, so that I can stand right in front of him. I misjudge how long his legs are; his knees end up brushing against my thighs. He holds his hand out again, and I, again, place my hand on his.
It’s the same result. His hands are warm, calloused. No wedding ring. I look over at him.
“Me, Tarzan,” he says with a small grin, his eyes meeting mine. “You, Jane.”
I laugh a little, and he laughs with me, softly. There’s an almost electric charge in the room. When did I get so close to him? My other hand drifts down and settles on his knee. He doesn’t look away from my face. We’re frozen.
I don’t know how it happens, or who goes first, or if either of us gave any indication; suddenly, we’re kissing, and his arms are wrapped around me, pulling me close, almost hungry. I feel my anger at him rise again, but that doesn’t make me want to stop kissing him or feeling his body against mine.
I’m standing between his legs now, pressed between his thighs. His hands roam down my back and to my waist.
I grab at the buttons of his shirt.
He stands up, still kissing me.
His shirt falls open. He has abs, I can feel them, even if I can’t see them because my eyes are closed as his mouth moves against mine. I start walking backwards as he sheds his shirt, and he comes with me; I push him, and we fall onto the couch together with me on top, and I wildly tug at his belt as his hands slip beneath my shirt to cup my small breasts.
What am I doing? I ask myself as my shirt comes off and falls to the floor. I don’t even know this man, I think, straddling him as I slip my hand beneath his briefs, eliciting from him a shuddering moan.
“Raina,” he gasps.
Bastard, I think, and I lean down to bite his shoulder.
He grunts, and I feel his arousal, feel him twitch against my hand. He pulls me against him and somehow flips us so that I’m beneath him; his wallet has clattered out of his pocket and onto the table, and he reaches for it to grab a condom. He’s an expert. He tears the wrapper and rolls it on in seconds before tearing my pants off me and shoving his hand between my legs as he leans down.
“You like to bite, huh?” he growls in my ear.
“Does it make you mad?” I ask, panting as his fingers find a delicate spot and push against it.
“Here?” he asks me, continuing to press against my aching flesh.
“Yes,” I moan; and then he bites down on my shoulder. I cry out, but whether from pain or pleasure I’m not sure.
“Does that feel good?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him again, my breaths coming shorter as his fingers push and stroke and circle. My back begins to arch. “It’s so good. You’re so good.”
He grins, and I meet his gaze. He’s hovering over me, one hand down between my legs. His fingers slip over the little button that’s key to my arousal, teasing it just enough to keep me going. How did he learn this? How is he so good at this?
And if I hate him so much, how did I end up kissing him, and why am I about to beg him to let me finish?
“Oh,” he says as he sees the change in my face. I come to my climax loudly, my back arching, my legs shaking. He bends his head over my breasts and kisses them earnestly. He takes his hand away, and I fall back to the couch, gasping, as he pushes his pants completely off.
I open for him. I’m ready. I look him in the eyes as he does it, as he rubs against me once, twice, teasing me before he does what I know he wants to do.
“Do it,” I tell him.
That seems too much for him to resist; for the second time this afternoon, I feel him inside of me.
I gasp; it’s...large. Possibly larger than I was ready for, or even anything I’d felt before. “Alex, oh yes.” I moan, and he starts moving, thrusting against me.
“Alex!” I yell it this time; he puts his face in my neck, slips a hand between us to start touching me again.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks hoarsely as I cry out with each thrust.
“No,” I pant, but then reconsider. “Yes, but don’t stop.”
I feel him stiffen as soon as the words leave my mouth. Uh-oh; telling a man not to stop is a sure way to make everything stop too soon. But is it too soon? I ask myself. Should this even have started?
I push those thoughts away and close my eyes, losing myself in the pleasure as he moves inside me, becomes more intense. He’s so warm and heavy. I’m halfway off the couch, but he’s got an arm wrapped around me so that I won’t fall. I hook one leg around his back.
“I’m close,” he moans. “Almost there.”
I press myself against him, feeling my breasts push against his bare chest. His calloused hands scratch against my skin. The movement of him inside, of his hand between us, is getting too much for me to bear.
“Me too,” I pant. “You’ve made me close again.”
He lets out a strangled moan. “I won’t last long,” he gasps.
The thought of it being me, the “crazy cat lady”, who is making him feel this way, who is making it so he can’t last long, brings me over the edge; I cry out as I reach another climax, and he gasps as he feels it happen, as I clench and shudder.
It only takes a few more thrusts; I feel him crashing into me, invading all of my senses. He finishes, breathing hard, and collapses against me, his head on my chest.
I take in a deep breath and look up at my ceiling. Suddenly, the weight that was so comforting, so plain hot just a few seconds ago feels crushing. He’s too heavy, he’s too warm. I feel the urge to hide.
He gets up rather quickly and snatches his phone off the coffee table. “Damn, I almost forgot about work,” he mutters.
I sit up and grab one of the throw pillows on my sofa, holding it over my naked body. What just happened? What did we just do?
“I’ve got to get back to the station,” Alex sighs. “Are you - ” He stops abruptly as he looks at me. His eyes flick down to the pillow and back to my face. “Raina,” he says carefully, and it’s like a switch flips in my brain. This is nuts. This shou
ldn’t have happened. I just found out this man’s name today; the only other thing I know about him is that he hates cats.
I blink, feeling tears come to my eyes. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this.
Alex looks awkward, and I can’t help feeling a little bad for him. “Are you - I have to - ”
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just - just go ahead.”
He nods and starts gathering his clothes together. He avoids my eyes as he gets dressed as quickly as he can. “I’m really sorry about this, having to leave like this -” he mumbles, tugging on his shirt.
“It’s fine,” I say mechanically.
“I don’t - I didn’t mean to - you know- and run.”
“It’s fine,” I repeat, starting to tremble.
“Well - okay - I’ll, uh…” He hesitates as he heads toward the door, but I just stare back at him, wide-eyed. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been in a situation like this. “I’ll just head on out,” he says uncertainly.
I nod. “Shut the door behind you, please.”
“Sure thing.” He hovers near the front door, watching me, looking as though he’s about to say something - but then he slips out and shuts the door firmly behind him.
I sit on the couch, in disbelief, as I hug the pillow to my chest, until I hear his truck start and drive away. Monroe comes trotting out of my bedroom; he stares at me with judgmental eyes, tail swishing.
I can’t believe I just did that. I just had sex with a man I barely know, with a man I don’t even like. I can’t see him again. I absolutely can’t do that again. I was sure I hated him!
But...that’s true...why did it feel so right?
Chapter 8
When I come in for my next few days of duty, Bridges seems to be the only one who notices that I’m off. I can see his concerned gaze following me as I move around the station. When the other guys start to pick on me, he changes the subject; the only way I know to communicate my thanks is by grilling him some hot dogs when I make my own lunch.
My encounter with Raina weighs heavily on my mind. Things were so hot… and then, so weird. And she loves cats so much, and I hate them, but couldn’t we get over all that? Would it ever work? I lift my eyes to the mirror, meeting my gaze as I drag a razor through the shaving cream on the lower half of my face. I keep picturing her curled up on the couch, hunched over her pillow, hiding the body I’d been touching and kissing only seconds before. Everything happened so fast.
How am I supposed to feel about her now?
I jump, almost cutting myself with the razor, as the bathroom door opens and Michael walks in. “Hey, Alex,” he grunts as he takes the sink next to me.
“Hey.” I turn on the faucet and rinse my razor briefly. “What have you got going on today?”
“A bunch of paperwork, man.” He sets his toiletry bag on the counter. “Gotta look over the report for that little fire I responded to last week.”
I click my tongue. “The shed on Cherry Point?”
“Yeah. And then me and Carlita have to head over to the elementary school. We’re going into classrooms today.”
I scowl at him and tap my razor against the sink. “You always get the elementary schools. I’d love to go do the presentations.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Chief says I got a way with kids. I don’t know why he doesn’t send Bridges, honestly.”
I nod; Bridges has two kids, a toddler and a preteen.
“What about you? Got anything big going on?”
“Nah; figure I’ll just work out.”
Michael nods and pulls out his toothbrush. I’m almost done shaving. A companionable silence falls between us as we finish up our tasks; he spits in the sink, I rinse the shaving cream from my face and pat on aftershave. We nod at each other as he heads for the showers and I leave the bathroom.
Ben and Bridges are in the lounge area, which is just a little living room next to our kitchen. I head to the kitchen counter; Ben is kicked back in an armchair, flipping through channels on the TV, while Bridges frowns at the crossword puzzle in his hands.
“Hey,” Bridges pipes up after a few seconds. “What’s a nine-letter word for…” He squints at the paper. “‘A muscle, and a hindrance’?”
I cock my head, thinking, and Ben grabs some chips from the bag next to him and shoves them into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully for a second before announcing, “Hamstring,” his voice muffled through the chips.
“How do you figure it’s a hindrance?” I ask.
Ben shovels in another handful of chips. “That saying, y’know,” he says, spraying chips everywhere. “It’ll hamstring you?”
“He’s right,” Bridges pipes up, scribbling.
The radio beeps shrilly, and Terri’s voice blares into the room; “Dispatch to fire station!”
My heart skips a beat as Ben lunges to answer it. There’s always a feeling of tension when dispatch calls. Will it be a car accident? An actual fire? Will we be risking our lives today?
“This is Station 63, we read you.” Ben looks grimly at me; Bridges sets down his crossword and leans forward.
“Got a call from one of the Rockville boathouses. Kittens in the rafters.”
We all relax, but my relief turns immediately to irritation as Ben turns and smirks at me. I walk up to the radio and snatch the receiver from his hands. “Terri, where’s animal control? Why aren’t they on this?”
“I radioed animal control first,” she says, somewhat apologetically. “They refuse to go. Said anything over six feet is firefighter territory.”
Ben grins up at me; I know I’m going to have to go, and his stupid face makes me want to punch it. He must see my expression, because he leans back in his chair and says, “Look, man, I got a bunch of reports to fill out. This is just my lunch break.”
I grit my teeth. I know Carlita and Michael are at the elementary school, so there’s no chance they’ll be able to go. And I know the chief won’t respond to kitten rescues.
I look hopefully over at Bridges, and he sighs and puts his crossword to the side.
“I’ll go with you,” he says as he stands. “If it’s in one of those boathouse rafters, we’ll need two people, anyway.”
I scowl, but I know he’s right. “Badges 6308 and 6302 responding,” I say into the receiver.
“Roger that, Alex,” Terri chirps.
I shove the receiver at Ben and head off, Bridges following behind.
“I’ll drive,” Bridges says. He grabs a set of keys off the wall and heads toward one of the pickup trucks. I grab a cardboard box and follow.
Bridges eyes the box as I toss it into the bed of the truck. “We’ll need to put them in something,” I say.
He shrugs and gets into the truck.
I slide into the passenger’s seat and buckle my seatbelt; Bridges cranks the engine and we pull out.
“Hey, man, I actually, uh, wanted to talk to you.”
“Everything okay?” I ask. Bridges is a good guy; he’s probably my best friend at the station. If something’s wrong, I know I’ll want to help him.
“With me, yeah,” he replies, “but I was going to ask you that.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve just been off,” he says with a sigh. “Like something’s bothering you. Did something happen? Is it Alyssa? Clara?”
“What? No, Alyssa’s fine,” I say quickly. Alyssa is my twin sister; she and her daughter, Clara, live in Charleston in a huge house. “It’s - yeah, something happened, but it’s...dumb.”
Bridges slows the truck to stop at a red light and glances at me. “It’s dumb?”
I sigh. “I, uh...I had sex with this woman - ”
“Ah, the look of a man who’s finally lost his virginity,” Bridges sighs, and I punch him in the arm.
“You know I’m not a virgin,” I snap, but I smile. “No, this...remember the other day I got called to yet another cat
rescue? On Marina Road?”
“Yeah. Haven’t you been down to Marina twice now?”
“Yeah, the second time...well, the cat’s owner invited me in for lemonade…”
Bridges raises his eyebrows at me. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
I laugh, a little bitterly, and tell him the whole story, right down to Raina almost crying as I fled; I still feel guilty that I didn’t try to comfort her. I finish right as we pull into the parking lot of the boathouse.
Bridges sits back in his seat after he turns off the engine, making no move to get out. “It was really stupid of you to have sex on duty.”
I nod emphatically.
“Don’t tell any of the other guys; don’t want that getting back to the chief.” He sighs and looks out the window. “Maybe you should avoid her. You could get in trouble.”
“But she was so funny, We really clicked, yakow?”
Bridges opens his door and slides out; I follow suit, and we both walk to the bed of the truck to pull out our tools. “You mean right before common sense fell right out of your ding-dong?”
“Good point.”
We walk up to the boathouse. An older couple walks out to greet us. Behind them, the boathouse looks huge, with enough space for three boats; it’s made to look like a cottage, with a circular roof and walls mimicking flagstone.
The couple leads us inside and points out the rafters where they heard the kittens. I hear faint mewing from above; thankfully, it’s above solid ground and not the water.
“I told you exposed rafters were a bad idea,” the woman says to her husband as Bridges and I set up the ladder. The husband snaps back at her, and they begin bickering. Bridges shoots me a sideways glance.
“I’ll head up the ladder,” I tell him. “You wait down here.”
“Can do. Cats like you, anyway.”
I roll my eyes and head up.
“Is the mother cat yours?” Bridges asks the couple; they halt their bickering.
“No; she’s a stray,” the wife replies. “I don’t think she’s up there right now.”
In a corner where several beams connect, I find a pile of mewling kittens, with no adult cat in sight. “She’s right,” I call down. “The mother’s not up here.”