by Julie Morgan
“That’s the right answer,” I whispered as I pushed him toward my bedroom.
“You did all this for me?” he asked, gesturing to my attire. He pushed his pants down his legs, kicked them off with his shoes, and then fought to pull his socks off without teetering one way or the other.
“I like to dress up when I’m entertaining.”
Noah’s grin stretched in a crooked smirk. A wicked sparkle in his eyes warned me if I didn’t move closer, he might pounce, pinning me to the bed. Inwardly, I laughed. Bring it on.
“Take a seat,” I said as I reached for a pillow. He sat down on my bed, and I dropped the pillow to the floor. I lowered myself down and ran my hands up the outside of his strong, muscular legs.
Sliding my hands up the inside of his thighs, I pushed them apart and nestled myself closer to him. His cock was strong and hard, the head of his manhood a soft red that held a small bead of pre-come.
I leaned forward and slipped my tongue across the slit of the head of his cock, and the pearl slid across my pallet. Wrapping my hand around his shaft, I stroked him down, then up over his cockhead, and back down.
“Do you like it soft or rough?” I looked up to Noah.
His eyes were half-lowered as he contemplated his choice. “I’m not a fan of teeth on my dick, but if you nibbled, I wouldn’t object.”
I lifted a brow and grinned and then lowered my head and began sucking the tip of his cock like it was a lollipop. When I glanced up to him, our eyes met. He moved a hand to my hair and tugged it around his palm.
I took him all in, the head moving toward the back of my throat. I pulled on his cock, drawing a groan from my firefighter. As I came to the top, I sucked off his head with a pop of my lips.
“Fuck, Cara,” he whispered.
Bringing my mouth back down over his shaft, I felt his dick throb. I drew him in again and pulled back, over and over, until he groaned out loud. My head bobbed up and down while Noah hissed and moaned with each stroke of my mouth.
Wanting to follow through with a little of the roughness, I nibbled on his head. He hissed and tugged on my hair.
“Don’t bite me too hard, but damn, I like it.”
I pulled his cock to the side and ran my tongue up his shaft. “Do you want me to nibble it more, or are you ready to fuck me?”
Without answering, he offered me his hand, and I took it. He helped me to my feet, then stood before me. He cupped my face with his hand and glided his thumb over my cheek. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned in, and with a soft, tender feathering of his lips, he kissed my cheek, then peppered his lips toward my ear. “I’m going to fuck you,” he whispered.
“Oh yes.” A shiver began at the top of my spine, and my body quivered in excitement.
Noah slid the negligee straps over my arms and let the garment fall to the floor. “I’d like to leave the stockings on, because damn, they’re fucking hot.”
“As you wish.” I slipped my arms up around his neck.
He slanted his mouth across mine, and I opened for his tongue. He teased my mouth as if he were licking my clit. It turned me on, imagining him between my legs, sucking me to orgasm. His body possessed mine in a way that made me want to submit to this man.
I wasn’t sure if it was his experienced, calloused hands, or his gentle nature toward me, or knowing he would run with pure adrenaline toward a fire—it was electrifying to think he’d put his life on the line for a complete stranger. That made me want him that much more.
“I need you,” I mumbled against his mouth.
In a flash, Noah turned me toward the bed and bent me over. He ran his hand down the length of my leg, then brought it back up over the top of my ass.
“Get up there on your hands and knees. I want to see your ass in my face.”
My pussy became drenched with need as I crawled across my bed. I looked to Noah over my shoulder and spread my legs.
“Fuck me, woman. You’re fucking sexy as hell.” He bent down, reached for his pants, and pulled out a condom, ripped it open, and slid it on. He came up on the bed behind me, lined the head of his cock to my pussy, and pushed in.
I moaned as he thrust, his fingers digging into the flesh of my body. Noah pounded into me, our bodies slapping against one another.
Noah picked up speed, and he growled. If a man in heat could make sounds for a mating call, that would be it. The raspiness of his voice sent me further down the rapid spiral toward an orgasm.
“Noah! I’m going to come. I’m going to fucking come. Fuck me!” The man deserved a fucking medal.
“Cara…”
He groaned my name. I wasn’t sure if it was the tone of his voice or the fact that he said my name with such gruffness, but I shattered. I pushed back against his thrusts, taking as much as he was giving.
Noah came then, and his body grew rigid. His fingers dug harder into my flesh, and his hands shook. “Fuck, woman. Holy fuck.” He panted for a moment, then pulled out. He reached down and slid the condom off.
I turned toward him on the bed and grinned. “You’re welcome.”
He chuckled and stood up. “Let me toss this.”
I nodded and sat up to check the time. It was getting late, and tomorrow was the first day of school. With a sigh, I stood and followed him to the bathroom.
He stood by the sink, and with raised brows, he met my gaze in the mirror. “Care to share what’s on your mind?”
I couldn’t hide my smirk. “Shower with me before you go.”
“I don’t have another condom with me.”
I shrugged. “Who said we’re having sex?” I stepped around him, opened the shower door, and stepped in. “You can wash my back.” Glancing over to him, I traced my gaze over the length of his body. “I’ll definitely wash all of you.”
His cock bounced as if coming back to life. “Well, I’m game,” he said with a chuckle.
Thankfully my shower was large enough for two people. Then again, if it were tiny, I wouldn’t care. He would be in it with me.
Tonight would end on a very sweet note. Noah was a tour de force in the bedroom. It was just a matter of time before I saw him outside my home.
That was, of course, if we decided to take things to another level.
Chapter Four
Noah
I should have considered myself lucky. There had been fires, but we hadn’t been called out on a major fire in a while. Of course, someone would light something on fire, burn some legal papers, or worse—like purposely starting a fire. I had no patience for pyromania.
It was early Monday morning, around four a.m. The moon still held the light in the sky, but soon the sun would rise. The building before us was staged as a practice fire. It was old and condemned, out of sight from other areas of town.
We pulled up in the fire engine and exited in formation. Another firefighter and I grabbed a hose, pointed it toward the flames, and turned it on. Water rushed out in force toward the burning structure. Two others ran in through the front with their turnout gear, face masks, and axes at the ready. As they stormed inside, I could hear them yelling to each other.
It was a simulation, but everything was taken as seriously as if it had been a real fire on a real day with real people inside. In our case, they were only dummies.
In time, we began to extinguish the fire. Our chief walked with his clipboard, taking notes. We moved to the right and focused the water on another part of the building.
The first fighter came running out with a dummy in his arms. He made his way over to the paramedic truck that always rode out with us. He placed the body on the stretcher, pointed out a few burns and bruises, then went back in the burning building.
The second fighter came through the door carrying a test dummy over his shoulder. It looked like a model of a child. It gripped my heart every time a child was part of a rescue mission. It made me think of my own son, Marshall.
He had just turned five and was s
tarting kindergarten tomorrow. Thinking of his school, I called out to my chief. “Sir, the time?”
“You got somewhere to be?” he replied.
“Actually, yes, I do. My son’s first day of school is today. I’d like to be home to make sure he’s ready to rock and roll.” I glanced over to my chief. The man was tall and had a thick build with salt and pepper hair cut short. He reminded me of the GI Joe action figure, Duke. When Marshall plays with his toys and brings out Duke, I chuckle and think of my chief.
“Understood. We’ll be done soon enough to get you home and play house.”
“You’re just jealous,” I yelled back.
“Jealous of what? Having a kid at home? Nah, that’s all you, man. I’m not parenting material. I can barely stand you fuckers.”
I chuckled and shook my head. As much as he teased, the chief meant well. He was there for me—hell, my entire unit was—when my world crashed down on me. When I needed my brothers, the fire department didn’t hesitate. They were there for me in ways I could never repay.
“All right, ladies, let’s wrap it up,” the chief called. “As much as I’d love to run through another simulation, we only have one building we can tear up. Let’s clean it up and go back to the station.”
I closed off the hose, and we carried it back to the truck. We would need to inspect our dummy bodies, review how we did on the rescue, and make sure nothing was missed. In a few hours, I’d be home, Marshall would be ready for school, and he’d begin the first of many days as a student. My son was growing up, and I only wished his mother could be here to witness it.
Arriving at my parents’ house, I walked in through their front door and called out, “Hey! I’m here. Is Marshall ready?”
Marshall was five going on sixteen some days, while others he was my GI Joe-playing, Lego-building, blanket-fort guy. Everyone told me he was my spitting image, but each time I looked into his eyes, I saw his mother.
“Daddy!” Marshall came running down the hall toward the front entrance. His smile could light up a room.
“Hey, sports fan. You ready to go meet your teacher?”
He nodded, then covered his face. “You smell like smoke.”
“Well, I put out a fire earlier, kiddo.”
His eyes widened. “Did you ride on the big truck?”
I nodded and squatted down to his height. “Sure did. You know what else?”
“What?” he asked, his eyes lit with amazement and wonder.
“I’m working on getting your class a backstage pass tour.”
“Oh, that would be cool, but we haven’t met my teacher yet.”
I smiled and rustled his hair. “You will today, son. Now give me five minutes so I can take a quick shower and get cleaned up.”
“Okay. Remember to wash your butt!” He ran back toward his room that my parents had set up for him.
I shook my head and stood. Remember to wash your butt. Must be something he heard from his mom.
“Hey, son.” My mom’s voice came from the kitchen. The walls of the home I grew up in were lined with family photos and artwork from various stores.
“Hey, Mom,” I called back. “Thanks again for keeping Marshall.”
“No problem. He seems excited about school.”
“I can’t believe he’s starting school.” I pulled out a chair from the dining room table and sat down. A candle centerpiece sat untouched on the table. I picked up one of the candles and smelled it. Vanilla. “Autumn would have loved this.”
My mom wiped her hands on a dishcloth, then walked over to me. She placed her hand on my shoulder. “We all miss her, honey, but”—she sat down in the chair next to mine—“have you considered dating again? It’s been almost five years.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” My mother wanted to see me happy, and she also had this urge to fix me up on blind dates. It was enough to drive me insane. “I don’t want to date anyone right now. My attention is on Marshall. I want him to succeed.”
“And what about your happiness?”
I set down the candle and looked at my mom. “Who said I’m not happy?”
She lifted a brow. “I can see it in you, son. You’re lonely. She wouldn’t hold it against you if you were to fall in love again. It’s the natural course of action.”
“Where’d you hear that from? Survivors Anonymous?” My father had died over ten years ago. My mom found a survivors group, and it seemed to have helped her when I couldn’t. It’s not that I wasn’t there, but I think she needed someone not as close to the situation. Someone unbiased. Or maybe it was finding someone who had been through the same ordeal.
She smirked and shook her head. “You know that’s not the name of it, but yes. That’s where I heard it.” She stood and made her way back to the kitchen.
A sweet smell perked up my interest and changed the subject. “What are you baking?”
“Cookies for Marshall to take to his new teacher.”
“Can you do that?”
“Well, I can. Whether you can bake or not is the question.”
I chuckled. “You know I can cook, but that’s not what I was asking.”
“Oh, I know you can cook, but you can’t bake to save your life.” She winked at me and opened the oven door. “Perfect.” She pulled out a cookie sheet filled with fresh chocolate chip cookies, set it on the stovetop, and closed the oven. “I hope his teacher likes these.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he or she will. All right, Mom, I need to clean up and take Marshall to school. See you this afternoon?”
“Yes, I’ll be here.”
“Love you, Mom. Thank you again for keeping him.” I stood and made my way over to her, then kissed her on the cheek.
“Anything for you, son, anytime. Now go and get my grandson educated!”
The traffic was insane. From the crosswalk to the front door, people were coming and going. It was a bit overwhelming. Then again, it was the first day of school. I recognized a few people just because I worked for the city. New York City was large, but at the same time, it was a tiny place on earth.
“Where’s the office?” asked a woman holding her son’s hand.
“This way,” a person with a clipboard offered.
I looked down at the slip of paper with Marshall’s name, classroom number, and teacher’s name. Cara Murphy. I blinked.
There’s no way this could be the same person I saw last night.
I looked at the room number once more. I pride myself on not having to ask for directions. We could do this without the stress of getting lost in halls.
Right?
“Daddy, where is my class?”
I looked down to my son, my mini-me who stood just to my waist. His sandy-blond hair was styled when we left the house. Now, though, it appeared like he just rolled out of bed. Messy was the new style, but later in life he’d appreciate getting cleaned up for a pretty girl. Well, much later in life.
In his hands, he held a tin of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
“We’ll find it, son.” I squeezed his hand. “Come on, let’s go down this hall. You’re in classroom 2A, and I see 4B here. Maybe the next hall down?”
“Okay,” he said as we ventured forward.
Gray-painted lockers with locks were stacked two levels high. The all-too-familiar smell of school reminded me of my own school days. I didn’t miss high school by any means, but if I could go back without having to worry about bills and adult responsibility, I would say hell yes. But now, with Marshall in my life, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Two aisles later, I found room 2B and, across from it, 2A.
“Here we are, son,” I announced, feeling a sense of accomplishment. The outside of the door was covered with red apples with the names of the students in the classroom, and in the center was Miss Murphy.
“I bet your teacher’s name is Miss Murphy,” I said to my son.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” he announced with a smile. “Can we go inside?”
&
nbsp; “You bet. Come on.” I turned the handle and pulled the door open. Marshall stepped past me and went inside. I followed close behind, pulling the door closed behind me. Curious about who Miss Murphy was, I scanned the faces of the children, their parents in tow.
One mother was crying and hugging her daughter. Another father stood with both hands on his hips, beaming with pride.
“Where’s Miss Murphy?” Marshall asked.
“I don’t know, son. I’m sure she’s in here somewhere.”
“There’s her desk,” he announced with excitement in his voice. “She’s over there! Come on, Daddy!”
Following my son’s lead, we made our way over to the teacher’s desk. A nameplate with Miss Murphy sat on the edge of her desk, next to a laptop and a small vase with flowers.
“You must be Marshall,” called a female voice.
“Yes, I am!” he exclaimed. “And these cookies are for you! My grandmother made them.”
“Wow, thank you! Is this your father?”
“Yeah, this is my dad.”
I didn’t turn around at first because, honestly, her voice was familiar, too familiar. She sounded just like Cara, the woman I was with last night and a week before that. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, sending up a silent prayer to whatever being may be listening that my son’s teacher was not her, not my friendly fuck, not my Cara.
I put on a smile as my heart slammed in my chest. Slowly, deliberately, I turned around until my eyes landed on her. Eyes the color of caramel and long auburn hair I had just run my fingers through. Ivory skin I remembered so clearly. She wore a floral dress that was fitted above her waist and flowed out just below that. It was cut just above her breast line, and she looked sexy as hell.
Her eyes widened with the same surprise I felt, and a blush rushed her neck and landed on her cheeks.
“Miss Murphy,” I said in a voice that sounded much calmer than I felt. “Pleasure to meet you.”