by L. B. Dunbar
I gaze up at the ceiling and around at the walls. “A lot of work, handsome.”
“I didn’t like when you called Sullivan handsome,” he admits, and my gaze falls back to him. Slowly, I approach where he’s leaning against the fireman’s pole.
“I’m sorry,” I state, uncertain why I’m apologizing.
“You know, I’ve been to the Bean every day.”
I stare at him. “I haven’t visited the Bean this week.”
“I know.” He chortles.
“Why were you there?”
“Because I was hoping you’d show up. You’ve been avoiding me.”
Guilt riddles me as he’s right. He steps away from the pole and circles me. I turn to face him as he watches me and end up bumping into the pole with my back.
“What are you afraid of, sweet?” The endearment alone does something to my insides. Butterflies flutter in my lower belly, and my mouth dries. “If you want me to apologize for what we did, I can’t.”
He reaches out for my hair and brushes it behind one ear.
“You don’t need to apologize. I practically begged you,” I admit, recalling that tears and pleas were part of our night.
“You don’t need to beg me,” Jake says, watching his fingers stroke over my ear and coast along my neck. He’s so close I can smell him—cinnamon and sawdust and all man. His voice drops even lower. “I want to fuck you again.”
That should not be sexy. It was not even romantic, but there’s a tenderness in his voice along with a question that has my hormones bumping into themselves.
“When?” I whisper. His eyes widen for only a second, and then he leans closer to me, bringing that scruff-covered jaw to mine. He exhales near my ear.
“Right now.” He turns his head at the same time I do, and our mouths crash. This is not the sweet approach he took the other night, but fire and flames ready to burn this old department down. My mouth surrenders to his, following his hungry lead to claim my lips and my tongue. He leans forward, and my back presses into the pole behind me. As our mouths move, he slides a hand down my arm and lifts it above my head.
“Hold on,” he mutters as he takes my other hand and matches it to the first. Holding the pole over my head, Jake lowers his lips for my jaw, my neck, my throat. He’s sucking at my skin, and a blaze of need rips through me.
“Jake,” I groan as he unties the bow of my blouse and loosens a few buttons to get at my breasts. He didn’t touch me the other night but nuzzled me over the silky fabric. Today, nothing is held back. He tugs one cup to expose a full breast, and his mouth latches on hard. He sucks me until my nipple is so sharp it aches. When he pulls back with a pop, he recovers me and moves to the other breast, swirling his tongue over the hard nub before sucking it just as hard. I squeak as he pulls free.
“I know you’re wet,” he tells me, as his hand slides down the curve of my hip and slowly tugs my skirt upward. Still holding the pole over my head, my heart races, and my chest heaves as he tortures me with the drag of my skirt against my thigh. Once it’s high enough, his hand cups my center, and he moans. “I knew it.”
Drenched from his attention, he tugs at the center of my panties, forcing the material down my legs until I can wiggle my underwear to my ankles.
“Step out of them.” He uses his foot to hold the material to the floor, and I remove one leg, allowing my thighs to spread. Two fingers explore me under my hiked-up skirt, and his mouth returns to mine, kissing me like I might be that thing he wants most in life. That thing he wants to go his way.
As his fingers delve into me, I moan into his mouth. My knees give a little at the rushed intrusion, spurring my hips to match the thrusts of his fingers.
“Jake,” I break away from his mouth, gasping for air, clenching for release. When his thumb starts to stroke over the trigger spot, I’m sliding down the pole at my back a little bit. I curl into him, desperate for the rumble in my body to release.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, glancing from my bra-covered breasts, heaving through my opened shirt, to his hand disappearing underneath my skirt. As my hips move faster, Jake begins to work his belt, releasing his pants' clasp and lowering his zipper. He one-handedly shoves his pants just below his hips.
Not once does he break stride in touching me.
“Need to be inside you again,” he mutters, catching himself in his fist while his fingers work at me.
“Oh God, Jake. I’m so close,” I warn, watching him touch himself and touch me. Sensory overload caused me to tip my head back to the pole, clutching it harder with my sweaty hands. My legs quake.
“There you go,” he whispers as if he already knows my body, and I crash. The wave is lava over a volcano, pouring down the sides with heat and fire and red-hot lust. I lean forward for his mouth, taking it with mine as I ride his fingers and hold the fire pole. It’s the craziest position I’ve ever been in, and I love it. I love everything about Jake because it’s different. He’s different.
Pulling back from his mouth when I come down from the high, Jake removes his fingers and lowers his jeans even farther. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling forth his wallet once more and dropping it to the floor once he has what he needs.
“I’m as clean as clean can be, but I’m using this to respect you.”
I nod. I haven’t been with anyone in so long I’m just as clean and certain I’m too old to get pregnant. Then I think of Scarlett, who became a momma at forty-two, and I agree with Jake’s decision.
“Thank you.”
With the condom on, he guides himself to my center. My skirt at my hips, but Jake forces my legs to spread wider. With one thrust, he’s within me, and I squeak. He grunts in satisfaction, reaching around me for the pole, clutching it with one hand while the other comes to a breast. He moves like he dances, rhythmic and seductive. Sliding in and out of me like a man on a mission, he tugs one breast free again and lowers to suck the swell. I release a hand to touch his hair, but he pops off my breast.
“Hang on,” he warns, moving faster, rocking harder. Pressed into the pole, Jake’s hand remains behind me on it. His other hand comes to my hip, holding me in place as he bumps and grinds. His pelvis thrusts, and I squeeze around every surge of him inside me.
“God, Rita,” he curses like he can’t believe how incredible this feels. This energy between us. This connection we have. With the sensation of him driving into me, I’m ready to combust again, and I warn him with a slight cry.
He looks up at me, giving me that knowing smirk of his. His eyes twinkle with devilish delight. “That’s it, sweet. Alive. On me.” He smiles with pride, knowing what he’s doing to me, knowing my body cannot deny what’s happening. He shifts the slightest bit and taps me in a spot I didn’t know needed tapping.
“Jake,” I cry out. His name echoes in the empty space around us as my body caves a second time. My back arches while my head taps the pole behind me. My sweaty hands struggle for grip against the metal, but I hang on for dear life.
Jake uses the pole for leverage and surges forward, flattening himself to my body and pressing my back to the thick tube. A hitch to his breath is the only warning before he stills. Every pulse and pump prolongs my own lingering release. His forehead lowers for mine, and his hips tip forward once more with a final jolt. We remain like this until my arms collapse and circle around his shoulders. His forehead slides along mine until his face falls to the crook between my neck and shoulder.
“Don’t disappear on me again,” he whispers to me, and I hold him tighter.
How do I let him know I’m worried he’ll do the same to me?
13
Jake
After our firehouse tryst, I ask Rita on a hike. I know the perfect place to take her. On Saturday morning, I meet her at her home. It’s a classic two-story, L-shaped house with a long front porch. It looks newly painted in a mustard yellow color, and flowers in pots grace the wood decking of the light gray porch.
“Hey. Do I need anyth
ing?” Rita asks as I stand outside her front door.
“Just you.” I smile, feeling both nervous and excited. I haven’t been on a date in over seven years—there was Louisa, but I didn’t count that—so, as much as I told myself this isn’t one, I don’t know what else an organized hike with a woman could be called. We’ve certainly put the cart before the horse by having sex first, and I’m looking forward to getting to know more about the woman behind the lusty eyes and sensual body. I can’t stop thinking about her against that fire pole, and I warn my own pole to simmer down. Today is about discovery, not getting dirty with Rita. If that happens, I won’t complain, but it isn’t my intention.
I drive us in my truck until I find a spot to park near the river. I haven’t been to this area for a while, and I had to look up places with walking trails for our day together. As we start out, we casually chat about the area.
“I grew up in Hampshire and never thought I’d be back here when I left for Boston.”
“Wanted the big city and brighter lights?” I tease.
“I just wanted to make a difference in the world.” Her voice softens.
“You do, with Building Buddies.”
Rita snorts. “It’s funny you should mention them as Alfred wants me to take over the directorship.”
“Really?” I ask, watching my step as we follow the trail.
“He offered it to me almost two weeks ago, but I haven’t decided.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve been an attorney for so long I can’t envision myself doing something else. The irony is, I’ve been feeling like I want to do something else with my life. Real estate contracts and farm disputes are fine, but I just want something . . . different.”
“And Building Buddies isn’t different?” I chuckle, noting it’s quite the opposite of pushing papers and arguing cases.
“It is, it’s just . . . I think I’m afraid of change.”
My head pops up, and I glance over at her. Rita comes across as one of the strongest women I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine her afraid of anything, least of all running something as great as Building Buddies.
“Who says you have to change anything? Maybe cut back on the law practice and increase the interest in Building Buddies. Or not. It’s your life, Rita. Find something else that claims your passion.”
Rita chuckles. “Is that what you’re going to do with the firehouse?”
I laugh. “I’m not certain the firehouse is a reality. I looked into the cost of the place, not to mention all the work it would need. I don’t think I can afford it.” I’d been saving up for a house before Lisa pulled the plug on our marriage. I still had the money in savings, but I wasn’t certain it would be enough to purchase an old fire station. Not to mention, I didn’t really know what I’d do with the place. I just wanted it. It was something . . . different.
“You mentioned your brother when we were at the firehouse. What happened to him that makes you think you can’t leave him?”
“Nolan was a volunteer fireman like I’d been, and he went into a burning building that collapsed. It clipped his lower back, essentially making him a paraplegic.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rita says, and I squint at the trail ahead of us.
“He’s been struggling for years to regain his legs. His injury is considered incomplete. I don’t understand all the details, but I’m told he was fortunate. It could have been worse.” Nolan could have lost his life, and that would have been worse than anything else. “It’s going to sound insensitive, but the injury really changed Nolan for the better. He was so reliant on me to take care of him, he didn’t do much for himself other than follow in my footsteps. When he was on his own, with only his son to aid his recovery, he really grew up. He didn’t let the chair bring him down.”
“Was he also an electrician like you?”
“He was.” I laugh, recalling how very similar our paths have been, but then I consider Rory and remember Nolan had a curveball thrown into his life. “I’ve always felt responsible for him. Our father left when we were still little. I became the man of the house at a mere eight years old, and I’ve been taking care of him ever since.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” Rita states, glancing up at me.
“I’ve put it on myself.” I weakly smile, knowing the truth. No one other than myself made me feel that I had to care for Nolan or help my mother. “It’s in my nature to take care of things.” Of course, I messed up when it came to going to jail.
“Maybe it’s time to take care of only you,” Rita says, reaching forward for my arm.
“Maybe,” I state, although I’m not certain how that would work. I’ve done a bang-up job of handling myself over the last seven years.
“I told you before I believe in second chances. This is yours.” Rita gives me an encouraging smile. “Apply for a loan. Get a restoration grant. There are options if that firehouse is what you really want. Would you live there or use it as a business?”
Sheepishly, I look away from her, taking a step forward to suggest I’d like to keep walking. “I’m undecided.” Although, I’m not actually. I’m just not ready to share my thoughts with Rita.
“You’ll figure it out,” she says, her voice full of encouragement as well. “You’ve already figured out everything else in your life. Why not this?”
I huff and nod, taking in her words. I’m not certain I believe her, but the confidence she has in me is refreshing. It would be nice to have a woman like Rita have faith in me.
Eventually, we come across a covered bridge crossing a narrow portion of the river.
“Don’t you love a covered bridge? They’re so romantic.” Rita sighs. It’s the first time I’ve heard her sound so wistful. I’ve also not given covered bridges much thought.
“Fan of romance, are you?”
Rita chuckles. “Once upon a time, but then happily ever after didn’t happen.” Her voice lowers. “I guess I believe in it for other people but not myself.”
I want to ask her what happened to him. What happened to her Ian? But I also don’t want to know. I don’t want to bring her sob story into this date, even if her thoughts skip to him at the moment.
Stepping up to Rita, I grab her hand and tug her forward.
“What the heck?” she hollers as I pull her along, forcing her to run with me up the short incline and under the covering of the bridge. Once the shadow of the wooden structure covers us, I spin to face her.
“Holy cow, handsome. You nearly pulled my arm from its socket.” Rita laughs, but her laughter is quickly captured by my mouth on hers. Our lips connect as I cup her nape and tug her to me, swallowing down the last dregs of her chuckle. She molds against me, and I walk her backward until her back connects with the inside of the bridge wall. Continuing to kiss her, I angle her head just so. So I can deepen the kiss. So I can invade her mouth with my tongue. So I can give her the romance she deserves under a covered bridge.
We kiss with heavy groans and hitching moans. My body grinds against hers. With one leg between her thighs, I rock my hip, pressing my hard length against her soft center. My hand reaches for a breast, kneading the firm swell, pinching the nipple peaked through her shirt. We’re frantic for each other, making out like two kids stealing a moment. Only, I want all her moments.
I need to touch her skin and wonder briefly if I’ll ever take Rita in a bed. My hand tucks under her shirt, finding her side warm from our exertion and the afternoon sunshine. Traveling north on her body, I almost connect my fingers with the silky fabric of her bra when a truck horn interrupts us. We break apart, and I look up as a pickup enters the bridge.
“Go get her, son,” the driver calls out. If we don’t get out from under the narrow confines of the bridge, he isn’t going to be able to pass us.
With laughter on our lips, I drag Rita back out from under the bridge and down the slope again. The truck honks once more after exiting the wood structure, and Rita tucks her head int
o my shoulder.
“That was embarrassing.” She rolls her forehead on my collarbone.
“Damn, I was hoping for romantic.”
Her head pops, and blue eyes meet mine. “Oh. Oh, it was that, too.” A slow smile curls her swollen lips, and I take them once more before deciding we better cool down or I’ll do something even more embarrassing like take her along this path. Although I’m not thoroughly opposed to the idea, I don’t want any passersby to see Rita in all her glory. I’m reserving that for only me.
“How do you feel about fishing?” I finally ask, pulling back with a final tug of her bottom lip before ending the kiss.
“Is that a euphemism for playing with your pole?”
“If it is, I like your thoughts, but I was thinking of actually fishing.”
Rita is still tucked against my chest, and her eyes sparkle up at me. “I’m in,” she states.
Slipping my arm over her shoulders, I lead us back in the direction of where I parked the truck, feeling for the first time in a long time like kissing a pretty girl under the afternoon sun might be proof of second chances.
After an afternoon of fishing, Rita invites me to dinner, and I’m grateful as I’m not ready to leave her yet. It’s nice to be outside the house I share with my brother and away from the building project. It feels like it could be any other day, although it’s not. I have Rita to share the time with me.
We end up working together in her kitchen to make a simple meal of roasted chicken and potatoes as well as steamed green beans and carrots.
“I don’t typically cook like this for myself,” she admits. “It’s too much effort for one.”
The comment reminds me Rita’s been alone for a while.
“I’d like to ask about Ian, but if you don’t want to talk about him, I understand.”
“What do you want to know?” Her eyes remain on the carrot she’s chopping.
“You were engaged, and something happened.”
“He died.” She says it so fast and sharp, the thrust of the knife through the carrot to the cutting board matches her tone.