Page 29 of Studfinder

“Just wrap your legs around the pole and glide.” He chuckles softly, glancing down at my bare legs exposed beneath the hem of my skirt. “Although, I can’t promise it won’t burn.”

“You just let me worry about where it will burn,” I remark, smirking at him.

Jake goes first, sliding down the old metal cylinder like an expert but the pole wobbles as he descends. When he reaches the bottom, he jiggles it back and forth.

“I don’t know how safe this is,” he hollers up to me. “But I’m liking the view.”

He can’t really see up my skirt from his angle, so I know he’s teasing until he says, “Purple again? It’s my new favorite color.”

Stepping back from the hole for the pole, I take my time to descend the narrow stairs and meet Jake in the large, open garage space. He’s twirling in a circle again, and I’m wondering what he’s thinking.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Someone asked me what I’d want to go my way in my life.” He narrows his eyes at me and gives me a teasing smirk. “And I’ve been thinking about an answer.”

“A firehouse?” This is what he wants?

Jake paces around the pole. “A place to call mine. For the longest time, I thought I wanted out of Vermont. I wanted distance from here. From what happened. From what didn’t.” He bitterly chuckles. “But now that I’m out, I see once more I can’t leave my brother.” His brows pinch, and he shakes his head like he isn’t pleased with what he’s saying.

“There’s just something fun about this old building, but it needs work.”

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.”