Page 37 of Christmas with Three Firemen

He sits on the edge of the bed at first, watching with those steady, knowing eyes while the other two unravel me.

But then he leans in, one large hand sliding up my thigh, replacing Mateo’s fingers on my clit with his own. His touch is different—precise, patient, like he’s studied every reaction I’ve ever tried to hide.

He presses down with the perfect amount of pressure and holds it there, steady, while Grant’s fingers thrust harder and Mateo sucks a mark into the side of my neck.

“Fuck—” I whisper into the dark room, my own fingers moving faster now, chasing the sensations I’m building in my head.

In the fantasy, they shift me effortlessly.

Grant pulls me down the bed until my hips are at the edge. He stands, looming over me, and I watch as he frees himself—thick, hard, flushed dark at the tip.

He rubs the head of his cock against my entrance, teasing, while Mateo kisses me deep and filthy, swallowing every sound I make.

Wes stays close, one hand in my hair, the other still working my clit in those devastating circles.

Grant pushes inside me in one slow stroke.

The imagined stretch pulls a broken moan from my throat. My fingers plunge deeper, trying to match the feeling as I picture him bottoming out, hips flush against me, that controlled dominance finally snapping as he starts to move.

Mateo’s mouth is on my breasts now, tongue and teeth teasing while Wes leans down to kiss me—slow, grounding, like he’s anchoring me while the other two threaten to tear me apart in the best way.

The lights keep blinking above us, painting all of their skin in shifting Christmas colors as they surround me completely.

The fantasy blurs into pure sensation. Grant pounding into me, thick and relentless. Mateo murmuring filthy praise against my mouth.

Wes watching every twitch of my face like he is memorizing exactly what breaks me. I imagine them shifting again.

Grant pulls out only long enough for Wes to slide into me in one smooth motion. Where Grant is commanding, Wes is devastatingly deep and controlled. He fucks me like he has all the time in the world, grinding against that spot inside me until my legs start shaking.

Mateo takes his place between my thighs next. His pace is playful at first, almost teasing, then turns desperate as he loses himself in me. “So fucking perfect,” he groans in my head. All three of them keep touching me, hands overlapping on my breasts, my hips, my throat. I picture them marking me, claiming me, working together like they do on every call. Only this time the fire is me.

My fingers move faster between my legs, chasing the fantasy. The string lights keep blinking above me, casting flickering gold and red across my breasts and stomach as my back arches off the bed. The storm howls outside, but inside my head there is only them. Their heat. Their voices. Their bodies surrounding me until I cannot tell where one of them ends and the next begins.

The pleasure coils tighter, hotter, almost frightening in its intensity. I imagine Grant’s voice again, low and rough right against my ear. “Come for us, Noelle.”

That is what finally sends me over.

My orgasm crashes through me hard. I press my face into the pillow to muffle the broken sound that escapes me as my body tightens and pulses around my fingers. Wave after wave rolls through me while the fantasy holds. All three of them keep touching me through it, murmuring praise, holding me down, drawing it out until I am shaking and gasping.

When it finally fades, I am left boneless on the bed, chest heaving, fingers still pressed between my thighs. The string lights continue their cheerful blinking, painting soft colors across my damp skin. The storm keeps raging outside, wind and snow battering the window like it wants in.

I lie there in the glowing dark for a long time, listening to the station settle around me. The low creak of floorboards somewhere below. A distant radiator ticking. The knowledge that Grant, Mateo, and Wes are all somewhere in this building, sleeping or working or breathing just on the other side of these walls.

This is worse than the last time.

Because last time I was furious at myself for wanting any of them. Tonight I am terrified by how much I want all three. Not just their hands or their mouths or their bodies. I want the way they make this place feel like somewhere I could stay.

The way they make me feel less alone in a world that has spent twenty-one years teaching me exactly how dangerous that feeling is.

I pull my hand away slowly and stare up at the blinking lights.

The snow keeps falling.

And for the first time I do not know how I am going to keep pretending I do not need this.

Chapter ten

Chapter Ten: Noelle