Page 48 of Christmas with Three Firemen

She moans loudly at my words and clenches around me. I keep rubbing her clit and spanking her ass while I pound into her. The gear on the walls shakes. The bench scrapes against the floor.

She comes hard. Her whole body shakes, and she cries out my name. Her pussy pulses around my cock so tight it drags me over the edge with her. I bury myself deep and come inside her, groaning against her neck as I fill her.

I stay buried deep for a long time afterward. I wrap both arms around her and hold her tight against me. Both of us are breathing hard in the quiet equipment room. The overhead light hums above us. The blizzard is a low roar outside the walls.

I press a slow kiss to her shoulder and keep holding her.

***

Afterward, she sits with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up, her eyes on the middle distance. I sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch, and I don’t ask how she is, and she doesn’t tell me she’s fine.

We’ve already moved past that particular exchange.

After a while she says, “Grant is going to be unpleasant about the scene.”

“Yes,” I agree.

“I got what I needed though.”

“I know.”

She tilts her head back against the wall. Her eyes close briefly. In the low light of the equipment room, smoke still faint in the air between us, she looks less like someone braced for impact than I’ve seen her look since she arrived.

The door is open. I didn’t close it when we came in, and I’m aware of that in the background. The bay beyond it is quiet. The crew is still running post-incident checks, filing reports, and doing what they do after a call.

Footsteps in the bay, even and unhurried.

They slow as they pass the open door.

A pause. Brief. The length of time it takes to register what you’re seeing.

Then they continue on.

Neither of us moves.

Neither of us speaks.

Chapter thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: Grant

Wes brings her out of the building at four seventeen.

I see it from across the scene. Her eyes are red and streaming, her hand on his arm for two steps before she straightens up and pulls it back. She’s already rebuilding herself before she clears the perimeter tape.

I finish the scene. File the reports. Let the night go.

At seven AM, I knock on her door.

She opens it already dressed.

“My office,” I say.

She sits across the desk from me with her hands in her lap and says nothing.

Fine. I don’t need an apology. I need her to understand that what she did yesterday has consequences beyond her own health, and I need her to hear me say it without turning it into a debate.

“You entered an active fire scene without clearance,” I say. “No protective equipment. No authorization from my crew or your department. The building hadn’t been fully ventilated and you breathed in enough smoke that Wes had to carry you out.”