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Burning Ember

Page 38

by Sam E. Kraemer

JD, sorry. Kit does this thing with his tongue that—never mind. Everything ok?

Riv’s reference to getting plowed every night brought my green monster to the surface in a heartbeat. I hadn’t even been raked in a very long time, much less plowed. My last boyfriend, Carson, ended our relationship nearly five years ago. I was suffering an epic drought because I wasn’t a hit-it-and-quit-it guy.

Eventually, I dozed off, but something woke me. “Jordan.” The voice was soft, deep, and very familiar, though it sounded far away.

I rolled over to see someone standing by the door. “Thatcher? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Do you need something?” His kind voice sent shivers down my spine.

“I need you, Thatcher. I want you, and I’m not great at making a move, but I’m falling in love with you.”

“You are?” He sounded surprised, reminding me I wasn’t great at expressing my emotions, so maybe he had no clue that I had feelings for him.

“I’m terrible at flirting, but yes, I’d like to take you on a date. I love that you’re a big, strong fireman, but you intimidate me a little.” I should be embarrassed at being so honest with him, but somehow, I knew Thatcher would never do anything to hurt me.

“Honey, did you have some drinks tonight?”

I slid my hand into my boxer briefs to feel my cock, hard and leaking. “No, I’m hard for you, Thatcher. I want you to kiss me and make love to me. It’s been a while for me… I think I told you that. Have you had sex recently? I’m not saying we have to be exclusive, but I don’t want anyone but you.”

My hand gathered the precum leaking from my tip and slowly stroked my cock, wishing it was his touch, not mine.

“What are you doing now, honey?” Thatcher’s voice was sort of a growl, which had my blood flowing south in a dizzying rush.

I continued stroking myself. “I’m pretending that you’re touching me. God, it feels so good, Thatcher.”

“Fuck, how’d I get so damn lucky? Do you have lube, honey? Spit in your hand.” Thatcher’s voice sounded a little distant and scratchy, not like usual.

I sprang upright and opened my eyes. Suddenly, what I’d thought was Thatcher standing in the doorway to the spare room shifted, and I saw it was the shadow of a trophy on the desk by the window.

Obviously, I’d been dreaming, but god, it had felt so real. Thatcher wasn’t there, but my phone screen was lit brightly. I quickly picked it up and put it to my ear. “Thatcher? Are you there?”

“I’m here, baby boy.”

“Is it really you? Am I still dreaming?” I whispered.

“It’s really me, Jordan. Are you okay?”

I wanted to crawl under the floorboards to hide in embarrassment. How could I be so stupid as to leave my phone on the bed next to me? “Did I call you or did you call me?”

“I think you accidentally called me. Hell, I’m sorry you woke up. I was enjoying myself as I listened to you talk in your sleep.”

My face flamed. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. You’re on duty, and I interrupted your rest. I’m mortified.”

Thatcher’s sexy chuckle sounded over the phone. “Please, don’t be. Will you do me a favor?”

“Ha! I’m not sending you a dick pic.” No way. I was already glowing with embarrassment, and the way my luck was going, I’d send it to the wrong number.

“Oh, hell no. I don’t want anything like that to get into someone else’s hands. Go get in my bed. I’ve got lube in my nightstand drawer.” At least he didn’t think I was paranoid.

Inviting me into his bed while he wasn’t there seemed odd. I’d rather be in it when he was there. Without him, it was weird for me to sleep there, right?

“Isn’t that an invasion of your privacy?” My voice was shaky.

“Honey, listen to me. I want you to sleep in my bed so when I get home, my sheets smell like you. I have another favor to ask. I want you to get yourself off and record it for me, please? If you’re not comfortable doing that yet, I understand, but I want you to tell me what you’re doing to yourself so that when we get to that point in our relationship, I’ll know how to please you.”

I stood from my bed and padded across the hall to his bedroom door, phone in hand. “Are you sure about this? I feel as if I’m doing something wrong, Thatcher.”

He quickly responded. “No. God no. I invited you into my bed, honey. There’s something in that drawer that you might like, and if you do, I want you to record your voice while you’re using it, please?”