I swirl my palm over her pussy, a slow, sinful, sensuous rub. It unwinds something in her and soon she’s coming against my hand, grasping my wrist to hold me fast.
As if I’m going anywhere.
This is the only place I want to be.
Twenty-seven
Abby
I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.
Roman’s dark hazel-green eyes glitter with lust and pride. He knows exactly what he’s done and he’s pretty in love with himself right now.
“That was—good,” I murmur.
He kneels between my thighs and I get the best vista imaginable: Roman, all God of Thunder thighs, his lightly-furred chest, bronzed skin, the arms.
The. Arms.
I could craft art with those arms as molds. But the main attraction right now is getting Roman’s attention. He’s pumping his cock and while I know I probably should be helping, the sight is so arousing—and that orgasm was quite draining—that I’m happy to lie back and watch.
“Just good, huh?” he says with a smirk, referring to my downplaying of the peak I just reached. “Guess I’ll have to figure out how to improve on that.”
I sit up and curl a hand around his neck.
“Thank you.”
He stops the motion of his hand. Looks shocked, to be honest. Has no one thanked him for an orgasm before? Isn’t that listed in Emily Post’s etiquette rules?
“You’re welcome,” he says quietly.
“Let me.” I take his hand away and replace it with my own. He’s hot and hard again in my grip, a weird contrast with the vulnerability I see in his eyes. I get the impression that Roman’s not one for self-care. That everyone looks to him for their needs and he doesn’t think over much of his own.
The tip of his cock is dotted with fluid and it looks like it needs some love. I run my hand over the shaft, letting the pre-come lubricate the motion. He pulses hard in my hand.
“Need to be inside you, Abby.”
I couldn’t agree more.
I grab a condom from the nightstand drawer and watch as he secures it and lies over me. The vibe has changed. Still sexy, but now more urgent. More of a recognition that we can’t laze about all day in bed like a regular couple because there’s nothing regular or couple-y about us.
This is about primal need, answering a call, and releasing a fire-truck load of tension.
He rubs his sheathed cock over my opening and I almost come again. I’m not going to last but I’m conscious that I need to. I need to prolong this time with him.
In this game of would you rather, I want the power of slow motion.
“You okay, Abby?” he whispers.
I nod, and he lays the sweetest kiss on my forehead before pushing in with one long, all-reaching stroke, and it’s like my body knows he’s the only one who fits right and makes itself ready for him. The moan that erupts from my throat doesn’t sound like me. I don’t usually sound so wanton and needy. Sure, I enjoy sex and I recognize that it’s usually better with a partner, but I don’t generally rely on that partner to complete me. I have my own hands, tools, and fantasies for that.
But with Roman, it’s different. He rules my body with a quiet intensity that slays me. He’s here with me, his gaze pure and searching, each thrust another question trying to get to the heart of who I am. The man seems to think he can know me this way, and that in knowing me, we become partners in pleasure. I understand that concept—I read romance novels—but I’ve never experienced it.
I cup his stubbled jaw, my thumb rubbing his bottom lip until he opens and takes it inside his mouth, and that additional connection jumps along the live wire between us, igniting every neuron in my body.
He stops his thrusts and sucks on my thumb. I’m so turned on I can’t even get mad at the loss of momentum. He’s still inside me, stretching and filling and I’ve never felt so owned. Such a part of something.
Releasing my thumb, he draws close and gifts me with a dirty, wet, deep kiss I feel down to my toes. While our mouths are still connected, he resumes fucking me slowly and thoroughly. I had expected it to be fast and furious, but this is so much better. This is a man who knows exactly what I need, and shit, that is scary.
“Feels so good, ciliegina. Even better than I dreamed you’d be.” With each stroke, he takes a piece of me. “Need you to squeeze my cock with that perfect pussy. Take every drop. All yours.”
My brain has no time to register, my body is already responding to that order and giving him what he needs. What we both need. We are joined as one in a filthy-sexy goal to make this the best sex either of us has ever had because this is our one shot.
It can’t be this good.
It can’t be this good.
It can’t—oh shit, it’s—yes—there, that’s it.
It’s that good. By the time I’ve figured it out, I’m flying, every part of me soaring into some unknown level of the stratosphere.
This gorgeous man, my alpha-boss DILF, with forearms I want to dip in bronze finally lets go and stills, his forehead against mine, his eyes shut against the onslaught of fulfilled lust. His groan of release is low and guttural and prolongs the aftershocks of mine.
When he opens his eyes, I see a softness there I would never have expected. But I should have known better. This man cares about people, and even though this is just sex—I’ll be telling myself that on my deathbed—I suspect he feels some sort of tenderness toward me.
Which is wonderful in the moment, but might be detrimental in the long-term.
A long time later, Roman rolls on his back, rolls me into his side, and wraps me up for a cuddle.
This is not good.
I mean, it’s great. The man has stellar cuddle technique and did I mention the arms? But I also know that we can’t go back to the diner or to those people we were before I walked into Engine 6.
He takes my arm and applies a sweet kiss over my dinosaur tattoo.
“We should probably cover next steps,” he whispers against my wrist.
Stretching, I run a hand through his soft, dark hair. “Thought you’d need time for recovery.”
“Not those next steps. I’ll be ready for action before you know it.” He leans up and looms over me, back to Lieutenant Serious. “I have to report this to Venti.”
Can’t we enjoy the peace a while longer? “Um, why?”
“Because all voluntary relationships at the firehouse need to be reported to my CO, anything that has the potential to interfere with the chain of command.”
Every fire department treats voluntary and familial relationships differently. CFD might be looser because how else could you explain why the Dempseys have three siblings at the same house—and at one time had all five of them there? Close relationships like that are usually not allowed but Jude said they used some loophole about being foster sibs to get around it. As for other types of relationships—well, people are banging in firehouses all the time and everyone usually keeps it under wraps. But as soon as it moves to something serious: dating, living together, marriage, then that couple could not be on the same shift.
But Roman and I are not serious and neither do we have the potential to be. No one in upper management needs to know about this.