Another FILF: (Fireman I'd Like to F**k) (Hotshots Book 2) Read online

  Now I’m wearing the cocky grin.

  “What’s next, stud? You’re showing me your skill. So far, I’m doing all the work.”

  “Come over to the bed and get on top of me. Slowly now. Lift one leg and spread your thighs as you straddle me. But don’t touch my dick. Not yet. Give me those luscious tits first.”

  If we keep this up, I’m going to wish I were wearing panties. Because I’m so wet, I’m going to look like I’ve had an accident. I’m very tempted to remove my top just to make this fantasy more real.

  8

  Shawn

  My dick hurts like hell. It’s trapped in the crotch of my Nomex, unable to properly stand up at the attention Lila’s fantasy deserves. She startled the hell out of me when she started this, but now I’m into it. She’s taking my mind off the damn invisible road, but I don’t want her to stop.

  The radio crackles. Shit. I work it out of the holster at my hip and key it.

  “Newton.”

  “Newton, where are you?” the chief’s voice is harsh and i know he’s concerned.

  Fuck, I’ve been way too offhand here but Lila was such a distraction. I look at her with my eyebrows raised. She supplies the address and I repeat it.

  “God damn it, man! You were supposed to be out of there forty-five minutes ago!”

  I glance at Lila. “Sorry, chief, there were complications. What’s the word?”

  “Secondary fire, no more than a quarter mile from your location. And burning uphill fast. Wind’s come up.”

  For the first time, I recognize I’ve been fighting the headwind. An electric thrill of fear shoots through me. We’re headed right into the fire!

  “Visibility has been bad for the last half hour, sir. I think we’re trapped,” I rap out.

  “Can you take shelter?”

  “Negative.”

  Lila is trying to say something, but I gesture for her to be quiet.

  “Deploy your emergency shelter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do it now! We’ll come for you as soon as we can.”

  I drop the radio. Seconds count.

  “Out of the truck,” I bark. “The oxygen will blow. I’ll get the shelters.”

  Lila jumps from the truck and meets me in the back, but when I hand her the little pack, she balks. Fear drapes across her lovely features and her eyes are wide as she shakes her head.

  “What is it, Baby?”

  “Jon used one of these,” she whimpers. I can see she’s making a huge effort not to start crying again and I’m proud of her.

  “It’s risky,” I start.

  “And he died,” she blurts. She’s starting to shake uncontrollably although again, she’s making a huge effort.

  “Baby, no one is dying when I’m still breathing and certainly not you. I promise you. Plus it’s the only choice we have.”

  “No, there’s another,” she says. “I have a root cellar. It’s deep. Can’t we shelter there?”

  Relief washes over me. “Hell, yes! Why didn’t you say so? Back in the truck!”

  The truck can move faster than we can run, and there’s no time to waste. She doesn’t argue for once, just jumps in on her side while I’m doing the same. I slam the gear into reverse and back up as fast and straight as I can. In a fraction of the time it’s taken us to get down the driveway, I careen back up it, sensing the land I’ve just traversed. In moments I’m stopping just in time to avoid running into the cabin.

  “Where’s the cellar entrance?” I demand.

  “Around behind the studio.”

  “Come on, Baby. Time to get cosy.”

  We both tumble out of the truck and she runs around it straight to me. I’m ridiculously glad at how she needs to be in contact. I take her hand and lead her, running full tilt in the direction of the studio. We still can’t see jack shit, but she knows the way.

  In a few steps we’re at the front, and she leads me around the side and behind. Opposite where the front door of the studio is on the other side, there’s a slanted metal door covering a concrete rectangle jutting out of the ground. I throw the door open and she leads the way down a set of stairs. She’s right, it’s deep.

  The dank space opens out to a good-sized room outfitted with shelves. An old piece of carpet covers the dirt floor in the middle. The dim light from the open door shows us a kerosene lantern with a box of matches beside it. She lights it, then places it on a hook to hold it away from the wooden shelves.

  “Shawn, I’m scared,” she whimpers, her stubborn side all gone now.

  I am, too, but I’m reasonably certain that the air down here will hold out if the fire passes quickly. I wish I’d had the time to get the oxygen tanks out of the truck, but this room is large enough for two people to survive in for at least an hour, even with the fire eating the oxygen, too. Her cabin has a fire break cleared around it. Jon’s work, I assume, same as this bunker.

  I go to her and put my arms around her, pulling her into my chest where she rests until her breathing calms.

  “We’ll be okay,” I assure her.

  There’s no need to give her all the exceptions that could happen. If they do, they do. We’re safer here than under the portable fire shelters like the one her Jon died in.

  She leans into me, and in the cool, relatively smoke-free air of the root cellar, I catch her scent. Under the soot is the aroma of woman rising to tempt me. She must have been enjoying our sex talk as much as I was. not merely to distract her fears, I start to wonder if I can revive the mood. Waiting for the roar of the fire overhead is making me twitchy.

  She tilts her head, her eyes now emerald green, and her lips swollen red with desire. I lower mine to hers and kiss her like it could be our last.

  She lifts her hand and runs her fingers through my hair behind my skull. I cup her firm breast, then run my hand up under her tank top, seeking her nipple. When I find the raised pellet she sighs into my mouth.

  This is nothing like the fantasy we were playing in the truck. There’s no bed for me to spread out on, for one thing. Just the carpet. I can deal with that and with her on top of me, fucking herself on my already engorged dick, she won’t hurt her skin at all. Besides, we’re both clawing at each other, sucking the life out of the other’s mouth like it’s the last chance at oxygen.

  I start to lower her onto the ground, when a haunting sound reaches our ears, coming from close by. Lila shoves me off and shoots up to a standing position so fast her head cracks my jaw.

  “Is that…?” she asks.

  “I think so,” I snap to despite the agony raging in my dick. “I’ll get him, Baby.”

  Her little beagle is outside somewhere close, baying in his puppy voice. Lila’s eyes are terrified. The pup sounds the way she looks.

  I scramble up the steps and push on the door. It’s hotter than it was a few minutes ago. The fire is close. Way too close. In my right mind I’d forget it and tell her it’s too dangerous. But who said I was in my right mind? Not since the moment I spotted this woman.

  Woooooooo-ooo.

  “Oh, my God, Shawn! I can’t listen to him die, but you can’t go out there!”

  I ignore her. I can’t listen to him die, either. I’m going, and I’m not wasting my breath, or any time, arguing with her on this one. I stride up the last few steps before she can stop me and take the time to close the door tightly. It may mean the critical few seconds that will save my life, but if I leave it open she could be overrun by the fire before she can get to the door.

  “Mr. Pete! Here, boy. Where are you?” I call.

  Before I can draw breath to call again, a bundle of energy hits my calves and almost takes me down. I bend to feel for him in the gloom, and get my hands around the little body.

  “Mr. Pete! Where have you been?” I scold. I pick him up and stand with him cradled to my chest, twisting and turning my head to avoid the frantic tongue. “You’re okay. Settle down.”

  I’m only a few steps away from the door to the root ce
llar, but I’ve lost track of the direction. The crazy pup has knocked off my equilibrium. The irony strikes me as I turn in a circle. I’m steps from shelter, and I’m going to die here with the dog in my arms. She’ll come out and find me, along with her beloved pet, roasted like a hot dog. No pun intended.

  I can’t let that happen. Not to her, not again. Just imagine how weird those paintings could get. I stop to pull it together, then take three steps forward. Nothing there. I carefully turn back, take three steps forward, make a quarter turn around my body’s axis and take three steps forward. I repeat the process, and on the third time, find the door.

  I tuck the wriggling dog under my right arm firmly and grab the metal handle of the door with my left. It’s so hot I nearly leap back and let go. I’m burning the shit out of my hand, an ugly smell of toasted skin hits my nostrils. I left my gloves off because I was so intent on feeling Lila’s soft skin. I can see the flames, now, lapping the edges of the building. I have to get the door open. I tug it awkwardly with the wrong hand, give it a shove, and yell, “Catch!”

  I can’t wait for acknowledgement. Hoping she’s ready or the fall doesn’t hurt him too badly, I toss the dog down the steps, hear a yelp, and turn to back down them. Now my burned hand is on the right side of the door to close it. It’s all I can do to make myself grab it again, but I do, and the door slams shut behind me as I back down the stairs, nursing my screaming hand.

  9

  Lila

  Shawn falls backward down the last few steps, practically into my lap, where I’m cradling the dog. I look up and see his hand scarlet red and blistering. Even his tough guy act can’t quite conceal the pain he’s in.

  “Oh, my God, Shawn! You’re hurt!”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” He doesn’t mean to take it out on me. The snark is a release for pain, whether real of emotional - I’m all too aware of how that works. “Is the dog okay?” he adds, softening.

  “His fur is a little singed. I can’t imagine what he went through to get home.” I set Mr. Pete down, tell him to stay, and take Shawn’s hand in both of mine. “This looks bad, Shawn. I’m so sorry.”

  “Is there a first-aid kit down here by any chance?”

  “I don’t think so.” I bite back the rest of the tears but one rolls down my cheek. I’m feeling terrible Shawn hurt himself because of me.

  “Honey, stop, he says, lifting his damaged hand and thumbing away the rogue tear. “We’re safe. Mr. Pete is safe, this old burn hardly hurts at all.”

  I know he’s lying for my sake.

  “I can get treatment as soon as my crew gets here. They’ll be here as soon as the fire passes over. It will be okay.”

  I wish I knew how to pray. From down here, the fire sounds like a freight train bearing down on us. Mr. Pete is cowering and whimpering so I have to pick him up again. I lean into Shawn’s huge chest and do the same in his strong arms.

  “Shh, shh,” I croon to Mr. Pete. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Lila.”Shawn’s voice is so quiet I have to stop shushing the pup and listen carefully.

  “Yes?”

  The sound of the flames above us is filling the silence. I lift my head and find Shawn’s gaze. He looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him. I’m trembling but not from fear this time.

  “If… Well, I want you to know, if… when we get out of this, I’d like to get to know you better.”

  My heart skips a beat. I don’t know if it’s because I’d like that too, or because I heard that if. “You said we’d be okay,” I accuse.

  His arms tighten around me. “I believe we will. What’s that quote from that old movie you women love so much?”

  “What movie?” I shout, momentarily distracted from the unbearably loud roar from above. It’s getting hotter in here, but his question is so random I’m focused on it.

  “That one with the Cowardly Lion,” he shouts back.

  “The Wizard of Oz?”

  “That’s it. Remember what the Wizard said? ‘We have nothing to fear as long as we believe.’”

  I can hardly believe my ears. This tough, sexy, take-charge guy quotes The Wizard of Oz? In what world does that happen? I fall in love a little.

  “I believe,” I whisper to myself. For a second, the fear recedes. A thump on the metal door brings it back, and I jump. “What was that?”

  “The structure is failing,” Shawn says, matter of factly. “Can you handle being in the dark?”

  “I guess. Why?” I ask.

  “That lantern is using precious oxygen. I’d like to put it out.”

  Oh, my God. If he’s worried about the small flame taking too much oxygen, are we really safe? I break out in a sweat. Is it the terror, or is it getting even hotter? Though I’m receiving comfort from holding my puppy and being held by Shawn, it’s too hot. I break away from his arms, put Mr. Pete down in a corner, a pile of burlap bags underneath the shelf where it wraps around. I’m almost envious that Mr. Pete is asleep in half a minute.

  I nod to Shawn. “Okay. I’m going to sit down right here. You can blow out the lantern. Don’t leave me.”

  “As if,” he quips.

  I catch sight of a superior grin as he sits next to me. Those two words seem loaded with some meaning. He takes my hand in his and with the other, reaches to twist the lantern’s wick down. The light goes out, plunging us all into total blackness.

  “It seems we have some time to … make use of,” he murmurs in my ear. The unexpected sound, coupled with his lips nuzzling my ear, make me jump again. He puts his arms around me.

  “What do you suggest?” I murmur, my voice cracking.

  “You’re the creative one,” he says. His own voice is husky and in the dark I can tell it’s not from the smoke inhalation. His desire is apparent. His hunger communicates itself through every pore.

  “You seem pretty full of ideas,” I say.

  “If it’s too hot, I suggest we take off our clothes.”

  I can hear in his voice that the cocky grin is back. As much as I like the idea of his suggestion, I can’t help pushing back.

  “Sure. And when your crew gets here and finds us naked, what’s our excuse?”

  His lips move around behind my ear, making me gasp. His fingertips locate my nipple, prodding through my tank into the darkness and pinch, tugging the fleshy bullet through the fabric.

  “Oh, I won’t need an excuse, he burrs. “They know me.”

  My jaw drops. Did he just admit he’s a player? Despite the tingles running down my skin, from his lips behind my ear to my stupid, traitorous nipples, I push him away.

  “Give me a break,” I say, laughing.

  “Okay,” he lets go of me. I remind myself to be careful what I wish for. From somewhere above my head, he continues. “But I wasn’t joking before. I do want to know you better.”

  “Why?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Sounds to me like you can have any woman you want. Why me? The crazy stubborn lady who makes creepy art.”

  His hand cradles my face, making me jump again.

  “Well, you’re beautiful. That’s a plus. You’re loyal, and genuine with your love, another plus.”

  “That’s two pluses,” I say.

  “And I like a stubborn woman,” his voice is filled with restrained humor which comforts me in the dark. Then he adds: “More fun to conquer.”

  “Oh, my God. Every time I start to like you, you say something like that.”

  For some reason, though, my nipples peak again at the thought of what he means by conquer.

  “Just think about it, Lila. You enjoyed it, back there in the studio. Don’t try to deny that.”

  He’s right, but he’s also arrogant, insufferable, and, shit, too damn sexy.

  And he’s still talking, in my ear again, now, though I realize the noise from above has quieted.

  “I could make you enjoy it even more. Fill your senses in a way you’d never forget.”

  His hand steals back to my waist and slides its way up u
nder my tank top to cover my breast with a firmly insistent squeeze. A twitch of his wrist lifts the cotton up over my mounds and they tumble free. The exposure is somehow more intense in the pitch black and my body fills with urgent need. When he bends to suckle, his tongue laving across the hard pellet, I almost lose it.

  I know I should resist, but I have no power. I lean back on both arms, palming the rough ground and offering him free access. He needs no words to know I’ve surrendered. He pauses just long enough to tug the tank top up and over my head, as I sit up to help. I shrug out of it and lean back again.

  I strain to see his body but not even a shadow is discernable in the dark. My senses are overwhelmed as his lips and tongue explore one breast, while his arm supports me, and the other hand teases my other nipple. Just as I’m sure my other nipple will somehow start screaming out its ache for attention, he switches sides. I arch my back to give him better access, and he sweeps my arms out from under me, laying me back.

  Now he’s nipping and sucking while his free hand expertly finds the button on my jeans, unzips, and delves inside. I’m pillowed on his arm, the one with the injured fingers, as he pushes his others through my swollen folds. I stifle a scream and let out a gasp as he finds my clit.

  “You’re so wet,” he murmurs. “So responsive.” There’s an approving note in his voice. “Lift your hips, sweetheart.” I lift obediently, and he strips my jeans to my knees, then pushes them all the way off, taking my flip flops with them.

  Now I wish he could see me. I spread my thighs as wide as I can until they ache and still I want to open myself wider. I haven’t felt him remove any of his clothing, and I’m completely naked for him, open like a dripping piece of fruit. I reach t blindly for his chest and find his turnout coat. I push at the stiff fabric.

  “In a minute, sweetheart. I want you naked and spread for me.”

  I feel him shift and mourn the loss of his lips on my breasts. In the next moment, white light skewers through my core as his fingers part my folds again. This time he grazes across my bulbous clit so I shiver then dips into me. I can feel his smile as he spreads my juices up to coat my clit. With another shifting movement he bends down and his lips land on my spread pussy, taking me into the stratosphere.