Into the Fire (First Responders 3)

That kind nature was part of why her leaving had hurt so bad. It would have been easier to get over her if she’d been nastier, selfish, vindictive. But she was none of those things. She never had been.

“I was just doing my job,” he said. But he knew that wasn’t strictly true. For a second today it had been intensely personal. All he had to do was think about her wide, frightened eyes and he had the urge to pull her into his arms and protect her.

He was suddenly aware that his thumb was stroking the soft skin at the top of her hand. And that she hadn’t pulled away.

“I was so scared,” she whispered. “I knew I had to try to get as many out as I could, but I could taste the smoke and hear the fire and I was terrified. And then you were there.” She slid over on to the cushion between them, turned and put her arms around his neck. “I was never so glad to see anyone in my life.”

“You’d never know it.” His voice came out all husky, and he swallowed, putting an arm around her back, trying to hold on to his composure. It was difficult when she was pressed against him, smelling like his shampoo, wearing his clothes. “You started barking orders.”

“Only because I saw you and I knew it would all be okay. I knew you’d make sure it was okay.”

It was the grandest statement of trust he’d ever heard. And certainly unexpected from her, who’d been so disapproving about his training to be a firefighter and had made no secret of her feelings. She’d hated the fact that he’d wanted to be a fireman. But he had no regrets. The only thing that had kept him sane for the first year after their breakup was how much he loved it. He still did, even if it was only as a part of a volunteer department. He could have gone somewhere else with a paid department, but he’d wanted to come back to the one place that was home for him. This way he got to have both the job and still stay in the valley. It was where he belonged.

She was pressed against him and he closed his eyes. He could feel her breasts against his chest, free from constraint inside the soft T-shirt. He turned his head slightly and his lips touched a wisp of hair just behind her ear. A breathy sigh fluttered against his neck and he felt his judgment weakening.

“Ally,” he whispered,

meaning it as a caution, but instead it came out as a plea. Slowly, giving her lots of time to stop him, he slid his hand beneath the baggy T-shirt and grazed his fingers along the soft skin of her ribs until he cupped her breast in the valley between his thumb and forefinger.

He moved his thumb over the tip and found it hard and responsive.

He should stop right now. She’d been through something terrible and she was vulnerable. And nothing had changed between them, had it? And yet he didn’t withdraw. He couldn’t. The memories were too strong, too present. He knew every inch of her body. Three years hadn’t changed that. Her curves were familiar, like coming home. He cupped her breast fully in his hand, measuring the weight, marvelling at the softness, while he turned his head and trailed kisses along her jaw until he met her mouth. It had been too long without her.

Something exploded inside him at the first taste of her. That sense of familiarity, of sensual memory was ten times as strong when they kissed. She met his tongue with hers, stroke for stroke, and she arched her back, pressing her breast more firmly into his palm. The warning that pounded in his brain, the one that said this was a mistake, receded to a dull roar as she made a little sound of satisfaction that rippled through him.

He pushed her deeper into the cushions until they were sprawled over the sofa and her hip was digging in terribly close to his zipper. His mouth skidded off hers, sliding down her neck as he pushed the T-shirt up, up, baring her chest.

She was perfect, perfect and beautiful, just as she’d always been.

As he took the first sweet tip into his mouth a cry escaped her throat and she bucked against him. His erection was damned near painful now as he ran his tongue over her nipple. She gripped his hair, and a quick glance upward showed her head thrown back, eyes closed, lips open. She was completely and utterly his.

Her pelvis rocked against his hip and he was at once thankful that his sleep pants were too big for her. Even pulled tight, the drawstring provided little resistance as he rolled slightly to the left and slid his hand inside. She was hot, hot and wet and primed, and he slid a finger inside her, wondering how far they dare go before stopping. If they would stop.

Making love would probably be a disaster. The thought broke through the haze of passion clouding his brain. He would never want her to think he took complete advantage of her at this moment, so they’d forego that ultimate pleasure. He had enough control to stop, didn’t he? But as he licked at her breast once more, he set up a rhythm with his hand. It didn’t mean he couldn’t pleasure her. There was a different satisfaction to be gained, watching her come apart in his hands.

He bit her nipple lightly and let his thumb skim along her sensitive skin, the way he remembered she liked. He was rewarded with a succinct curse word followed by his name drawn out on a moan. He took a minute to strip the pants clear off her, gazing with appreciation at her long, slender legs and flat stomach.

Without the restriction of the pants, Ally’s knees dropped open and he slid his palm up the tender skin of her inner thigh.

“Please,” she whispered, and he started the rhythm again, all the while kissing his way from the hollow of her hip, past her navel, over her ribs. He paused to pay adequate attention to both breasts, then ran his tongue up the centre of her collarbone, along her neck, and finally captured her mouth.

He knelt beside her now, his knees on the floor as he kissed her. She planted her feet and rocked against his hand, small sounds vibrating against his mouth until she broke the kiss, threw her head back and pressed her pubis against his hand over and over and over as a cry was torn from her throat.

She was so beautiful in her abandon that he nearly came right in his jeans.

“Ally,” he said gently, moments later. Her chest still rose and fell with heavy breaths and her skin seemed to glow in the early evening light. Even after three years, after the disappointment and hurt and anger, he knew he had never truly gotten over her. All he could think of was how good it had been for a while and how much he’d missed her.

She slid up a bit and pulled down his T-shirt. But she was still naked from the waist down, and he quietly retrieved the sleep pants and gave them back to her.

“I don’t… I didn’t mean… Shit.” She pushed her feet into the pants and lifted her hips, slipping the material over until she was covered. Her hair, still slightly damp, stuck up in a few places where the friction of the sofa arm had messed it. Her cheeks were an adorable pink and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

It was right that they hadn’t gone all the way. It was a little harder for his body to accept his decision, but that would be remedied in time.

“Ally,” he said again, a little louder, and her hands paused while smoothing her hair.

She looked up at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.