Hung

Or maybe that’s just me, looking at her and seeing something more. Maybe yesterday’s kiss really was just a quick dare, a little fun that’s over now and she’s thinking why the fuck isn’t this guy moving along? Maybe I’m the only one who sees her move as the opening gambit in something bigger. I liked the taste of her all right—and I definitely want more. I’m not settling for the one-scoop vanilla cone when I could have the entire fucking sundae and a cherry. I want her naked and underneath me. Or over, alongside, or reverse cowgirl. We can work our way through the entire Kama Sutra if she wants, even the crazy positions that would challenge an Olympic gymnast.

But instead of getting naked followed by getting down and dirty, she’s tense and hyper-focused on the sheriff parked outside the building. I don’t know why a police car has her jumping like fleas on a dog, but she’s visibly a nervous wreck. Pretty sure she’s trying to hide behind me, too. On the other hand? I can work with that. Shielding her from sight is simple enough, and letting her lean on me some is even easier. Hell, I can even admit that having strong, sassy Sarah Jo leaning on me gives me a primitive satisfaction and awakens a desire to take care of her. Whatever bad thing she feared isn’t going to happen on my watch. It’ll just be non-stop orgasms and good times.

You know what? I’m not sure where this urge to go all protect and defend on her came from. It’s a little foreign when not applied to burning buildings.

Maybe it’s because she definitely looks good enough to eat. Today she’s wearing another sassy T-shirt—Hugging a firefighter is hot—and a matching skirt that clings to her ass and her thighs. An enormous flannel shirt is tied around her waist, her full-body camouflage shucked in deference to the already oppressive temperatures. Likewise, her bare legs sport flip-flops instead of boots because only a sadist or a hotshot would wear steel-toes in the triple-digit summer heat baking the camp. Missing her would be hard since her shirt is the most obnoxious shade of purple I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m not certain she’s wearing a bra beneath all that color, and I damned certain want to find out. So I rile her up just a little bit more.

“You still say there’s nothing wrong?”

She moves then, putting me between herself and the car’s line of sight. Obligingly, I step closer so my shoulders block the window. I’m such a fucking Boy Scout. Maybe she’ll pin a merit badge on me later. With her mouth.

Sarah Jo doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who runs scared. She’s more likely to kick trouble in the balls (and yes I’m watching mine), so I don’t know what could have set her off so. It’s just the county sheriff, doing his weekly drive-by and the other usual fire camp visitors. She’s made it clear she isn’t sharing, however, so I won’t push.

Much.

“Not a thing,” she says confidently, but then jumps at nothing, showering forks all over the floor. The clatter’s loud enough that you’d think a one-man band just exploded or something. The move, however, puts her right in my arms. Her amazing tits brush my chest, and now I’ve got firsthand evidence that she opted out of wearing a bra today. There’s a whiff of something citrus, too. Her shampoo, maybe, or lotion. Either way, she smells like she belongs on my menu. She’s lunch and I should absolutely eat her up. And out. Fuck, yeah.

She slides her hands up my arms and over my shoulders, linking them around my neck. If she’s omniscient and on board with my dirty plans for her, I’m the happiest man alive.

“You liked kissing me?” Not stopping for an answer, she abandons the forks and walks me toward the side door, her thighs pressing into mine with each step she takes. I have no idea where we’re going but I’ll let her lead in this little dance we’ve got going on. “The other day?”

I’d kiss her anywhere, anytime. I set my hands on her hips and let her steer me outside. I’d even be up for sex in public at this point because my dick’s that damned hard.

No point in beating around the bush. “You know I did.”