Firefighter Phoenix (Fire & Rescue Shifters 7)

“You.” He scooped her up in his arms. “For being more than I will ever deserve.”

She bit his lower lip lightly. “Don’t you dare start that again. You’d better be carrying me to the bedroom.”

He was. The guilt that had bound him for so long was crumbling into ash, burned away by the fire she’d lit within his blood. Once again, she’d freed him—with a word, with a touch, with her love.

He had come back to her, and he would never leave her again.

He laid her carefully, so carefully, on the bed. He stretched out next to her, propping himself up on his side so that he could kiss her again, slowly, lingering.

They had never had the time to be slow, before.

But he’d had twenty years to dream.

Her temples, the dimples in her cheeks, the secret, sensitive spot behind her ear—he worshipped them all. Her skin was even softer than he remembered, traced with fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Beautiful lines, tracks of joy and grief and wisdom. Her soul had shaped her body, over the years. She had become more herself.

She touched the corner of his eye. “Ash,” she whispered.

He brushed his tongue over her fingertips, tasting the salt of his tears. “Joy. They’re for joy. Rose, oh Rose.”

She arced up to him as he worked his way down the glorious line of her neck. He was dizzy with the scent of her, near drunk on the taste of her skin. Need pulsed urgently through him, but it was different from the unstoppable, feral drive that had gripped him at their first mating.

She was already his mate. This was about their desires now, not their animals’ instincts.

And, oh, he desired her, with the intensity of a thousand suns. He would burn for her always, never dimming, with a fire as eternal as the Phoenix itself.

Knowing that, he could take his time.

One by one, he undid the buttons of her blouse, holding his breath as he exposed her inch by inch. She rolled to let him pull the soft fabric free from her body. He skimmed the white straps of her bra, sliding them down over the soft curves of her shoulders. A slightly awkward moment, Rose giggling and wriggling while he fumbled with unseen hooks—and then she was bare to him at last.

All the breath sighed out of his lungs. He drank in the sight of her rich curves, the proud, dark peaks of her nipples. Her breasts were fuller now. They would overflow his palms with their lush bounty. Just the thought made him clench his hand in the bedclothes, struggling not to lose control.

“You are more beautiful than I—” He very nearly slipped and said remembered. “Than I dreamed.”

Rose’s eyes were wide and dark, hazed with desire. She folded her arms behind her head, arching her back in blatant invitation.

That did break his control. He buried his face in her richness, groaning at the softness, the fullness, the unbearable perfection of her nipples. He teased the buds with tongue and fingers and palm, savoring the way they swelled and hardened under his touch. His own hardness grew too, until his thighs tightened with the effort of holding back. It was agony, sweet agony, but the delicious sounds he won from Rose’s gasping mouth were satisfaction enough.

“Ash!” she cried out, head flung back, hips lifting. “Ash!”

He’d gone by that name for two decades, and yet now it rang false in his ears. He silenced her mouth with his own, sliding his palms down over her stomach, under the tight waistband of her skirt. They both groaned as he found the softness of her curls, already damp for him. Her hips pressed up into his hand, her knees spreading, but the angle was wrong; he couldn’t reach a

ny further.

She pushed at his shoulders, though her mouth didn’t release his. He braced himself on one forearm, lifting just high enough for her hands to be able to dive between them. She unzipped her skirt, shoving it down past her hips with an impatient wriggle. The motion ground her thigh against his rigid length, and he almost lost control there and then. He had to roll away, gasping, fighting against his surging need.

Rose very nearly undid his efforts by straddling him. She’d stripped off her skirt and panties, leaving her gloriously, maddeningly bare. He caught her hips, stopping her a scant inch above him.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said hoarsely. His muscles shook with the effort of holding her away rather than pulling her down. “I don’t want it to be over too fast.”

He jerked as she deliberately canted her hips, brushing against him through his pants. Rose grinned wickedly down, smug delight sparking in her eyes.

“I should make you wait longer, since you made me wait so long,” she said, leaning forward. “But I’m not that patient.”

She claimed his mouth as her fingers worked down his shirt buttons. White-hot sparks flashed across his vision as she ran her hands over his bare chest. Oh, her hands remembered him, even though her mind didn’t. They knew exactly where to touch him, and how, until he was gasping underneath her, every muscle knotted.

Blindly, he reached up, pulling her down. With a twist, he captured her underneath him, pressing her into the soft covers. Every inch of him was on fire. Her bare skin against his was relief and fuel combined; ecstasy that only sparked greater hunger. He slid down her body, planting feverish, open-mouthed kisses across her stomach and thighs.

“Oh,” she gasped, legs falling open for him. “Oh.”