by Dizzy Hooper
"Working on one," Sal says through the comm.
"Do you see a window at the end of the hall to the east?" Walker asks.
I squint, peering through the smoke and ruin.
"How about now?" Sal asks.
Damn right I can, because at just that moment, a giant hole gets punched in it, letting in daylight that looks like a goddam ray from heaven, shining down through this patch of hell.
"All crazy motherfuckers, all of you," Jaquan says.
"I've been called worse," I grit out.
He shakes his head, but he doesn't fight me at all as I steer him down the hall.
By some miracle, we make it to the smashed out where Sal is waiting, standing at the top of the ladder the guys have positioned right at our exit point.
"If Walker tells me I have to climb down this bitch on the other side, I'm just going to jump," Jaquan jokes.
Sal reaches through the window frame and grabs hold of him. "I'd catch you, you asshole."
"Yeah, you would." Jaquan looks to me as Sal helps him to the other side. "Not the only one, either, are you?"
And Jesus, we're in a literal burning building, both covered head to toe in PPE, masks and respirators and helmets obscuring any view of each other, but it doesn't matter. His admiration radiates through the space between us.
I swallow hard, tasting smoke. "Don't test me, okay?"
"Roger that."
Sal helps Jaquan down the ladder while I wait at the top. As soon as they're clear, I swing a leg out and make my own way to safety.
We were the last ones the guys on the engines were waiting for. They let loose with the hoses the second I'm on the ground, huge jets of water assaulting the fire.
The farther I get from the building, the more my knees weaken.
Holy shit.
The scene looked bad from the outside before I went in. Moving through the flames and smoke, I knew the scale of what we were up against.
But it's only now, watching the structure be enveloped in a blaze gone completely out of control that I recognize the sheer insanity of what we just did.
I tug at my respirator, yanking at the fasteners of my coat. Cold, fresh air reaches my hot skin—only it's not fresh. It reeks of smoke and burnt plastic, and I look back, again, at the blackened beams and curled siding, the destruction of the water meeting wood that's had all the strength sucked out of it by the flames.
I try to get a hold of myself, but the adrenaline crash is leaving me shaking.
How many active fires have I responded to? Hundreds—maybe more. Dozens of this scale. But it never gets easier, after.
"Chapman."
I turn, dazed, to find Walker staring at me with a new level of concern. My knees wobble. I want to fall into him. He looks like safety and like the mooring I'm always aching for after a job of that size.
But no.
"I'm fine."
"Let's let medical be the judge of that." He closes the space between us. He smells like ash, but his clean, comforting scent cuts through the smoke. The urge to let him shore me up tears at me, and then he reaches out, putting a hand on my back.
I let him, too. God, I'm so weak.
With that single point of contact between us, he steers me toward the EMT truck waiting across the street. I catch sight of Jaquan in the next truck over. I nod toward him. "He okay?"
"Fucked something in his ankle, for sure. A couple other bruises. Could have been way worse." Walker's eyes go pinched, his mouth tight. "Would have been, if it weren't for you."
A shadow of a rebuke darkens the edge of his tone.
I curl my hand into a fist and keep my response measured. "Had to help."
"I know you did."
"I know I was supposed to follow orders—"
"We'll talk about that another time. You were the one on the scene. You made the call." His gaze flickers across my face. Then he reaches out. He squeezes my shoulder, hard. He licks his lips. "Told you. You're one of us. We trust you."
My vision threatens to blur. I don’t know if I can believe that. Not really.
But God, I really fucking want to.
Before I can say anything stupid and sappy in reply, an EMT subtly nudges Walker out of the way. He gives me another squeeze on the shoulder then rejoins the rest of the guys at the edge of the scene.
Mostly because I'm too tired to protest, I let the medic look me over. Sure enough, I'm given a clean bill of health, other than the usual advice about taking it easy and trying to get some fresh air. As the adrenaline keeps wearing off, a few aches and pains make themselves known. Hauling around Jaquan's weight wasn't easy on my back and shoulder, but it's nothing a little ice and ibuprofen won't be able to handle.
The EMT moves off to deal with something else. I sit there for a few minutes, staring at the aftermath of the fire.
They've pretty much got it under control at this point. It's going to be a total loss for the family—that much is clear. My heart gives a sharp twist just thinking about it, but they're all safe, at least. No one's been orphaned. No one's lost their mother or their child or even their dog.
They probably don't know how lucky they are.
A shadow passes across my ribs, but I don't dwell on it. I'm used to that little bit of darkness there.
When Sal wanders over, I'm more than ready for the distraction.
"Hey." I turn to look at him.
"You okay?"
"Right as rain. Why? Wanna go fight another one?" It's a joke, but it's not a funny one.
"Hell, no," he answers, and it's too serious—even for how mistimed and unfunny my attempt at humor might have been. "What you did back there—"
Oh.
I wave him off. "It's no big deal—"
"It's the biggest fucking deal in the world. Jaquan and his fool hero ass—" His nostrils flare, but there's terror in his eyes. "You saved him."
"His ankle was just sprained. He probably would have gotten out."
"With all that gear? Stuck in that firetrap?" He points wildly at the wreckage. "Bullshit. That was you."
"It was nothing."
"It's everything to me, okay?"
His dark eyes burn as brightly as the flames did when we were trapped in the thick of them.
"Jaquan—" He swallows, throat bobbing hard above the line of his rolled-down hood. "He's family to me, you got that? And you put your life at risk for him. I'm not going to forget that."
My own throat grates. I remember what Walker said to me, the other night and today.
I remember how my old crew screwed me over and left me for dead.
But the words rise to my throat all the same. I can’t stop them. "Nothing you wouldn't do for me, right?"
And I don't believe it. I can't. Not after how I got burned before.
Sal does, though. With intensity radiating off of him, he puts a big hand over his chest. "In a heartbeat."
And Jesus, but I feel that behind my own ribs. He really means it. Whether or not that’ll be worth anything a few months from now is another story altogether.
But for now I take it. I hold it close to my fractured, fragmented heart.
In the cold night air, through the wisps of ash and smoke still floating off from the ruins of what used to be a home, something warm and bright hums between us. The connection sings in my bones. It heats my blood, and yeah, this is intimate. But it's something more than sex, for all that my flesh is wide awake and ready to seal the deal.
Our gazes hold for another moment that goes on for way too long. My attraction to him and the bond we’ve just forges echoes in the space around us. It's reflected back to me in the darkness in his gaze.
From across the street, Corey calls out, "Hey—Delgado, Chapman. You guys ready to head out?"
The moment shivers, but it doesn't break.
"Yeah," Sal calls back, still not looking away. "Coming."
Then he reaches a hand out for me. He's taken his gloves off. I slip my bare palm into his, and another rush of connection a
nd want zips through me. My nipples throb, and the heat between my legs goes slicker. He grasps me tight, hand warm despite the night air's chill.
I let him help me up. He releases his grip, and I drop my hand.
But I'm not fooled.
We've barely touched. We might never. This might stay utterly professional; just the bond between a brother and sister in arms.
But one way or another, we’re connected now.
And things between us are never going to be quite the same again.
16
The ride back to the firehouse is somber. Our march back into the station is even worse. Without Jaquan cracking jokes and getting in everybody's space, the whole place seems weirdly quiet and cold.
Our shift isn't over, though. We clean up and check the rigs. I stink of smoke and I'm desperate for a shower, but I don't feel ready to strip down quite yet. It should be a relief to take off my heavy gear, but hanging it up in the turnout room feels like removing a suit of armor. The vulnerability of walking around without it is almost too much.
There are other factors, too. Every firefighter has their way of dealing with the crash after a big job like that. The other night, on my first call-out, I almost jumped Sal's bones, and I'm even more tempted to let him fuck me against a locker room wall tonight.
That would be a really, really shitty idea, though, so I hang back. I let them all get cleaned up first, while I retreat to the kitchen and make a sandwich. As I get out the bread and meat, my hands shake. My skin burns.
The aftermath of an intense call like that always leaves me reeling. I want connection. I want to be touched, and goddamn it all, do I ever want to be fucked. I'm practically gagging for it. My fantasies of getting taken by every man in this house flash before my unseeing eyes, and my pussy pulses, empty and wanting. Even the padded bra I'm wearing can barely hide the hard points of my nipples.
I want it rough, too. I want to get slammed against something, or maybe bent over a table—hell, this counter. I want a big, thick cock thrusting in and out of me, I want hands on my skin and hot breath on my ear. I want teeth.
I want anything—something. Whatever it will take to help me settle after coming so close to losing so much.
Walker and Sal walk in on me just as I'm finishing slathering mayo on my bread. I suck in a breath and nod at them, then look down, as if the ham and cheese I'm laying out are the most interesting things in the world. My skin is hot all the way from my dripping cunt to my pink throat. My cheeks are warm.
Can they tell I've been having dirty thoughts, here in this kitchen we all share?
Can they smell how desperate I am for one of them to fucking take me already?
If they are, they don't give any indication. I feel like a neon sign, lit up, soliciting for a good, thorough dicking, but they stand there, getting down more plates, making up more sandwiches.
Street and Corey join us not long after. Street scowls at the remnants of all his hard work from earlier.
"Can any of them be saved?" Walker asks, pointing at the random assortment of half cooked, half assembled pierogis.
"Nah." Summarily, Street chucks stuff in the trash. Even I mourn the loss. But he just shrugs. "Some other time."
"Good. You still owe us."
"I know, I know."
With my sandwich made, I grab my plate and move to the table. It's too fucking late and cold outside to go sit by myself on the loading dock, and besides. As reluctant as I've been to bond with this team, there's no denying I'm a part of it now.
Walker smiles as I sit. He ends up taking a chair just a couple down from mine.
And I get it. Jaquan's absence feels like hole. We all want to keep an eye on each other right now.
Idle conversation starts up as the rest of the guys fill in the empty seats. Stuff about sports and TV. Everyone leaves a wide berth around the subject of tonight's fire—and Jaquan's injury.
Still, when Sal's phone vibrates, we all go silent, looking to him. He reads the message and smiles.
"They're letting him go."
"Thank God," Walker says, and something in him relaxes.
"EMT is going to drop him here, he thinks."
"He's okay?" Corey asks.
"Fine. Probably on light duty for a couple of weeks, but no big."
Street makes the sign of the cross over himself. I don't share his faith, but the same hard hit of gratitude wells up inside me.
We break up not long after. There are still chores to be finished, but it's late. Recreation time and rest are on the docket for the rest of the night, unless we get another call.
I'm feeling a little more steady as I finish up the last of my duties. When I pass the locker room again, I can't really put it off any longer. I stink. My hair is probably black. No way I can sack out until I've cleaned up.
Everyone else already finished showering after the fire, so I feel pretty confident heading into the locker room.
But I made a mistake. A huge one.
Because there, standing in front of one of the sinks, his shirt off, soot on his face…is Jaquan.
17
I don't know how the hell I missed him coming in after the EMTs dropped him off.
There's sure as hell no missing him now.
Jaquan's the sexiest guy I've ever met when he's clothed. Now that he’s bare-chested and sweaty and dirty, my attraction to him soars off the charts.
My pussy drips at the sight of his warm, brown skin, the dips and ridges of his muscles. He has an eagle inked across his back, and I want to trace its wings, preferably with my tongue.
I let my gaze travel down his body. A peek of red boxers shows above the waistband of his jeans. The denim clings to his perfect, sculpted ass, and Lord, I want to jump him right now.
But then I get to the big black immobilizing boot attached to his ankle, and all the heat gathering inside me goes cold.
Just like that, the events of the evening flash back to me. The terror at his cut-off sentence. The hole in the floor, and then the vision of him, prone on the ground an entire story below. I barely processed it at the time, I was so busy working to get him out. But it crashes over me now.
He almost died.
I was the one to get him out.
My shoulder aches at the memory of him leaning into me as we hobbled our way through the wreckage. One misstep, one floorboard that wasn't as sound as it looked, and we could have died together. He trusted me, and I risked everything for him, and I'd do it again. In a heartbeat.
"Chapman—"
I snap my gaze up to meet his in the mirror above the sink.
And I've only known him for a couple of days, but sometimes, that's all the time you need. His swagger and his flirtiness have always been genuine enough, but they're stripped away now, leaving raw, naked vulnerability in his umber eyes. They flash with something—pain, maybe. Exhaustion. Gratitude.
Connection.
My voice cracks, my throat burning. "Heidi," I insist. "Call me Heidi."
"Heidi—" He turns, facing me.
The unguarded intensity to his expression is even more stark viewed head-on instead of in a mirror. It's like a hook sunk under my ribs. As he says my name, he yanks at its end and tugs, hard.
The air between us sings, electricity crackling. My fingers tingle. My cunt does, too, slickness flooding me as my blood flashes back to a fiery red.
He takes one, limping step toward me, big hands extended. He opens his mouth.
And I've already had this conversation with Sal. Maybe Jaquan has things he needs to say to me, too, and fine, sure, I'll let him.
But not right now. I'm tired, beyond language. Way past another exchange about what happened between us tonight.
We don't need words, anyway.
We need this.
My restraint all gives way at once.
I throw myself at him, reaching for his face. For half a second, his eyes widen in surprise, but in the next instant, he's right there with me. He catches me, f
alling back to lean against the sink, his warm hands going to my waist and the back of my neck as he reels me in the last three inches.
And Jesus fucking Christ—the first touch of his lips to mine feels like water crashing over me after years in the desert.
He opens to me, mouth blood-hot, his tongue slick and confident as he presses it past my teeth. I let him in, the same way I want to let his cock into my body. Groaning, I rub myself against his thigh, and sweet licks of relief pulse through me at that contact alone.
"Fuck," he pants, slipping a hand under my shirt. Even that small touch of his fingertips on my bare skin is a miracle.
"That's the idea," I agree.
"Yeah, yeah, let's—"
But then he goes to flip our positions, and he winces, pulling away sharply.
Shit—what were we thinking—?
"Your ankle—"
"It's fine." Fire burns in the darkness of his eyes. His hands tighten on my body. One corner of his mouth curls upward. "Just means you're going to have to do a little more of the work."
My smile mirrors his. Damn, I knew fucking him was going to be fun. "Not a problem."
"Good."
I look around. There are benches set up in front of the rows of lockers, but it's too public. The idea of getting fucked right here, where anyone could walk in is tempting as hell, but we can do better.
Then it strikes me—I came in here to take a shower, right?
So that's exactly what I'm going to do.
I hook my finger into the waistband of his jeans and pull. "Come on."
Reaching to the side, he grabs a crutch I hadn't even noticed and shoves it under his armpit.
Then he's right there with me, kissing my mouth and letting me drag him over to the shower area.
And it's not exactly how I pictured this, him limping and one of his hands occupied with that damn crutch, but it doesn't matter. The urgency is just as pressing, the heat between us scorching as we kiss and bite and touch.
The first stall is the handicap-accessible one, so that's where I aim. I throw the curtain back and draw him in. He follows, fumbling behind him to close the curtain after us. He gets it most of the way there, and fine, good enough.
