The Fireman's Feisty BBW

by Ella Roane

  “My name’s Brad. Just thought you should know,” I say, hoping she’ll divulge her own.

  I lick my lips while looking hungrily at hers. She notices. Her eyelids flutter, and her lips part as her magnificent chest lifts and falls with deeper breaths.

  There’s a message in my look. It says: you kissed me without knowing me. You’re not demure. Not innocent. Not some easily wilting delicate flower. You kissed me back and moaned for more.

  I let my eyes explore as she focuses in on the skin of my cheeks. They feel hot, as if I fell asleep on the beach and was badly sunburnt. I slip the tips of my fingers beneath my thighs to keep my hands from reaching for her, exploring her. She’s so damn sexy with luscious curves. There’s plenty of her for my big hands to hold, for my mouth to canvas with kisses. I have to see her coming for me soon. I have to feel her squeeze her heat around me. She’s perfect.

  Anger still has her features hard. She’s like a stone wall.

  She opens a tube of ointment and squeezes the contents out onto the tip of a cotton swab. She then dabs it on my cheek. It’s not until the cool ointment touches my skin that I realize how hot and tight it is. I’ve only ever been in the middle of that kind of intense heat once before. I was lucky to get out.

  I guess something about the change of my thoughts reaches my expression because a change in my baby girl’s expression follows. The stone wall she’s been giving me grows thinner until, finally, it crumbles.

  “You got the firefighter out?” she asks. Her voice is tender. She’s no longer the fierce warrior princess ready and able to disembowel me if I displease her. Instead, she’s the gentle explorer, being careful where she steps so as not to inflict more damage. “Is he... okay?”

  I hear the layers of her question without her having to explain. She’s not only asking if Thompson is alive. She’s asking if he still has a life he’s going to want to live. She wants to know if I and the others were sitting in that waiting room as a deathwatch or in support of a recovery sure to come.

  I get it. The world would be a nicer, kinder place if I didn’t get it, but I do.

  “He’s going to be mostly okay.”

  My girl does a long, slow blink of relief as she blows out a breath. Her shoulders drop a whole two inches.

  “His wife and kids, they’ve been told he’s going to pull through. The place he got stuck sheltered him from the worst of the heat. He might have a broken leg.”

  “But not much more... thanks to you?” Her captivating golden amber eyes stare at me from behind the bright light she’s shining in my face.

  I shrug and look away. “Good equipment. Great training. There was a lot there that kept him alive.”

  Her thumb and forefinger capture my chin and turn my face back to her. I don’t fight her on it. I give her what she wants—the whole of my attention.

  “And you,” she said, “you kept him alive.”

  “No,” I whisper with a voice that’s turned gravelly. “I just helped him stay alive. Helped maintain the status quo.”

  Her brows furrow, confusion in her eyes. “You’re different,” she says. There’s a hint of surprise in her heavenly voice.

  Her fingers caress my cheek. This time she’s not applying medicine. She’s touching me just to touch me. She cares.

  “Different than what?” I ask. It’s hard, but I fight the urge to lean in to capture her lips. I want another kiss. I want her in my arms. But if I have that, I won’t have her thoughts... and I need her thoughts. I want to know what’s on her mind. Everything about her matters to me. Her dreams. Her wants. Her fears. They’re now my dreams, wants and fears, too. We’re in this together. All the way. Even if she doesn’t realize that yet.

  “Different than my ex,” she says. “He...” Her voice trails off, and her attention drifts purposefully away from me to the meds and other equipment she’s laid out next to me. She fiddles with it, putting the cap back on the ointment.

  I capture her hand and hold it in mine. Finally, she returns her gaze to me. “Tell me,” I say.

  She shrugs, and I see her wall start to slide back into place. Something about her hardens again. “He’s an adrenaline junkie.” She says it in the same tone one might use to describe the shit that had to be scraped off a shoe. Her words are cold. Functional. Nothing more. And it is like taking an ice pick to my heart.

  I know what that disinterest means. She’d given her heart to him, to another man. A man who is not me.

  “Are you still in love with him?” I ask, hating to hear the answer. A person doesn’t continue to carry around that much cold anger if they don’t feel something. If she says she is still in love with him—that she wants to be with him—I’ll want to rip off the guy’s head and feed it to a worm farm. But I don’t think that would win me any points with her. If she loves him, that’s fine. I’ll just have to convince her to love me instead. I’ll fight for her. I’ll win her heart. Whatever it takes. She is my future. I can see it as plainly as the gold specks in her eyes. Without her, there’s nothing. There’s no me. There’s no desire. There’s just emptiness.

  My girl shakes her head no, indicating she’s not in love with him, but she’s not looking at me when she does it. She’s looking down with her eyes shielded from me.

  That won’t do.

  It’s my turn to capture her chin in my fingers. When her eyes open wide and those gorgeous lips of hers part and all of her attention is on me, I ask again, “Do you still love him?” My voice is firm. My question is direct. I want an answer, and it needs to be the truth. It won’t change how I feel about her, but it could impact what I do next. Digging a deep hole for him is out of the question, but making her crave me, my touch, and the orgasms I’ll give her could get bumped up to the top of my honey-do list.

  “No,” she finally answers with a flutter of her eyelids.

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not... and I won’t,” she answers. But then she blinks as if waking from a trance. She slaps my hand away from her face and takes a step back, but I’m faster. I grab her hips and pull her back in. But I don’t stop there. I slide forward so that I’m sitting on the very edge of the ambulance’s bumper, and I pull her between my open thighs. I pull her all the way forward until she’s resting against me—snug against my hard want of her.

  Her eyes grow even wider, and those damn luscious lips of hers open again in a small gasp.

  Damn her. I want to give her mouth something to do. I want her on her knees with her head in my hands, guiding her up and down my shaft as I lose myself inside her hot, wet mouth. I want her humming my name as she sucks me, and I want my child in her belly.

  What the hell?

  I’ve gone ‘round the bend. I’ve lost it. I’m turning into a menace to this poor girl. I need to walk away. I need to let her go.

  “Marry me.”

  Okay, so maybe there’s an extreme disconnect between my inner self and the whole damn rest of me.

  What the fuck have I just done?

  She’s going to be terrified of me now, and rightfully so. Who in their right mind would grab her like this and ask her to marry them?

  Me, that’s who.

  And she sure as hell better say yes.

  Chapter 7

  Stella

  “Excuse me?” I say, his resounding request for me to marry him still ringing in my ears.

  He’s still got me by the hips, and he’s still holding me against his crotch. His cock gives a hard-pulsing jump against me, making it hard for me to catch my breath. He’s large. Even in this awkward position, I can tell that. Very large. Too large?

  My tight core spasms in want, and my nipples pebble tight enough to hurt. If he pulled me into the ambulance to fuck all the coherent thoughts out of my head, I wouldn’t do a thing to stop him. In fact, I wish he’d do just that. But he hasn’t. And I’m not going to be the one to torpedo my entire career by suggesting it myself. But that doesn’t mean I can’t take him home with me… Have my
way with him there…

  “You heard me,” he growls. “Marry me. Be mine. Let me build my life around you.”

  And there it is. The crux. He wants to build his life around me—all fifteen minutes of it.

  “Why, so you can leave me a widow?” I ask. “No, thanks. Now let go.”

  I try to twist free, but his hands hold me firm. He doesn’t grind against me. He doesn’t do anything lewd. But he’s not letting go.

  I’m not dumb. I know how to fix the problem. Rather than try to pull away, I could go in deeper. I could smash his balls up to his Adam’s apple. That’d have him letting me go. But I don’t do that. Instead, I tilt my hip to increase the pressure and friction against that great big promise he’s keeping for me in his pants.

  A growl I don’t think he meant to make rumbles up from deep inside his chest. I like the sound. I like that I made him do that, that I have that kind of power over him. He could be mine. If I wanted. I know it, the way I know I’m a woman with needs. It’s a certainty without question.

  “Tell me your name,” he demands, winning a sudden and instant laugh from me. But there’s no humor in his expression. There’s nothing about this situation that he finds funny... or absurd. “Tell me your name or I won’t let you come when I eat that sweet pussy of yours.”

  Hello!

  I consider being cheeky and teasing with my response, but the promise of having his mouth making love to my Little Miss has me toeing the line.

  “Stella,” I answer, my voice husky and full of want. “Did you mean that? That you wouldn’t let me come on your face?”

  He shrugs and grins. “I guess you won’t be finding out now. You’ve already given me what I want.”

  My mouth gapes open. “You’re a cock tease!”

  “Noooo, sweetheart,” he says with a cheeky smile. “I’m a pussy tease. Get your body parts right. Thought you medical people knew better than that.”

  So he was fucking with me. He doesn’t want to marry me. He just wanted to throw me off kilter. He was toying with me.

  I don’t know why that makes me furious, but it does. I should be relieved that he was only messing when he asked to marry me. What sane person would make such a request after only just meeting?

  Still, there’s a sadness that settles into my heart and curls up, making itself at home.

  I twist my hips to break away. Again, he doesn’t let go. But this time I’m not playing.

  “Take your hands off me or I’ll break your thumbs,” I tell him.

  Instantly, his hands fall away. He looks me up and down, but not in a lecherous way. His jaw is clenched tight and his wonderful lips are pressed into a thin line. But he’s not mad, I can tell. He’s worried.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fine, and you’re right. You’re fine, too. Your face will heal.” I gather the medical supplies together and step up onto the rig’s drop step in preparation of climbing back inside. I pause long enough to look him directly in the eye. “We’re done here,” I tell him.

  I don’t wait for a response. I get inside the safe cocoon of the ambulance and pretend he’s already gone as I put the supplies away. Only, he hasn’t gotten the hint. This becomes blatantly obvious to me when he climbs into the rig after me. It’s not the kind of space in which someone like him can stand up straight. I’m a lot shorter than him, and I can’t stand up without being a little hunched over.

  Still, I ignore him. I reach high to open a small cabinet, but before I can put the unused, still sterile swabs away, he closes the cabinet’s door by putting his hand over mine.

  Finally, I drop the ignore act and give him my attention by looking up into his face.

  That was a mistake. He’s as handsome and intense as ever, and he’s looking at me with those smoke-filled eyes. I feel as if I’m being pulled toward him, back into his arms, but I resist the urge. Even though he’s flesh and blood, he’s still an illusion. He’s not real, not for me. Not for my life. He’s here right now, but tomorrow he’ll be like a puff of smoke. Gone.

  “Marry me,” he says again. “I don’t care how. Big church wedding. Justice of the Peace. The backyard of my house. It doesn’t matter.”

  My heart goes into double time, pounding against my chest. It finally sinks in. He’s not kidding!

  “You’re nuts!” I exclaim. “You need to get out. Now.” But he doesn’t budge. “No, not until you look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me, too.”

  Pfft. Well, this’ll be easy.

  I stare him flat in the eyes. I don’t even blink. “I do not love you.” But before I get to “love,” my gaze drops away from his. As for him, he doesn’t budge, so I try again. I look him straight in the eyes. “I do not...” I take a shaky breath and tears sting my eyes.

  Again!

  “I do NOT...” I gasp. My bottom lip trembles. He’s got me then, in his arms, his mouth on mine. I’m crying into our kiss, but my tears don’t scare him away. He just holds me tighter and kisses me deeper. When our lips finally pull apart, I’m gasping for air and trembling like a leaf. “I can’t love you. I can’t!”

  “I know,” he says. “It’s okay. I don’t get it either. But it’s true. I love you.”

  “No... No no no no. Get out.” I push him away, and he lets me. “Please, just go.”

  But rather than going, he stands his ground.

  “Why?” he demands to know.

  “Because none of this is making any sense. So I won’t do it. Get out.” It’s hard, but I’m managing to keep my tears from falling.

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “You. Me. This!” I say, waving my hand back and forth between us. “We don’t know each other!”

  “Fine, go on a date with me.” He grins. “You’ll get to know me. I’ll get to know you. Then you can spend some time sitting on my face.”

  I laugh, surprised, and a tear manages to escape down my cheek. I swipe it away but without embarrassment. I’m comfortable around him, I realize.

  “You do like to dangle that promise in front of me,” I joke.

  “No, what I’ve got dangling for you is beyond a promise,” he says, his voice going deep. The mirth gone.

  I swallow hard and involuntarily lick my lips. I’d better get him out of this ambulance, and I’d better do it soon, or I’ll be doing something I’m sure to regret. I’ll have him tackled and have the entire rig rocking.

  “When?” I ask.

  “Tonight. I’m off work now. I know a diner that stays open ’til two in the morning.”

  “I’m not off work.” Honestly, it wouldn’t matter if I was. It’s too soon to be going out with him. I need time to clear my head, to shake off whatever weird mojo’s come over me. “We can go out next Tuesday.” That’s over half a week away. Whatever freaky thing that was going on between us is sure to have passed by then.

  “Tomorrow,” Brad counters. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “I can’t. I’m working.” That was a lie.

  “Fine, 8 A.M. I know a great breakfast place.”

  “No way.” That’s less than nine hours from now. But I can see that he isn’t going to be put off, so I decide to revert back to his plan A. “Fine. 8 P.M.—tomorrow night. I’ll get the night off.” I’d already gotten the night off, but that was as close to the truth as he was going to get from me.

  A thought wiggles its way into my head: If I make him wait until tomorrow night for us to go out on a date, that means I’ll have to wait even longer than that before being able to sit on his face. Damn it! But there isn’t any helping it. The Little Miss is gonna have to wait. This man is way too intense to rush into things any faster. The way things are going, we’d be married by morning then divorced two days later.

  It’s definitely best to wait.

  Chapter 8

  Stella

  I get home to the sound of birds singing loudly in the trees. The time is pushing four in the morning. That’s when the birds seem to wake up
and be at their loudest this time of year.

  My apartment building consists of five units. Three sides of the building are an entrance to one apartment each. The fourth side has an entrance to an upstairs and a downstairs apartment. That’s my side. I live in the garden level apartment, and the widowed Mrs. Bistroth lives upstairs with her cat, Henry. Except Henry isn’t upstairs tonight. He’d taken his usual route out Mrs. Bistroth’s balcony onto the limb of a grand sycamore. He is sitting near the heart of the tree. His pitiful cries alert me to that fact as he hears the sound of my footsteps approaching.

  I suspect the old orange tabby is going blind. Yet that never seems to stop him from venturing out.

  “Henry, go back in,” I whisper-holler up into the tree.

  “He’s been here for hours, but this is the first time he’s complained about it,” a low voice says, causing me to gasp in fright.

  I bury my face in my hand when the voice registers, and I realize who it is. Todd, my ex, steps out of the shadowed corner of my front door’s stoop.

  “Happy birthday. You really need to get your front light fixed. It’s not safe.”

  I snort a laugh. “Who are you to lecture me about being safe?” I’ve watched Todd free climb the side of an abandoned building, rappel down a rock face while being pummeled by a live waterfall. I’ve seen him fall to what I thought would be his death when his hang-gliding parachute plummeted toward the ground after getting caught in a canyon downdraft.

  I’d thought I was pregnant when that last incident happened, and I ended things between us as soon as his feet touched ground and we got the chance to talk. He hadn’t liked it. He’d tried to win me back. A lot.

  “Stell,” he says, calling me by his nickname for me, “I could always risk anything but you.” He gives me his best Cheshire cat grin, the one that always makes me want to strangle him and kiss him, in that order. But something is different this time when he gives me that grin. I don’t get a flurry of butterflies in my belly. Instead, my lips tingle with the memory of Brad’s kiss.