Ladder 54: Five Firefighter Romances

by Maren Smith

  Close enough for the first time. He shoved the head of the Hitachi full up against her. “Come, Rylee. Come.”

  Those first rolling waves of pleasure exploded through her, locking the whole of her body down in tight, shuddering convulsions. Her cry was the most guttural expression of agony and ecstasy that he had yet heard from any woman. There was something so heady, so innocent, and yet so profound. Because she had never done this before. Because she had never had this. He was her first, and he was giving her something that for the rest of her days would forever remind her of him.

  For all her pleading, crying, and begging, her hips rode the Hitachi wand until there was nothing left. Exhausted, she fell back, shaking and panting in the bonds of her chair.

  His chest was pounding. The pure power of his dominance rolled in his veins. No other woman had ever look more beautiful than she did in this moment, with sweat beading on her forehead and tears spilling over her lashes. Her red lips parted as she fought to catch her breath, latent shivers rippling through her and her belly still flinching in the aftermath of her orgasm.

  “Please,” she whispered hoarsely. “Shut it off.”

  He’d sooner chew off his own arm.

  “No.” That spark of power coursing through him grew all the more vibrant when her eyes flashed open, dazed.

  She blinked several times. “What?”

  “No,” he repeated. He wasn’t going to shut it off, but he did reach down beneath her chair and lower the intensity of the vibrations. Not all the way to the first setting, but he did adjust the agony of the continuing hum to something she might find a little less torturous. He smiled. Out of kindness, he changed to a variable speed. Instead of a constant hum, now it was a low pulse.

  She sucked air, her hips bucking once before grinding back down against the throbbing head.

  Walker’s smile grew. “No,” he said again, before she could even ask. “But you can beg if you want. I really like the sound of it.”

  Their supper was getting cold. It was hard to remember they were supposed to be eating. A little shaken now himself, Walker picked up her fork. He fed her a small bite of meat, but though she opened her mouth to accept it, her expression was as distant as any submissive he’d ever sent flying into subspace. Sweaty, sexy, absolute submission. Her very first time; damn, that was a drug.

  The Q&A resumed.

  “Are you multi-orgasmic?”

  She groaned. He wasn’t even sure if she’d heard him.

  Walker leaned in. He checked her pupils first and then her pulse. When he touched her, ever so slightly her back arched, as if offering the dusky tips of her breasts for him to taste. His mouth watered. “What is your safeword, tell me.”

  “Red,” she croaked, hoarse.

  At least she knew it, so he repeated his question, “Are you multi-orgasmic?”

  Shivering, she shook her head.

  Again, the power of the scene surged through him. “Well.” He settled back in his chair. “This is going to be either a wonderful experience for you or something akin to the ninth ring of hell.”

  “Please,” she stammered, so soft and raspy that he could hardly hear it.

  Pouring a drop of wine into her glass, he offered her just enough to wet her lips and moisten her mouth. “No,” he whispered back and reaching underneath her, turned the volume up on the Hitachi and started all over again.

  Chapter Six

  The raspiness of her own hoarse breathing filled the room. It was all she could hear. She was shaking through every inch of her. Her fingers and toes both hurt from the tightness with which she’d curled them. She had no idea how many orgasms he’d given her. Probably only the three. That first one had been so strong, intense, and powerful, racking through her with all the force and fury of a tropical storm. It was the second one that confused her. She wasn’t sure if that only counted as one or, as it had felt at the time, if it was a thousand mini-orgasms, each falling fast on the heels of the last. One after the other, after the other… endlessly. That last had been more like razor blades, carving her clit with every pulsing vibration the now hot Hitachi wand could wring out of her. Thankfully, he’d shut it off.

  Regardless of how many it was, she was sure if Walker forced her to come one more time, it would kill her.

  Little deaths, the French used to call it. Well, the French could go fuck themselves; she felt completely dead.

  “There’s a good girl,” Walker said as he unbuckled her left arm. First the wrist, then the strap by her elbow. He paused, holding her wrist between his hands to rub at the chafe mark she was sure would be bruises before tomorrow. She’d never heaved or pulled or struggled so hard in all her life. And from what? Nothing more terrible then the most intense orgasms she’d ever had. And yes, at this point it did feel like suffering. She had sweated. She had cried. At one point she was sure she had pissed herself. If there wasn’t a puddle on the floor under the chair when she stood up, she would be amazed.

  Walker pressed a kiss upon the back of her hand, then her chafed wrist, and then lay her near-lifeless arm to rest upon the chair. “Let’s get the rest of these off.”

  The moment he let go, her hand fell limp over the edge, dangling bonelessly. She felt boneless everywhere, and heavy. So much heavier than her own weight should have felt. She was incapable of lifting her own head much less her arm. It was all she could do just to follow him with her eyes as he lowered himself to unfasten her legs. Left ankle first, then her knee before moving on to the right side of her body. He saved her right arm for last, taking her wrist in his hands to gently massage the chafe marks. He kissed those too, all but worshiping the redness on her skin. She would have to wear long sleeves to work for the next few days.

  “Good girl,” Walker said again, so gentle with her now that his torments were done.

  What the hell had she told him, Rylee wondered. She remembered answering questions, but what he’d asked and what she’d told him in turn—she hadn’t the foggiest idea. Whatever it was, it must have been something. He seemed so… satisfied. With her or himself, she didn’t know, but she liked the gentle side of him. It contrasted nicely with the devil of only minutes before.

  “Yes, I know,” Walker crooned, reaching under her to lift her into his arms. He cradled her all the way upstairs and, with every step, murmured constant reassurances. “I know. It’s okay. Such a good girl.”

  It was a litany he repeated two, maybe three times before Rylee realized it was because she kept moaning. Crying almost. “Please… no… Please… no…” Back and forth, one after the other. She had no idea what she was saying no for. She wanted to reassure him that she didn’t really mean it, at least she didn’t think she meant it, but she didn’t have the strength.

  Where was he taking her? Rylee didn’t really want to go upstairs. Despite the size and luxury of the old cabin, it had always felt too much like someone else’s house. Going upstairs seemed an invasion of privacy. That’s where all the bedrooms were and although she knew people were welcome to avail themselves of those rooms on party nights, particularly after their play time in the dungeon, Rylee never did. Until now, cradled as she was in Walker’s arms, all weighted and boneless, and mewing her pleas for him to stop something he already had. She had to stop doing that, but she couldn’t seem to make herself. She breathed in, and the pleas just came exhaling out.

  “I know,” Walker assured her. “I know. Good girl.”

  He carried her into the bathroom two doors down from the top of the stairs. The rooms up here were all wide open. She could see beds in most, an office and a library further down, and this probably wasn’t the only bathroom. But it was the first that they came to, and it was the one he carried her into.

  “Can you stand?” he asked, lowering her feet to the floor.

  Her legs wobbled, but she nodded yes, wept out yet another plea for no, and in the end sank down to sit on the edge of the tub.

  She still had the ginger root in her bottom, but the burning w
as almost entirely gone. What little discomfort remained seemed like such a minor thing as he checked her eyes again. I’m okay she wanted to tell him, but it came out another shaky please.

  “It’s okay.” He brushed her hair back from her face, then bent past her and turned the water on. The showerhead sputtered before releasing its gentle rain to fall pattering down upon the blue and white tile floor. Tiny drops spattered her back. The coolness became warmth as he adjusted the temperature, and Walker straightened up again. Standing, he silently undressed.

  “Please.” She watched as each article of his clothing—like the pattering drops sprinkling her back—fell to the floor. “No,” she whispered, but ‘no’ wasn’t what she meant as she watched the hard beauty of his body being revealed to her. She’d always known his shoulders were broad, but the breadth of them clothed was nothing compared to the glory of them uncovered.

  He’d manscaped. His chest was hard, flat, and bare, a beacon that called her hand to come and lay itself upon him. To feel his warmth and the steely smoothness of his naked flesh. His waist was trim, his hips narrow, and he had the kind of tight, round butt that just made a girl want to dig her fingers in and squeeze. Preferably while she was flat on her back, with her arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling him that much deeper inside her.

  Furls of warmth unfolded in the pit of Rylee’s stomach, spilling a river of wantonness down into the valley between her legs. “Please,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Every bit as naked now as she, Walker reached for her.

  “No…”

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to hold you so you don’t fall.” His arms slid around her, pulling her in close to him with all the reassuring strength that she just didn’t have for herself. Nothing felt better—safer—than the heat of his chest as it flattened her breasts and the burn of his belly pressing flush up against her own. “Step.”

  They moved together. Her foot caught the edge of the tub, but true to his word, he held her and she didn’t fall. His legs were solid compared to hers. Jutting high and proud, his cock kept bumping her hip as he turned her to stand with her back fully under the spray.

  The water hit them both, its welcome heat sluicing in thin streams into her dips and over her curves. Her arms, her hips, her legs—this was heaven. She closed her eyes to better feel his hands as they combed through her hair, wetting it under the spray. His cock nudged at her belly. What would he do if she just reached up and closed him in her hand? She wasn’t sure she had the strength to, so she supposed the point was moot. But what would he do? Would he welcome it, or push her hand aside? Did he really want her as much as he seemed to, or was this nothing more than his reaction to the sexiness of the situation? The physical response of a dominant man to the submissiveness of the partner he was with.

  Walker could have anybody. Men like that didn’t go for girls like her. She wasn’t particularly sexy, she wasn’t especially pretty, and despite what he kept saying, she wasn’t even good. She did terrible things.

  Rylee leaned against him, her eyes closed. She thought she smelled soap, but she had no idea when or where he’d got it from. His hands never once stopped moving over her, stroking her hair or rubbing her back, caressing down her arms to her waist and hips. She loved it when he let her ass feel both his hands. She loved it even more when he squeezed.

  “Are you ready to take this out now?” he asked. Her head was so foggy, she couldn’t connect the question to the ginger plug until the trail of his fingers moved down between her buttocks to grip the base. He gave the plug a gentle tug.

  She nodded. At least she was done begging him please and no.

  “Turn around.”

  Her knees tried to buckle, but she obeyed.

  “Hands on the wall.”

  She did that too. Her heart burst into a thundering beat. Was he going to fuck her again, like the last time? She didn’t think she had it in her to stand here for very long, but worse was the thought of telling him no. Why did she have to be this tired? Would he do what the dom in her fantasies always did, ordering her to take it right before he settled up behind her, one hand on her shoulder, his other fingers weaving into her hair to pull her head back before forcing her to do exactly that: Take it.

  Walker’s hand stilled on her hip. “Is that how you want it?”

  Had she said that out loud? Her hands on the wet tile walls became fists. She buried her face between them. Rylee nodded. Make her take it. The way bad girls were supposed to, in a way that she wouldn’t like, because she didn’t deserve to like it yet. Not entirely.

  She choked on the steam of her next breath, but Walker didn’t seem to notice. Already his hand was moving back down to take hold of the ginger plug. By now she was so sore, and although the effects of the root had diminished over time, when he began to pump it reawakened all those burning, stinging sensations.

  His hips and his hand worked together… she could feel them both, pulling back from her as he withdrew the plug only to thrust it back deep inside. He moved as if it were his cock buried in her ass. Driving up into her, stinging and burning, once, twice, again. Three times. Only three, and then he pulled the plug all the way out of her.

  Rylee choked again, her knees shook. She hurt so much. “Please.” Please don’t let it be over. She didn’t know how she could continue, but she didn’t feel absolved. She was still bad. Maybe she always would be.

  She covered her head with both arms, terrified by the thought. Walker didn’t seem to notice that either. She more felt than heard it when he leaned out of the shower and pitched the ginger root into the trashcan by the toilet. Again, the fresh smell of soap filled the air a half second before his hands washed down between her legs.

  It hurt. Gentle as he was, it still hurt, but he only washed her. First her ass, then her anus. And then down between her legs, where it hurt even more. Just the slightest touch against her clit, it was so sore, so tender to the slightest pressure. She mewed, whimpered, but he still washed her. In, around, all the way down the insides of her thighs, almost to her feet. It was torture, but even that came to an end, and all too soon. Much as she wanted it to stop, it ended years before it should have.

  Something inside her broke. Not here. Not here, not now. But the inner her didn’t listen to her pleading any more than Walker did. Though she tried to keep it quiet, her body wouldn’t let her. Her shoulders began to shake. Gentle jerks at first that quickly grew racking, and then she was sobbing. Wailing out her misery against tile walls that didn’t care. Until Walker’s hands pulled her up by her shoulders, turning her around, and forcibly burying her face against his chest. He held her, though she struggled to break away. Because she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve to be comforted. If only he knew what she had done, he wouldn’t want to hold her anyway. Nor would he want to bend her over and fuck her, not even in a way that she wouldn’t like. If he knew, he wouldn’t want to touch her at all.

  “I’m sorry,” she wailed, as his arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never should’ve done it. I swear I’ll never do it again.”

  Walker didn’t ask any questions. She wasn’t sure she could have answered coherently if he had, although if he had, she knew in that fragile moment she would have told him everything. But he didn’t, he only pulled her closer. His hands on her back rubbed gently, soft circular patterns between her shoulder blades, stroking softly until at long last the force of her sobs ebbed away. She just didn’t have the energy to keep going.

  It seemed longer still before he shut the water off, and again before he let go of her long enough to reach for a towel. He dried her without speaking, patting the wetness from her hair, wiping her face, even her eyes. He helped her over the lip of the tub, telling her when to step because her legs still didn’t want to hold her. If anything, she felt even more limp now than before—that much heavier, that much more boneless. And she still didn’t feel absolved. All she felt now was hopeless.

  Sh
e looked hopeless too. Standing in front of the tub, staring at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, smudged out as it was by the steam-cloaked glass. The very outline of her seemed dejected. The very outline of him looked resolved, somber. He was thinking. Well, of course he was thinking. After that little breakdown, he probably thought he was stuck in the CCC with a crazy woman. Crazy little wallflower. Small wonder nobody played with her.

  “Come along,” he said, once she was dry and the towel once more hung over the bar. A heavy hand guiding her shoulders, he turned her bodily toward the door and steered her down the hall.

  The bedroom they ended up in had a great view of the lake. All that crystal blue water sparkled under the last of the dying sunlight, and she was too sad even to enjoy it.

  Walking her to the foot of the bed, he turned her around. When her knees bumped up against the edge of the mattress, she sat, sinking into the softness of memory foam with her hands folded between her knees.

  He’d lost his erection; that made her even sadder. It reaffirmed everything that she already knew about him, about her, and the awful thing she’d done. She shrank in on herself. She’d never felt so small and hopeless.

  Walker didn’t leave her, not even to get dressed. Every bit as naked as she was, he hunkered down beside her. With forearms balanced on his knees, he clasped his hands and studied her. “All right,” he said. “Spill it. And don’t you dare look away from me.” He caught her chin when she tried. Bringing her gaze back to his, he forcibly held her so she couldn’t withdraw, not without grabbing him by the wrist and forcing it. Making the whole situation even more awkward than it already was.

  She stifled a sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No kidding. Too bad I’m going to make you.”

  Sadness took an instant backseat to irritation. “You can’t make me do anything.”