Burnin' Up Memphis: Firehouse 69, Book 1

by Delilah Devlin

The room beyond the foyer was a huge open space. He tried to ignore the people crowded into the room, instead concentrating on the decor because it was far less disturbing. Subdued lighting cast by crystal chandeliers shone above. Brighter lighting surrounded three stages tucked into distant corners. There was a bar, but he didn’t see a line of booze bottles behind it, just juice and a wide variety of bottled water. No beer, for sure. Inside, he sighed. So not his kind of place.

  The center of the room was decorated like a historical movie set—Persian carpets, furniture covered in plush red velvet, old-fashioned carved arms and backs, S-shaped sofas where men and women leaned toward each other to whisper and kiss, flirting with their eyes and fingertips—and wearing the most outlandish gear that he felt a blush burn his cheeks. Ignoring the people was kind of impossible, and he gave up trying. Despite his internal warnings, his pulse quickened. On longer sofas, every imaginable sex act or precursor to a sex act was happening. He felt as though his senses were on overload there was so much to take in.

  His gaze snagged on a couple parading through the room and he jerked, because he recognized the man—Mondo Acevedo—a cop who played regularly in their friendly Saturday police-against-firefighters football games. Tonight, Mondo was dressed in black leather pants and boots, but the pretty woman beside him was completely nude and wearing a thin black collar around her neck, her pretty Asian eyes avidly curious about everything around her.

  Coop backed up a step and turned.

  “Hey, Coop!”

  A hand clapped his shoulder, and Coop pasted on a quick smile before turning to look at a grinning Noah.

  “Glad you could make it, buddy. Gage and I thought we’d be the only ones walking around with hard-ons.”

  Grateful Noah didn’t make more of a big deal out of the fact he’d come, Coop offered up a wry smile. “Sorry to tell you, but there’s a big ole room full of hard-ons out there.”

  Noah raised his eyebrows and laughter gleamed in his green eyes. His sun-streaked brown hair was spiked with gel and he was wearing an earring in one ear. Otherwise, he looked pretty much like Coop, dressed in casual slacks with a soft jersey tee and boots.

  Noah leaned closer to whisper, “Well, what do you think?”

  Coop shrugged. “We’re barely inside. I don’t know.” He pointed his chin toward the larger room. “Not sure this is for me.”

  “Billy’s going to be here in a minute. Moira went to tell him we’re all here.”

  “Moira?”

  “The redhead at the desk. She’s filling in for Pansy, Billy’s girl, since she’s playing tonight.”

  Playing? His mind whirled at all the possibilities that word encompassed. Good Lord, were they going to get an eyeful of pretty, pregnant Pansy? How would he ever manage to look her in the face again? Or Billy. This is a really bad idea.

  Billy’s personal life was his own business. What was he thinking opening himself up to the rest of them? Guys in the firehouse weren’t exactly polite. Did he want his reputation in shreds? Coop winced. Hell, wasn’t he risking his own just being here? But then again, why did he care?

  Noah pointed toward the desk. “You have to sign some paperwork. Moira left a copy of an agreement on the desk. Your promise that whatever happens in La Forge stays in La Forge.”

  “Including my self-respect?” Coop quipped and then went still. He hadn’t made a joke or given a quick comeback in ages. It felt foreign. And just a little like a betrayal. Not of Christa. They were done. It felt as though that little flicker of humor rising up cheapened Danny’s death.

  Noah’s smile widened. “I’m glad you came. Whatever happens, bro, I’ve got your back. Now let’s go get that waiver signed.”

  Coop held his breath. Ready to refuse. To tell him he wanted to leave, but then Gage turned and gave him a crooked smile.

  As they approached the other firefighter, Coop nearly laughed. If possible, the large man looked even more uncomfortable than Coop felt.

  He gave them both a growl as they approached. “Did you see the chick with Mondo?” Gage asked in his gravelly voice. “Holy fuck.”

  A throat cleared behind them. They all turned to find Billy standing beside Moira, wearing a smile that seemed just a little strained.

  Maybe he was worried about what they were all thinking about him right about now, and whether they would keep their opinions to themselves.

  Billy’s pale blue gaze went straight to Coop. “I’m glad you could make it.” Then he swept the group with a warning glance. “This isn’t a porn show or a strip club. Mind your manners.” His eyes narrowed. “No stuffing bills in G-strings. If you have questions, ask me or Moira—no topic’s off-limits. I’m going to walk you around, explain some of what you’ll see, but for the most part, you’re here to observe. Please keep in mind these folks aren’t here for your entertainment. Most of these people are professionals, needing a place to unwind and be completely free. Somewhere they can be themselves. Don’t be too quick to judge. You might find something that sparks your interest.”

  Coop hoped the tour was quick and that then he could talk the other two into hitting a bar afterward for drinks. His glance fell to Moira, who stood beside Billy, large eyes studying the group. She was dressed in a short red tartan skirt and a demure white blouse that was unbuttoned to just below her bright red bra. His glance swept down a fine pair of slim legs to a pair of black patent shoes with straps across the top and chunky four-inch heels. The schoolgirl look worked for her. And made him horny as hell. One good thing about this place—it sure took his mind off his problems.

  Moira tossed back her hair and sidled up next to Coop.

  Something he wished she wouldn’t do. Looking at her from afar was one thing. This close, he could smell lemon and vanilla. She smelled like a damn pastry, and suddenly, he was hungry.

  She gave him a sideways glance and small flirty smile. “I’ve already talked to your friends. Is it your first time too in a BDSM club?”

  Coop cleared his throat. “How’d you guess?” he muttered.

  “I saw you try to escape.” She laughed and then gave him another speculative look. “Don’t be so quick to make up your mind. Not everything you see will be to your taste. Not everything is to mine. But there’s something empowering about being able to experiment and find your own way.”

  He liked her slightly husky tone and the odd way she looked at him, her silver-gray gaze somehow direct while she peered up at him from beneath her thick black lashes. Coop felt a twinge of shame at his attraction for the redhead. Christa was barely out the door. How could all his cylinders be firing, revving as he stared down at her? She seemed…interested. Which was flattering. Or was he only hoping that was interest? For sure, this was the first time he’d felt fully alive since the roof had fallen out from under Danny’s feet.

  She slipped her hand into his and jerked her head toward the open salon. “Come with me.”

  He glanced around at the other guys to find them staring. Gage’s brows were lowered. He didn’t know Coop was a free agent. One of Noah’s brows was arched—no judgment there.

  Coop felt a tug and stepped out, following Moira as she led him deeper into the room that smelled of perfume, cologne, leather…and sex. She moved quickly, something he appreciated because he didn’t know how he would have managed to keep from staring at the people he passed.

  She took him to a stage in a far corner. Bright canister lights aimed downward from the ceiling. Beneath one golden beam, a man stood to the side, dressed only in dark leather pants and combat boots. His head was shaved clean up the sides and the black top was gelled to stand up in spikes like the teeth of a saw. There was more black eyeliner ringing his eyes than a hooker on Beale Street. In the center of the stage was a naked blonde whose arms were held tightly against her sides by thick black bands as she bent over a padded bench. Small hooks in the bands were fastened with clasps that attached to the bench.

  As Coop watched, the man with the spiked hair kicked the dais she
rested on and it turned, giving Coop a view of her in profile, her heavy breasts jiggling. Light trailed down the slope of the center of her back and then up the curve of her lush bottom. The wheel continued, turning until that pretty, generous bottom faced the audience gathering around the stage. More than just her cheeks were displayed. Some sort of black metal bar kept her knees spread. Her shaved pussy and anus were there for anyone to ogle.

  Coop, raised a polite Southern boy, wanted to glance away. Staring seemed invasive, but no one around him seemed to have the same qualms.

  Certainly not Moira. Her slow inward hiss drew his gaze. Her teeth bit her bottom lip and the cups of her lacy red bra rose and fell with a deep sigh. Her gaze darted to him, and she gave him a small smile. “I didn’t know he’d accepted Britney for training.” Her chin lifted a fraction and she cleared her throat. “This is my favorite part. I love to watch Anton work.”

  “Anton?” Coop asked, and then felt his cheeks heat because his voice was thick. So was something else, but he hoped like hell she didn’t notice. However, the woman on the stage wasn’t what aroused him. Watching Moira’s breathless excitement tinged with what appeared to be irritation did.

  “Anton’s the Dom on stage. Dominant,” she added and shot him an asking glance.

  “I know what a Dominant is,” he murmured. She didn’t need to know that was the extent of his knowledge of BDSM vocabulary.

  A movement on the stage drew his attention. Anton moved behind the woman, standing slightly to the side so as not to obstruct the observers’ views.

  Anton parted Britney’s folds, widening them so that everyone could see the gaping hole of her pussy. With dramatic flair, he rimmed her opening with his forefinger and then held it aloft to rub the moisture he’d gathered with his thumb. His gaze darted quickly to Moira and one side of his mouth kicked up.

  Coop gave Moira a quick glance, but other than a stiffening of her shoulders, Moira’s expression gave away nothing of her thoughts. Coop wondered if there might be something going on between Anton and Moira, but he shrugged off the thought. It wasn’t his business. Still, a pang struck his chest.

  Anton swirled inside the woman again and then widened her folds. Thick cream clung to her sex. How the woman felt about his treatment was revealed by her deep groan and sinking shoulders.

  Coop felt her humiliation, but it didn’t have the effect on him he would have expected. Rather than grimacing with empathy, a secret thrill of excitement zinged through his veins. His attention riveted again, he watched as Anton moved away and toward a cart where he flipped up a cover on a tray.

  There stood three tall candles in glass jars, like prayer candles, which Anton lit and set aside. Then he picked up a paddle and flipped it from one side to the other. One side was padded with red furry fabric, the other waffled and wooden.

  As Anton approached the woman, he hid the paddle behind his back. When he stood beside her, he used his left hand to pat one side of her bottom. “Sweet slut, I’ve promised you something special tonight, but only if you’re very, very good. Do you need to know what your reward will be?”

  She shook her head and blonde hair slid over her shoulders. “No, Sir,” she said in a small, slightly high-pitched voice. “I trust you to determine what reward I’ve earned.”

  He moved his hand over to her other cheek. “I’m going to warm your pretty ass, slut. Then I’m going to make it burn.”

  Coop jerked at the term slut, and this time, he did cringe inside, but he couldn’t quite manage to drag his gaze from the scene unfolding in front of him. He wasn’t alone. More were gathering around them, crowding him and Moira, who was snuggled next to his arm now. Her heat burned his skin.

  Anton withdrew his hand and, without another word of warning, quickly brought the fur side of the paddle down across Britney’s buttocks.

  The woman gave a muffled gasp, but otherwise gave no other reaction.

  Anton’s gaze narrowed, and he delivered several more blows, directed to different areas—buttocks, upper thighs, a lighter swat directly over her now-reddened and glistening pussy.

  The woman was clearly aroused. Her pussy was engorged and wet. Her breaths were ragged, and she moaned lightly.

  Coop had given girlfriends friendly, fun spankings, but never anything this targeted and deliberate. And while he’d found those paddlings arousing, they hadn’t riveted him like this purposeful punishment did.

  When Anton flipped the paddle and delivered a sharper slap to Britney’s ass with the waffled side, Coop forgot to breathe. The woman jerked and moved her buttocks side-to-side to evade the harsher blows that landed in rapid succession, but again, she made no complaints. Her skin became deeply flushed and fluid trickled down her inner thighs. When Anton paused his strokes to trail his fingers through her soaked folds, Britney whimpered.

  “Such a dirty slut,” Anton said, his soft, approving tone at odds with his harsh words. “Such a pretty, slick pussy.” He flattened his hand and gave her pussy a slap.

  The crowd around Coop was so quiet the wet slap felt more intimate, felt closer—as though he were standing next to Anton. Suddenly, he wished he was. Coop sucked in a deep breath at the realization.

  Anton strode back to the cart, placed the paddle on the cover and wheeled the cart closer.

  Flames had melted the uppermost inches of wax atop the glass-enclosed candles. There was a red, a blue and a green candle. And Coop knew exactly what Anton intended before he reached for the red candle. He was going to make Britney burn.

  Coop drew in a swift breath and his body tightened.

  Moira tugged Coop’s sleeve, and he leaned down, giving her his ear.

  “The level of heat depends on how high he holds the candle,” she whispered. “He won’t cause her any more pain than what she wants. He won’t really hurt her.”

  Coop nodded, although now that Moira had drawn his attention again, he stayed bent toward her, aware of her shortened breaths as he’d never been before with another woman. Moira appeared enraptured by Anton’s sensual torture, something that made Coop’s body tighten even more and his heart race. Her growing arousal seemed to tug his right along.

  The first drops of hot wax fell over the highest curve of Britney’s ass, and she cried out and jerked upward, pulling against her restraints. However, Anton ignored her distress and continued to drip wax, coating her fleshy buttocks with a thin dripping curtain that followed the curve of her lush bottom, and then dripped it down the backs of her thighs.

  He put down the red candle and picked up the blue. This time, he reduced the height, but the blue wax fell on the hardened red wax, not stinging the skin but keeping the wax in the first layer warm. He coated both buttocks and then dripped wax into the hollow at the small of her back, making Britney hiss and moan. Her bottom eased eagerly side-to-side. Red and blue mixed into fiery purple that framed either side of her bright-pink, engorged pussy.

  When Anton picked up the green, Coop grew still. Something in Anton’s expression, the narrowing of his eyes, the deepening curve of his mouth, alerted the watchers he was about to push his submissive harder.

  He dripped the wax over the center of her buttocks, letting it drip slowly down her crack. Her hiss was harsh and instant. The tightening of her asshole was visible. For a moment, the wax puddled there and then ran down again. Another drop trickled between her slick folds that were so wet the wax slid to the platform between her spread knees.

  Britney sobbed; her shoulders shook. Still, Coop wasn’t moved to make a sound to intervene. He stood rigid, anticipation gripping his entire body. Her thighs shivered, but her ass began to move in tiny pulses up and down and then tilted upward to capture the next thin stream of wax that trickled down her crack. This time, the wax followed the curve of one side of her labia.

  “Ah,” Britney sighed. “Oh God, Anton…Anton.”

  Anton tilted the candle upward, cutting the wax. “What did you say?”

  Britney’s response was a groan and then
a slurred, “Sir, I spoke out of turn.”

  “Yes, you did, sweetheart.” He tipped the candle and gave her more of what she obviously craved, coating her sex. Moments later, Anton gave her leg a pat, a signal, because in the next breath Britney came, keening loudly.

  Shock at the fact she’d come without being rubbed or fucked, but from the painful heat, shivered through Coop. At her final cry, he blinked. He was brought back to where he was and the fact the woman beside him with her catlike features was pursing her lips to hide a smile. He cleared his throat and glanced around, looking for another avenue of escape, but the crowd was dissipating too slowly. “That was interesting,” he muttered, but quickly added, “But this isn’t for me.” God, he was a fucking liar.

  The corners of her mouth fell a fraction. “How disappointing,” she murmured—so softly he almost didn’t hear her. “Like I said before, it’s not for everyone.”

  Coop’s gaze went to the stage again. Anton was gone. A man wearing a leather thong was peeling away sections of hardened wax from Britney’s pink buttocks. “I don’t understand why she would put herself in that position.”

  “What? Bent over a bench with her ass pointing toward a crowd of strangers?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Anton’s been working with her, obviously, earning her trust. It’s not like he hasn’t been building her up to this moment.”

  There was a hint of bitterness in her voice. But Coop was overfilled with emotions and didn’t want to think about why the beautiful woman beside him seemed upset, although she was fighting hard to hide it. “But for what purpose? Why does she need to be built up to do something like this?”

  Moira’s mouth twitched. “You’re not going to understand. But some subs need to be pushed—beyond pain, beyond humiliation—to find something raw and primitive and real. It’s not just about pleasure or sex. It’s about what they are at their core.”

  Coop had to fight curving his hands into fists. “You’re right. I don’t understand, but I can see what Anton gets out of it.”

  “Do you really?” She shook her head, her expression doubtful.