PIKEMAN
By Kristen Kelly
The Man in Uniform Series
CHAPTER ONE
Amy Lynn
I’m not supposed to be in here.
The room smells of leather, natural and earthy with an undertone of cool brisk air from a ceiling fan overhead—it flutters across my skin—strokes my arms, my face, the feather-like hairs of my bare thighs. A shiver runs through me. I lean back against the desk and take it all in. This room. This male dominated room excites me beyond measure. One word comes to mind. Forbidden. But I can’t help myself. I’m driven. Lost to my own desires. The deep carnal need to see if Brock…fucking-hot-as-hell…Fitzgerald is as scrumptious as I think he is. Why wouldn’t he be? I need to touch him to be sure, know if he’s real or is this all in my head. Besides, I lost the bet with my best friend, Jane. She swore I wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t dress up in this slinky fuck-me skirt. Wouldn’t steal into this firehouse. Wouldn’t sneak up to his bedroom. I’ll show her.
Slowly, I run my hand over the large flat plain of his desk. So hard yet firm with a soft blotter in the middle. The chair is next. A large masculine seat that cradles the plumpness of his ass, has made a dimple in the leather. I sink down in it slowly cradling myself. The leather hugs me. Fuck! I can almost feel him below me. Grinding inside my body. His cock. The weight of his thighs. Strong hands lifting me up. I’m on fire just imagining it. This is where Brock Fitzgerald sits! This is where Brock Fitzgerald lives! I swivel my head. That over there is where Brock Fitzgerald sleeps!
I leap from the chair, wanting to explore more.
Standing at the window that overlooks the city, I place my hands upon the glass. It’s cool but not cold. It’s morning now and rush hour has come and gone. I’m imagining what it looks like at full dark, all bright lights and rushing cars, and then at midnight—the silence as stars come out to play. So romantic. So…peaceful. I imagine he spends a lot of time overlooking the city. The city he keeps safe. Spending long hours and endless days, a fireman’s life has got to be consuming. Perhaps he masturbates a lot. Just to take the edge off of his loneliness. Maybe a hand, pressed to the glass. Right where mine is. No one would see him on the third floor. Didn’t guys do that when they worked too much and didn’t have time to date? With no siblings, much less brothers, I didn’t know. I only knew what I read in books.
I turned my head. Focused on the twin sized bed in the corner, I imagine Brock lieing on a very plain comforter. No color. No ruffles or frills. I wonder if he sleeps naked. I guess a man in his position doesn’t sleep with other men so he can sleep anyway he wants. He might even bring women up here. I hope that isn’t true. I’d like to be the first. His one and only actually. His sex slave if he’ll have me. Like Jane said, It’s time for me to get down and dirty but I need the right teacher.
Taking in the personality of the office, I can tell this is Brock’s home away from home. I have a rough idea of the hours firemen keep, which means he spends a good deal of time here.
. It isn’t exactly what I pictured. But what had I pictured ? Paintings of dogs playing cards? Sure. Maybe a nude calendar on the wall? Certainly not a bronze sculpture of an Indian head on his desk or rare Italian paintings on the walls. At least, they looked rare. And extremely expensive.
I reach inside my purse, fumble for one of those fruit flavored hard candies I keep on supply, unwrap it, and pop it in my mouth. I’m in Brock Fitzgerald’s office, chief of the Intercourse Texas Fire Company. Holy shit! I flop down in the chair, put my feet up on his desk and smile. Yeah, I know about the sexual innuendos. I’d become accustomed to the quirky name of my home town. It didn’t bother me but lately hearing the word, Intercourse—linked to Brock Fitzgerald’s name makes my heart speed up. And that’s not all! I’ve worn out so many batteries in my vibrator—I should have purchased stock in the Power Company.
I can’t believe I did it! This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done and totally out of character for me. I’m not a dare devil by nature, but when Jane suggested one of us sneak into the fire house living quarters, I just had to stack the deck. I’d actually used marked cards in a game of poker to make sure I would lose although losing wasn’t how I thought of it. How very ‘bad girl’ of me I know.
I’m in Brock Fitzgerald’s office! I can’t stop thinking this—or smiling.
I’ve been fantasizing about the man ever since puberty but I never thought I’d have the guts to go through with something like this. I decided he would be my first or at least I’d get to see him naked. Not sure how this actually is going to pan out. I planned it like one plans dating a rock star some day. No one really thinks it will happen so they don’t get beyond that first step in their devious little plan. But one day, I got my wish. About seeing him naked that is. Well, half naked. I took it as a sign of more to come.
Three weeks ago, on our way to the Thirsty Turtle, Jane and I drove by the Firehouse. “Stop. Stop, stop, stop,” I shouted nearly catapulting my best friend through the window. “Jesus, Jane, what…?” Then she saw what caught my eye, pulled over to the side of the road, and shut off the engine. We watched from across the street as Brock and five other shirtless hotties washed down their fire trucks. God, he was gorgeous! Smooth bronzed skin, tatted and thickset, broad shoulders, and strong arms. Sun glowing from gold centers in his deep amber eyes. And that ass! It should have been illegal. No man should look that good from behind. I watched through binoculars and Jane and I took turns. Every time my fantasy man stretched to wash his truck, my knees buckled and my hand began to sweat. Once, I got carried away and yanked too hard at the rope holding the binoculars around Jane’s neck. I nearly strangled her. Yeah, I know. But it was only the once.
Watching Brock Fitzgerald did something to me. And who wouldn’t be affected by a man like that? He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts with that delicious chest all glistening in the sun. A very hot sun. I wondered how he smelled. And hell yes, I wondered how he fucked. I had to fan myself to keep vertical. Jane laughed and said she was glad I was finally showing an interest in a man. Any man. I was the last known virgin over the age of twenty one. Or so she informed me. “I’m saving myself,” I told her. “Besides I want it to be with the right person.”
“You mean with Brock Fitzgerald.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Dream on, girlfriend.”
I can see Jane’s face now. She won’t believe how easy I slipped through the door. I didn’t break in. The office had been unlocked. All I had to do was eat a few pancakes. Yup. Pancakes with hot sweet syrup and pads of melted butter. August first is the annual pancake breakfast for Intercourse Fire Company and even though the pancakes sucked big time, I blended perfectly into the crowd. I knew the upstairs of the firehouse would be deserted so this was my chance. Most of the men would be serving flapjacks and sausages, eggs and coffee, followed by tea and coffee for however long they had to. Mmmm. Sausages. I wonder how big...
I hear footsteps and then a sigh. I shrink down behind the desk. The door creaks open and I hear him. “Damn cleaners,” he mutters as he rights one of the photos on his wall. Heavy breathing. Then his feet stop dead, like he’s contemplating something.
“Someone in here?” asks a rich whiskey voice.
I hold my breath for what seems like eternity, but it escapes me with a soft mewing sound.
“Huh.” A clearing of his throat. He pushes the door open wide and my breath shudders out completely. Footsteps come closer. Closer. “I said, is someone in here?” His voice fills the room—sucking up the oxygen. Does he know I’m in here? Of course he does, you scaredy cat.
I can’t breathe, must less move. What the hell was I thinking? My
heart is beating so loud, certainly it’s why he knows I’m here. What if he’s angry? What if he calls my stepmother?
“Come out from back there.” He knows.
I can’t move though. I’m frozen to the spot. Those shoes. Those glistening black shoes come closer.
“I said come out! Now! Or I’ll drag your ass out!”
On my hands and knees, I crawl from behind the desk and glance up at the hottest yet scariest man I’ve ever seen in my life. Dark smoldering eyes beneath a short spiked haircut.. He looks a bit blurry though. “I…I…I’ve left my glasses in my purse,” I blubber as I move forward. “Down…downstairs.” I realize my skirt is riding above my hips so I struggle to pull the hem down. When I look up, I can just make out something twirling from Brock’s fingers. My glasses? He has my glasses! He places them in his shirt pocket and scowls. “I…I didn’t think…”
His eyes darken even further. “Nothing gets by me, little girl. Now, get up.”
For a minute I bristle. Who the hell does he think he is? Of course I’m in no position to argue. Rising, I perch my hands on my hips giving him my best tough-girl grimace. Or as tough as a girl can get wearing a skirt two sizes too small and heels she can’t quite walk in.
He tips his head to the side and waggles a finger at me. “Okay darlin’, what’s going on? You wanted to volunteer Thought you could talk me into it or something?”
“No. I…”
“Or were you trying to rip me off? And don’t lie to me. Liars get punished where I come from.” He takes a step closer, his brows low, shadowing his eyes of liquid steel.
Did he say punished? Mmmm. That sounded like fun. The thought of going over Brock Fitzgerald’s knee makes me moist. Slick with moisture.
I should be scared but I’m not at all. Not anymore. I’ve read enough from the papers to know this man is not violent. Dangerous? Yes but in a different way. Like a dog, barking for the sake of barking, letting me know this is his domain.
A slight smile quirks his lips. “What are you grinning at?” His voice booms through the room like a battering ram taking down a castle, shattering any illusions I may have had that this was a man to be controlled, influenced, or derailed from what he wants.
“Nothing,” I squeak, not breaking our concentration on each other as I shakily rise to my feet.
The sun’s rays filter in from the window causing a sort-of divide. Floating currents of electricity sizzle on the dust motes between us. I teeter on my heels wondering what I do next. What I say. How I act. He comes closer, puts his hands upon the desk—close enough to kiss me. Even without my glasses, I can see how devastatingly handsome he is. About six foot four with muscles like a linebacker, his head shaved incredibly close. Like a military man. It makes him seem older, wiser. Experienced. Oh god. Of their own free will, I reach toward him, my hand hovering in mid-air. I want to brush those spiky points, see if they’d be soft against my breasts, my belly and… Quickly I drop my hand but he grabs it before I can pull away.
“Maybe I should call the police,” he threatens. “ Tell them I caught you robbing me. Or… No. I could take matters into my own hands I suppose. Put you over my knee perhaps?” The smile grows wider. Then he rolls up his sleeves like he’s actually going to spank me and its all I can do not to bend over and let him. I’d read about punishment on the internet, the thin thread between pleasure and pain and the excitement it can bring a woman. I’m a novice at this stuff but I want to experience what I’ve never experienced before. All of it. I can almost feel the sting on my ass. Imagine his palm print on my bare buttocks. “I’m not a thief,” I say. “So you better. You better…”
HERE “Better what?” His eyes travel up the length of me and I know what he’s thinking. Or I hope I do.
Will she scream if I seduce her?
Did she come here just for me?
I will scream! I’ll scream your name when you make me come.
“Little girl,” he says. “Going where you don’t belong.” I gasp as he invades my personal space, arms trapping me against the desk. One arm snakes behind me, pulling me into his chest. The heat of his body scalds me, robbing me of breath. The hand behind me slides higher up my back while the fingers of his other lace through my hair, nails scraping at my scalp. Then he pulls back my head back and kisses the tiny pulse inside my neck—lays nibbles along my shoulder, neck, and then captures me with his lips. When he breaks away he pulls back and says, “so sweet. So fucking sweet.”
I can hear my own heartbeat, feel my pulse inside my ears. His entire body exudes so much energy and raw passion, I can’t resist him. I know I should but I can’t. He must feel it too because he pulls me in closer and kisses me so fiercely, it takes my breath away. A slight panic as my brain kicks into flight mode. What am I doing? I don’t even know this guy. Not really. I break off the kiss, feeling needy and breathless, my face heated. But this is what you want! You know you do, Amy Lynn. Be brave.
His deep amber colored eyes search mine as if looking for agreement and he smiles a slow smile. I smile too. How can I not? Before I know what I am doing, I unbutton my blouse for him. And not just unbutton it but slowly while humming a strip tease and licking my dammed lips. Where had I learned to do that? Like a wild animal, he watches me, a gaze of raw heat aimed directly at my breasts. I love how he looks at me. Like he must have me or die. I love how I feel in his arms. Cherished and warm. I love how my core throbs between my legs, my usual firm resolve, unraveling into sharp tattered bits. He wants me and I know it.
“I know what you want,” he say, not bothering to elaborate. “But I think you should tell me anyway.” His gaze is intense and I swear I couldn’t and wouldn’t look away from him if the building was on fire as his eyes search my face. His breath smells of peppermint, his skin hot musk. The sculpted muscles of his arms flex sharply, making them erect as he sweeps a lock of hair behind my shoulder, brushing the bare skin of my neck.
Pinning me with that dark sexy glare while his hands rub up and down my back he asks, “So which is it? Are you a good girl or a bad one?” Stepping back, his gaze travels lower and he cups both breasts, kneading them firmly and pinching my nipples through my bra. My nipples harden painfully.
Bad. Bad. Tell him bad.
“I— What do you want me to say, Mr. Fitzgerald?” Part of me wants to tell him I’m only twenty two, as if that would explain everything or nothing. That I only snuck in here because I was curious, but the bigger part of me, the naughty part, wants him to find out if there is more to Brock Fitzgerald than I read in the papers. More to him being just a firefighter.
“I see you know who I am. I’m boss around here young lady and if I do find out you’re a thief…”
“No. No, I’m not here to steal anything. Honest. I just…” His hands slip below my blouse, traveling upward until they reach their destination. Blunt fingers push beneath my bra. Oh god. A little moan escapes me and my face heats up.
“You just what?” His smell makes me heady, his voice exhilarating. I practically choke out my next words. “I wanted to see…I…I just wanted— ”
“To see something you’ve never seen before. Is that it?” There’s a brief silence and then a very curious, “Hmm?” He winks at me and I’ve never seen anything sexier. I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. I’m making out with Brock Fitzgerald! The man has rescued more people than Superman. He’s a goddammed legend and he just winked at me!
Brock picks me up and sets me on the edge of the desk, but he doesn’t pull his hands away. They’re molded to my hips as I stare into those piercing eyes. A hot primal need explodes in his expression. He traces the mole along my cheek and looks at me questioningly. Embarrassed, I gab his hand.
“You don’t want me to notice this, do you?” he asks. “It’s beautiful though. Like Miss Kitty’s birthmark in Gunsmoke.” His quiet laughter rumbles in my ear. “Sorry. I’m dating myself. Probably before your time.”
“I know who she is,” I say brightly. “She’s
the saloon girl in that old serial.”
“You’ve seen it, have you? I’m impressed. It aired before you were born.” Warm hands slip beneath my skirt, simmer my skin with heat. I moan at his touch. Such soft hands, yet so commanding. He grins, obviously pleased by my reaction.
“I watch the old television shows with my dad.” I’m not ready to reveal more than that. Not now. Not like this.
“Ah. So what should we do now?”
I blink my surprise, going for shy innocence. I know exactly what I want but— . Is that allowed? Should I play hard to get? My breath comes fast telling me not to over think this.
“Something you wanted to see,” he says running a thumb along the side of my face, down my chin and across my lips. “I think I should be the one to see some part of you first. It is my office.” The thumb slips inside my mouth and I grab it between my teeth . His eyes flash. I can see the muscles in his neck tense as his gaze swallows me up. “Good girl,” he croons. “I see you’re playful.” He finishes unbuttoning my blouse for me revealing a white lacy bra that’s barely there, made to look bigger by the pads underneath. “Gorgeous,” he says kissing the plump parts oozing from the cups. I’m not very big but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hands slip up my back and he fumbles with my bra clasp. With the skill of an expert, my breasts bounce free. “And this?” he says glancing down between us. He lifts my skirt further which is riding on my hips, revealing pink panties with hello kitty on them. He chuckles at the panties and I throw my head back as kisses trail from neck to breast. Tiny prickles of heat burst below his tongue. My body is on fire, my core clenching unbearably.
Pikeman: A Billionaire Romance Page 1
