Smokin' Hot Firemen

by Delilah Devlin, Jo Davis

  For a few moments, the world around her turned black. She thought of Patrick—and Nathan. And like those pictures and cutouts on the wall in Patrick’s room, her own memories passed by her inner eye.

  As the airbags that had cushioned both impacts deflated, she opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realize she was alive, but trapped between cars. Her head spun and dust particles from the airbags irritated her eyes, but she didn’t feel injured.

  She could hear sirens approaching. At the crash’s other end she saw firefighters jumping out their trucks. She glanced around. A woman sat slumped over the wheel of the car that had collided with hers; her eyes were closed and blood trickled from her forehead. Police cars approached up from behind the bend. The passenger’s side of her car was smashed. Her only way out would be through the trunk.

  She struggled out of the belt and climbed into the back of the car. While searching for a tool to open the dented door, she noticed smoke. Heat. Flames reflected in the car’s side-view mirror.

  “Holly!”

  She heard her name being called, and as she turned her head, Nathan appeared next to her car. Tommy and Dion were right behind him. They started to cut open the car that had crushed into hers.

  “Come back to the front,” Nathan yelled over the noise of the machines, the wailing of the sirens and the screams of people around them. He made a gesture to the car’s back, and that’s when she saw it. Surges of smoke billowed over the rear of the car. Sweat ran drown her neck, and the smoldering heat clawed around her throat.

  “The flames haven’t reached the inside of the car,” Nathan said.

  His words did nothing to calm her down. Her gaze darted across the car’s floor, searching for signs of fire.

  “Holly!” he yelled through the glass again. “I’ll get you out. Okay?”

  She answered, but not a sound came out of her mouth.

  He smiled briefly, took off his coat, and, through the smashed driver’s seat window, handed it to her. “Put this on.”

  She slipped into the protective gear, and Nathan climbed on the car’s demolished hood.

  “Get down,” he shouted, and she did, hiding her head between her arms. She heard the blow of something heavy against the windshield, the splintering of glass, and curled up as tight as she could as thousands of shards rained down on her.

  “Don’t move,” she heard her husband’s voice, and again the shattering of glass. “Keep your eyes closed.” Underneath her feet, she felt the heat intensifying, burning her feet through the soles of her shoes. More slivers hit the dashboard, and then two strong hands grabbed her shoulders. She didn’t dare to open her eyes as Nathan pulled her up and out of the smashed vehicle. He pressed her against him and carried her away from the crash, away from the flames that now crackled in the trunk of her car.

  She looked up at him. His face was blackened with soot. He was sweaty. He was hers. She kissed him and took off his coat to put back on him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She snuggled closer against him. “Yes, I’m okay now.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and gently rocked her in his embrace. “Go over to EMS, baby. I’ll be with you soon.”

  She nodded. “Nathan!” she called out to him as he was about to walk away.

  He turned. His eyes scanned her face, then he smiled and winked at her. “I’ll be careful.”

  When the crashed cars were nothing more than black shells and nothing more remained of the fire than a film of dirt, foam, and wreckage on the street, Nathan met her at her ambulance.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “What about you?”

  “Just some scratches.” He took off his helmet and jacket and sat down next to her. “When I saw your car in the middle of those crashed cars…” He cupped her face. “For the first time, I felt what you must feel each time I go on a tour.”

  She nestled her cheek into his hand. His skin, still heated, smelled of rubber, smoke, and sweat. “Did the woman in the car behind me survive?”

  “Yes. No casualties. One driver’s in critical condition, though.”

  “You saved my life. You couldn’t have done that from behind a desk.”

  “Then somebody else would have rescued you.”

  “But you did.” She kissed his fingers. “I dreamed of you last night.”

  “You did? What kind of dream?”

  A little smile flashed over her face. “Are you...tired?”

  He gave her a calculating look.

  She blushed a little and averted her eyes.

  Nathan took her hand, pulled it to his chest, and waited for her to look at him again. “I’m not,” he said quietly.

  She played with his fingers. “When I drove here, I was thinking of that night when we had just started dating—you were late because of an operation and I waited for you at the firehouse…”

  A smile spread over Nathan’s face. “And you ended up wearing my jacket and boots?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “And nothing else, just that black bra and panties underneath...”

  She smiled back and nodded. “You made love to me in the backseat of my old Ford Pinto.”

  “The Pinto! God bless that car.” He laughed. “You were so hot that night,” he added with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

  “I’m wearing a black bra right now.”

  He winked. “And I’ve got the jacket...”

  Holly laughed and he kissed her. “Let’s go home.”

  JOHNNY BLAZE

  Delilah Devlin

  I held my iPhone in front of me as far as my arm could reach and took a picture, then quickly sent it to my Facebook page. Yes! I don’t know how Syl managed to talk me into it, but I’m at HardCox!!! Happy birthday, me!

  I posted the photo, then slipped my phone back into my purse, which I’d placed beneath the small round table where Sylvia, Heather, and I sat next to the raised stage.

  “You took a picture of yourself?” Sylvia giggled and held out her hand. “Give me that phone!”

  “No way, you’ll just post pictures of the dancers’ asses.”

  “And their hoses!”

  My eyes bugged. “My mama would be horrified!”

  I was already beyond mortified at being here—a male strip club, of all places. Syl didn’t have to add kerosene to the fire burning in my cheeks. But she’d had me at one name: “Johnny Blaze.”

  So I had a thing for firefighters. Or, at least, one in particular—who didn’t even know I existed. The picture on the sandwich board outside the club—of a fireman wearing suspenders attached to the hose covering his privates—had been the deciding factor after I’d dug my heels into the concrete sidewalk. His body reminded me of my secret crush. Syl knew all about my private infatuation. She’d pointed to the board, then, while my jaw slackened, whipped me through the entrance.

  Now she laughed and lifted her Mai Tai, eyes shining with devilment. “See anyone you’d like to take home?”

  I eyed the dancer currently on the stage now—“Davey Crockett”—who wore a coonskin hat and a striped, bushy tail covering his parts while he did the helicopter, much to the delight of the audience whooping and hollering all around us.

  “Nope,” I said tightlipped. My own gaze followed that twirling tail, hypnotized. It had been forever since I’d seen a cock. To see one with a bushy tail was just bizarre. I raised my voice to be heard over the loud rock music. “How long do we have to stay?”

  Syl shook her head and raised a finger in the air to hail a beer-bitch with a tray of Jell-O shots. A blue cup landed on the table in front of me. Rather than fight Syl, I raised the drink and threw it back, gagging a little before gulping it down.

  Alcohol never sat right with me. It made me hot. Something I didn’t need now, because my cheeks were already a fiery beet-red. Alcohol, added to the tanned, waxed, buff bodies gyrating so close that splatters of sweat already spotted my blouse, left me feeling completely out of my ele
ment. The only reason I was still sitting here was because I had to see Johnny Blaze—not that any stripper would match up to the man of my fantasies.

  Davey Crockett raised his arms over his head and did a flip, landing near the edge of the stage, his beaver tail slapping his belly, then his thighs.

  I couldn’t help where my gaze landed—I wondered how much was furry sock and how much was his pleasure stick. Lord, the man was probably gay, anyway. I slid the napkin from under my drink and fanned my face.

  The music stopped. A handsome man dressed in dark slacks and a black leather vest walked to the center of the stage. “Evenin’, ladies,” he said into the microphone he held, his thick Texas drawl sweet as syrup.

  The crowd shouted back, “Evenin’, Jason.”

  The women knew the announcer by name? Good lord, they needed to get a life.

  Then he snagged my attention: “We have a birthday girl in the audience!” The audience erupted in laughter and catcalls.

  My eyes rounded. I shot a look at Syl. “Nooo....”

  Syl smiled slyly back. “You’re only twenty-five once, cupcake.”

  Two nearly nude men swished through the curtain at the back of the stage, one a bald white dude wearing a biker’s bandana and leather chaps. The other was a black man with a chest a bodybuilder would cry over.

  Jason cupped a hand over her eyes and scanned the audience. “Where can she be?”

  Syl and Heather bounced in their seats, arms flying, hands pointing toward me.

  I hunched low, wondering if I could crawl beneath the table. The two burly men were coming straight for me.

  “Syl, I’m going to kill you,” I hissed.

  Her smile was so broad I didn’t know how her face didn’t split in half. “You are going to thank me, baby girl. Just you wait.”

  When both men flanked me, I stubbornly kept my gaze lowered, pretending I didn’t see them. But the black guy gripped my elbow and gently brought me to my feet. Then they both formed a chair with their arms and pushed the “seat” beneath me, nudging me hard enough to collapse my knees. As they swept me up, I gripped their arms, sure they’d drop me as they climbed the stairs to the stage.

  I’m not a little girl. At five-foot-eight and nearly 180 pounds, I gave them a workout—not that they seemed to strain. A wooden chair had been brought to the center of the stage. They stood me in front of it, then the biker pressed me into it with a hand on my shoulder.

  Knowing I was going to have to go with it or look like a complete coward, I flopped into the chair and folded my arms across my chest.

  Jason produced two large white squares and raised them over his head. The crowd began to chant. “Hoo-hoo-hoo!”

  Not until he handed them to the biker and both men went on their knees did I understand. “Uh...why do I need knee pads?”

  The biker flashed a brilliant smile. “To save your pretty knobs, sweetheart.”

  My eyebrows crept up. I wanted to ask why, but I suspected his answer would send me dashing off the stage.

  Biker boy slipped off my pump and smoothed a pad up my calf, fitting it to my knee. His buddy did the same, thankfully not at the same time or I’d have wound up flashing my crotch.

  I was having serious misgivings about my outfit now—a shortish black skirt that had seemed flirty but demure when I’d dressed at home and a black, short-sleeved button-down blouse. With large silver hoops and a thick silver cuff, I looked “cute but casual,” or so Syl had said when she’d scoured my closet for just the right outfit. Since our destination had been a secret until we pulled into parking lot, I hadn’t given her choice of wardrobe another thought.

  Now I wished I’d worn jeans, something to cover the length of white leg the men were still fondling. Biker dude stood, lifted me to my feet with a firm hand at my elbow, then marched me to the edge of the stage.

  With Syl and Heather grinning like idiots, I knew he wasn’t just sending me back to my chair. Behind me, the curtain whooshed again. The crowd drove to their feet, whistles and shouts rising so loud I wanted to cover my ears. I didn’t dare look back.

  “John-nee! John-nee! John-nee!”

  My heart stuttered then burst into a wild tattoo. Heat burned my cheeks—but also began to pool between my legs. Funny how a little thing like a man with a hose can turn a girl’s insides all weepy.

  Biker dude gripped my shoulders and forced me to turn.

  Johnny Blaze stood, framed by the curtain, his fireman’s hat tipped low in front, the stage lights gleaming on the shiny top and shadowing his features. His tanned chest and ripped abs were bare except for red suspenders—thankfully, attached to yellow turnout pants. His large feet were encased by black boots. He raised a finger and curled it—twice.

  I shook my head, glancing behind me to find the stairs, but gentle pressure on my shoulders forced me to my knees.

  “Gotta crawl, Bridget,” biker dude drawled. “All the way on your knees.”

  He knew my name? Kneeling, I cut him a quick glance. “I’m in a skirt.”

  His smile gleamed white against his darkly tanned face. “I know. Sweet how that worked out.”

  And because I knew I’d been set up and that I couldn’t back away from the challenge now, I bent, pulled my skirt down in the back to cover my ass, and started to crawl on hands and knees toward the fireman who stood stock still, his hands fisted on his hips.

  Lord, he looked so much like my inappropriate crush that what had been a trickle became a warm gush against my panties. I imagined it was him, that he had me in my bedroom, crawling toward him and his lovely baggy pants. The things I’d do...

  Only the closer I drew, the deeper my suspicions grew.

  His chest rose and fell too quickly—not something I’d expect from a guy who hadn’t yet danced his way around the stage. His expression was hidden, but the angle of his jaw, so rigid, so still, reminded me of the new fireman in my hometown I’d been lusting after for weeks.

  The reception desk at the library faced the front door, which had wide glass panels looking onto the main street and the fire station on the other side. I’d spent weeks leaning on an elbow and sighing over the new guy, the one Syl said was single and not a player. She’d been trying to hook me up for weeks, inviting me to drop by with cookies for the men—something I’d done in the past, but which I’d refrained from doing since his arrival because I didn’t want to seem too eager or desperate.

  Besides, what would someone who looked like that want with me?

  I kept crawling, but suddenly, two thick thighs gripped my waist. Biker dude straddled my waist, but kept his weight from me. With one hand gripping my shoulder, he gave my ass a slap. “Don’t stop now,” he said loudly, slapping me lightly as I crawled faster, his body hopping to keep pace with me. The problem was, his thighs dragged at my skirt, and soon I felt cool air brushing against my bottom. I tried to reach back, but he was in the way. “My skirt!”

  “Don’t worry about it, sugar! Gotta have those birthday spanks.”

  My face got hotter; I started to sweat. I crawled, tugging his thighs along with me until I was three feet from Johnny Blaze, who had yet to move.

  Biker dude stepped away. I pulled my skirt back over my ass, one cheek burning. A chair appeared beside me. Johnny moved, sat with his legs spread, and patted his muscled thigh.

  The gesture was deliberate. I shook my head and glanced up again, seeing his face for the first time. My jaw dropped.

  With a flourish, he tossed his hat away, grabbed my upper arm, and hauled me over his lap, face down.

  Pushing up, I tried to lean away, but he stuck his elbow in my back, and I collapsed, the undersides of my breasts riding the side of one huge thigh. “What are doing here?” I whispered harshly.

  “Giving you your birthday present,” he drawled.

  “Did Syl put you up to this?”

  “Syl knows some things about me. Said you’d be into this. Are you?”

  I craned my head around to look him in the eyes
.

  His dark brown gaze was narrowed.

  “Not the way I saw our first date,” I muttered, my voice going all breathy because I couldn’t seem to catch it.

  “I can’t think of a better way to get to know you...” He flipped up my skirt.

  I shrieked and reached wildly behind me, but my skirt was up my back. When his fingers dragged down my panties, I bucked. “Oh my freaking God!”

  My big white ass was there for all the world to see. For Cooper James to see. I melted over his thigh, my breaths shuddering out and tears welling in my eyes.

  A hand cupped the hot side. “Nice, Brady.”

  “You’re welcome, man,” biker dude said, chuckling beside them.

  “So how many licks does the little lady get?” came Jason’s voice over the loudspeaker.

  “Twenty-five,” shouted Syl and Heather.

  “No, no, no.” I twisted again to glare at Coop. “I already got a dozen from the biker.”

  His mouth curved. “Not by me, sweetheart. Count.” His hand raised.

  I jerked my head forward, body tensing.

  The first slap burned like fire.

  “Ow?” I wriggled, to no avail. “That hurt.”

  “Good. You’ve been avoidin’ me for weeks.”

  “I wasn’t avoiding you,” I whispered. “But I would have if I’d known you were a sadist!”

  “Not a sadist, sweetheart, but I do like to make my woman hot.” He slapped me again. “Count.”

  “Three!”

  The strokes landed one after the other on the cheek Brady hadn’t been able to reach as he’d ridden me across the stage. My ass burned. But so did my pussy, blood filling my labia, moisture seeped from inside me. “They’re going to see!” I hissed.

  “See what, darlin’?” His hand paused, lying on my bottom, but giving me a squeeze.

  “That I’m we—”

  He swatted me again, but this time at the center of my seam, fingers lingering, trailing in the wetness. His thighs bunched beneath my torso, then widened. Something hard bulged against my soft belly.