Dallas Fire & Rescue: Undamaged (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Regina Kammer

  “So inconvenient.” She breached the y-front of his briefs.

  He jerked at her touch. “Very,” he groaned.

  She gave his cock a quick squeeze. “Am I moving too fast for you?”

  “You are moving fast, but I think I’m okay with that. Life is short.”

  She laughed and proceeded to pull his erection free from his clothes.

  He pulled back. “Samantha, uh, I don’t have a condom.” Because it’s not like he imagined anything like this would happen.

  “That’s okay. I had something else in mind.”

  She slithered down to a squatting position, her face in front of his crotch. She wrapped her fingers around his prick and slid her palm along the shaft.

  Holy shit. He slapped his hands against the tree.

  Her tongue danced on the head of his cock.

  “Fuck.” He dug his nails into the bark.

  She laughed, her hot breath tantalizing him for a moment before the wet heat of her mouth surrounded his glans.

  He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. This was going to be awesome…

  Rustling in the bushes sounded to his left. He lurched, grabbing Samantha’s hair and pulling her to standing. He wrapped his arms around her, his heart pounding between them. Her chest heaved excitedly as her breaths lay humid against his shirt.

  The rustling stopped for a moment before continuing with a cautious rhythm. His arms cramped from holding Samantha too tightly. Damn. How obvious was it that he was trying to shield his open fly and exposed cock?

  The snout of a deer poked through the bushes. Samantha gasped, startling the creature. It scampered away noisily in the opposite direction.

  Royce let out his breath with a sharp laugh. “Okay. So maybe that’s a sign we shouldn’t continue at the moment.” He loosened his hold on Samantha.

  Her expression held a touch of disappointment. “Yeah, probably for the best.” She stepped back and brushed down her dress once more. “It’s probably not what the center thought might happen on visiting day.”

  Royce chuckled as he zipped and buttoned up.

  “I should go.” She sounded as if she didn’t really want to.

  “If you feel you must. Thanks for listening. And, um, for everything else.”

  She smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I’ll bike over in the morning.”

  “Good.” She turned and walked away, a sexy twitch in her hips.

  Royce exhaled. Life was looking pretty good from where he stood.

  * * * * *

  Royce stared at the ceiling still darkly shadowed despite the LED clock announcing it was morning.

  Shit.

  He slipped his hand under the sheets and grabbed his iron-hard dick, squeezing tightly until pleasure turned to pain. No good. The action just seemed to make him harder.

  He eyed the lump of his roommate in the bed on the other side of the room. The cacophony of birds signaled dawn was about to break, which meant Pete would probably wake up soon after that.

  He had to be quick and quiet about it. Geez, that just made the act sound perverted, which made him a pervy drunk. It was bad enough he was a drunk. No woman wanted a pervy drunk, especially a sexy, intelligent park ranger…

  Was this hell? A dark corner where self-loathing mingled with insecurity while needing to suppress the desperate urge to masturbate to a fantasy of a pretty woman in pigtails?

  Royce turned onto his side, curling his back toward his slumbering roommate, and tugged at his erection slowly, smoothly, trying not to jounce the bedsprings. He closed his eyes…

  Samantha’s smiling face filled his field of vision, her wide grin forming cute crinkles above the apples of her cheeks. She winked, then stepped back, each movement revealing a bit more of her perfect, nude body. She beckoned him to follow with an outstretched hand. He grabbed hold and she whisked him away, gliding above the waves. Elation burbled within, spreading warmth from his gut to the tips of his fingers. He pulled her to him, flattening his palms against her back. She flexed into his embrace, her smile softening as she flicked her tongue across her parted lips, leaving them plump and glistening. Her gaze slid to his mouth. He leaned in and kissed her, the brush of mouth against mouth simply not enough. He thrust his tongue inside, devouring her, swallowing her sensual moans, while he rubbed his crotch between her thighs. She opened her legs, wrapping them around his hips as they tumbled in the clouds, he ramming the bulge in his jeans with all his might until excitement oozed warm and fluid between them.

  Royce exhaled. His hand, wet with ejaculate, still gripped his cock. He turned in bed slowly, trying to be as silent as possible as he reached for yesterday’s briefs on the carpet.

  Across the room Pete snored.

  Royce stared at the ceiling, gray with dawn’s emergence. The fantasy had been a new one, an unexpected one. Lust had been replaced by something utterly unexpected.

  Joy.

  In the morass of guilt and regret, he had almost forgotten such a feeling even existed. Somehow Sam dredged up happiness that had been smothered, awakened desires that had been quashed.

  Giving him hope for a brighter future.

  Chapter Six

  Samantha drove slowly down the half-mile turnoff from the main road to English Camp and not just because fifteen miles per hour was required. Chaotic thoughts about the night before bombarded her brain to distraction.

  She had acted like a goddamn floozy, pushed boundaries as if she had been drunk. But she hadn’t had a drop of liquor. No. She had been drunk on lust and desire, so much so she had returned home dripping wet between her legs, needing release so badly she had gone straight to the bedroom and switched on her vibrator to the highest setting.

  Royce did something to her, something no man had ever done. Made her giddy, like a teenage girl with a crush on a movie star. Attraction was one thing. She’d been attracted to men in the past. But this was something entirely different, it was attraction mixed with a longing, a craving to just simply be with him. Plus his very presence dialed her libido to the max, his hard, honed body made her absolutely uncontrollable.

  But, damn, she didn’t have to get on her knees and try to blow him. Practically in public, even. That was going a bit too far.

  Maybe this was a mid-life thing women went through. It would pass in a few years, around about the time when the only guys who would want a woman in her forties were men in their sixties—or older—and well passed their own libidinous prime.

  She pulled into the parking lot at English Camp. The sight of the recovery center van pinched emotion in her lungs. She had a tour group today. She would get through this then quickly head off to the quiet respite of American Camp where there would be no reminder of her foolishness the night before.

  As she walked toward the visitor center the bright green of a recovery center bicycle propped against the park’s bike rack caught her attention. She looked up at the very moment Royce tromped down one of the paths closed for rehabilitation. He wore a hardhat and held an ax in one hand, his long-sleeve t-shirt spotted with sweat. He waved, a grin brightening his face the second he saw her. Was there a touch of lewdness in his expression?

  Sam flushed and offered a half smile along with a flutter of her fingers to signal “hello”. She walked on. She didn’t want to speak to him. Not here, not now. Later. When they were alone, not so conspicuously out in public.

  Shit. The crotch of her panties was already soaked with unrequited lust.

  * * * * *

  Damn.

  Royce couldn’t believe his eyes. Samantha had barely smiled at him and hadn’t bothered to stop to say hello.

  Well, she’d had a night to think about whether or not she wanted to continue an affair with a drunkard. Clearly she’d regretted everything they’d done—she’d done—the night before.

  Now he could include “lover” in the long list of things he had recently failed at.

  He’d just have to try and get through the n
ext fourteen days without the hope of spending any more time with her. He had fantasized for one brief shining moment that he might stay on San Juan Island, find a job, pursue his chance with her. Now he’d have to consider other options. He could always go to California. He could never return to Dallas, not permanently anyway.

  He was free to do whatever the hell he wanted. Except he wanted to be with Samantha.

  Double damn.

  Last night she had been willing to give him pleasure. Of course he didn’t deserve it. He was a killer, a failure, an alcoholic. She was beautiful, feisty, independent, intelligent. She deserved better, could do far better than him.

  And at some point during the night, alone at home, she figured that out. Every woman could do better than a drunk failure. No woman would want that.

  Well, now he had something new to discuss with his counselor, which was the bleakest bright side imaginable.

  Chapter Seven

  Samantha stared at her glass of local pinot gris with just a swallow of wine at the bottom. She had nursed the same glass for two hours, the buzz long worn off, the bill already paid. Even her “wingman” girlfriend Leslie had left over twenty minutes ago.

  Sam had thought she’d try her luck meeting a guy—any guy—at the sports bar. A kayak instructor or maybe a horseback riding instructor grabbing a burger after a long day. But tourist season wasn’t in full swing yet. And the bar was already slowly emptying out at seven-thirty. It closed early during the off season.

  She fidgeted on her barstool. Good thing it wasn’t a busy night; she probably looked pathetic sitting alone.

  Her phone buzzed. Vic’s number. Crap. Either she was in trouble for leading Royce on in his fragile state, or—no, there was no “or”. Something was wrong with Royce.

  She swiped the screen of her phone. “Vic? What’s up?”

  A beat of silence was followed by a too-audible exhale. “Royce has gone missing. I thought perhaps he was with you.”

  Shit. “No, no. I haven’t seen him since this morning at English Camp. How long has it been?” She slid off her chair and fumbled in her purse for a tip.

  “I was just informed he missed dinner. So, at least an hour. Looks like he took one of the bikes.”

  “Oh, geez.” She headed for the exit. Once out on the pavement she glanced up at the sky.

  The clouds were streaked pale pink and orange against a gray-blue backdrop. Sunset.

  “Vic, I have an idea of where he might have gone.”

  “Where? I’ll go get him.”

  “No,” she said quickly. She drew in a breath, gathering courage. “Let me. I’ll call you if I find him. I don’t want you to go on a wild goose chase.”

  Vic agreed and hung up.

  Sam drove to American Camp, her foot a little too heavy on the gas as if in a race to beat the setting sun. She pulled into the parking lot, parked next to a bright green bike, then tore down the path on the right, turning off just before the remains of the nineteenth-century military encampment, to head to the promontory. She slowed as she approached the grassy bluff.

  A solitary figure stood out against the dramatic sky, a silhouette of a strong, tall man surrounded by salmon pink, gilded orange, and faded yellow. His back toward her, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans jacket, he gazed out at the calm and vast ocean.

  Sam pulled out her phone. “Vic, it’s Sam,” she said quietly in case a breeze carried her voice. “I found him. He’s at American Camp.”

  “You need help?”

  “No. I got this.” She hung up, shoved her phone back in her purse, and sucked in a bolstering breath. She had been kind of shitty to Royce that morning. She was quite possibly the last person he wanted to see.

  But he was the only person she wanted to be with at that moment.

  She approached gingerly. “Your ride is here,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. Her mood.

  He did not turn around. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again,” he said. “Not after that cold reception this morning.”

  “Royce, I am so sorry about that.” Was an apology enough? He’d poured his soul out to her the night before. A pithy acknowledgment of regret was no match for the depth of his confession.

  “I figured a success like you finally realized you didn’t want a failure like me.”

  She screwed her eyes shut to bank back tears. “Don’t say that about yourself. And don’t say that about me.” Fear made her a failure.

  “But you had second thoughts.”

  “I acted like a slut last night!” She inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to screech. I’m mad at myself. You deserve better than a cheap BJ in the woods.”

  He grunted. “It seemed like it was going to be a pretty fantastic BJ.”

  She sidled up next to him. A smirk teased his lips. She exhaled in relief.

  “It would have been the best you’d ever had.”

  He pulled his left hand free from his jacket. She grazed the back of his fingers with her own. He grasped her.

  He sighed. “I don’t want to leave. This is spectacular. Just like you said it would be.”

  She squeezed his hand but kept her eyes focused on the sunset. “Royce, I think I’m just a little in shock at how much you’ve affected me.” Emotion choked her. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

  “What way?” There was a slight tremor in his voice.

  “Pure and utter joy. You spark this adolescent giddiness in me that I have absolutely no control over.”

  She dared glance in his direction. He was smiling, his gaze focused on the horizon.

  * * * * *

  Emotion welled within as Royce absorbed what Samantha had just admitted. He, too, had felt the rush of desire mingled with joy, a life-affirming torrent of emotions that countered the crushing depression he had suffered since…that fateful day.

  They stood in silence, hand in hand. He just needed a moment. Anything he might attempt to say would let loose a flood of tears.

  She cleared her throat. “I never told you the real reason why I moved to the island.”

  Interesting. “I’d love to hear.”

  “I never talk about it. I got this great job and the island is a coveted place to live. It’s easy to just say I moved from the big city and most people understand.”

  “But there’s a story behind that.”

  “There is.” She shifted on her feet. “I moved from a small town in southern California to attend college at U.C. Berkeley. You know the San Francisco Bay Area: it’s one big amorphous mass of a metropolis. Life in the big city was exciting, and driving some of that excitement was the raunchy, seedy underbelly of urban life.” She grunted. “It was kind of great for a while.”

  Not his kind of lifestyle, but he understood.

  “After starting my dissertation, I snagged my dream job at the National Park Service in San Francisco. A few years later, I was able to buy a small house in Oakland in a not-so-safe but affordable part of town. I was determined to make it work. I was so damned proud of myself.”

  She paused and swallowed hard.

  “I lived a charmed life, until one day I took the morning off for my annual physical. I told work I’d be in later. I went to the doctor then came home to pick up my sack lunch. But someone was there.”

  Royce chilled.

  “I guess I must have startled him. I went to my kitchen and he came tearing out of my bedroom. He hit me, hard enough that I blacked out.”

  Royce released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  “I came to later. My bedroom was trashed, lamp smashed on the floor, clothes tossed out of my dresser. I lost all my jewelry that day. I didn’t have much that was worth anything, really. No diamonds, no pearls. But everything I had—” her voice quavered “—held special memories of a person or a place.” She sucked in a long breath. “My friends kept saying it was just stuff. At least I wasn’t killed. Or worse.”

  “Wo
rse than killed?”

  “Raped.”

  Jesus. He tightened his lips.

  “And yet in the middle of the fear that plagued me for weeks afterward was this grief for the loss of objects that held so many memories. Like the pair of tiny gold hoops my granny gave me after I had just gotten my ears pierced. She died a few months later.” Samantha slumped into his embrace. “But to say I miss my stuff sounds materialistic and shallow.”

  Royce pulled her closer. “You’re a historian. Memories are powerful for you. It’s to be expected you’d feel the loss acutely.” He caressed her shoulder. “Those earrings were much more than little gold hoops. They were a connection to your past.”

  She stared at him in utter surprise.

  He offered a sheepish grin. “I suppose I’ve learned something in the couple of weeks of counseling I’ve had to endure.”

  She smiled weakly. “I had to see a psychiatrist. The fear, the devastation were affecting my job and my boss insisted on it. That was another huge sock in the gut. The well-educated, highly organized, grown-ass woman could not deal with her problems herself.”

  He knew that feeling all too well. “Did the therapy help?”

  “My therapist uncovered that I’d been scared for years, but I’d buried the fear. Crime is such an ordinary, everyday occurrence in the big city, you just keep up your defenses, learn how to navigate. Only when I was in the comfort of my own home was I actually able to relax and slough off that defensive shield.”

  Royce got it. “But then your home was violated.”

  “Yeah. The old theory on post-traumatic stress disorder was that it was a result of one harrowing incident. Like yours,” she looked up at him. “But now it’s understood that PTSD can also result from an aggregation of high-stress experiences.”

  “Like living in a high-crime area for years.”

  “But there’s still a stigma, a shame that comes along with that. How come I couldn’t handle an event that, really, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t that bad? I’m not living in a war zone, for god’s sake.” She curled her arm around his waist. “And I didn’t witness a little girl die.”