The Night Belongs to Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  Then he shifted from that long, slow spearing to a steady in-and-out penetration that had her eyes crossing. She couldn’t hold back her primal groan. He pulled out, his thigh muscles clenching, then thrust in again. Remembering the way she’d noticed his butt, and how she’d pictured it during sex, her face heated. She lost herself in the smooth flex, the hot clench, the thrust and rock and grind. Losing all control over her limbs, she surged against him, wanting more, harder, again. And then all she could think about was how incredible he felt inside her, the heat of his body against hers, the sweat on his straining face, the pulses of light flashing in her vision, the electric surge racing toward her, crashing onto her, breaking her into a million particles of shimmering ecstasy.

  Buried inside Rachel’s sweet, trembling body, Fred wondered if he’d blown a blood vessel. He’d never come so hard in his life.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He peeled a stray lock of tumbling dark hair off her cheek. “Please tell me I didn’t. I kind of lost it for a second there.” He’d been completely consumed by his need to have her, and now tenderness clawed at his insides. His duty was to protect this girl, not harm her.

  “You didn’t notice the cries for help?” she asked dryly. “No, you didn’t hurt me. What about me? I think I might have punched you again.” Lifting a hand to his face, she traced the outline of his nose. “Yup. It’s a little red.”

  “I didn’t notice. I was a little busy getting the top of my head blown off.” He started to pull out of her body, but she stopped him.

  “I don’t want you to leave me yet,” she said softly. Her violet eyes darkened, and her inky lashes fell over them. “We could sleep here, just like this. Never have to be alone.”

  Her melancholy tone made him uneasy. Rachel was full of fascinating opposites—tentative but wild, a little innocent but electrically responsive. And always, underneath, the suggestion of loneliness.

  “You’re not going to be alone. I live here remember? I’m your twenty-four-hour-a-day shadow.”

  “Right.” Her lips, inflamed from his kisses, lifted at the corners. Then her eyes flew open. “Right!” She struggled to sit up, while he gripped his cock with one hand to keep it from getting too jostled in the process. He slipped from the hot clasp of her body into the cooler air. “Oh no! Is this going to make everything more awkward?”

  “Everything?”

  “Well . . .” She slid her tongue across her swollen lower lip. “You being my bodyguard and us having . . .”

  “Sex,” he prompted.

  “Yes. Sex.” Her cheeks flamed fuchsia. “Really, really good sex.”

  “I thought so. I’m glad you agree.” Actually, it made him feel like Superman.

  “We can’t tell my father.”

  He didn’t bother to point out that his parents weren’t usually his first phone call after sex. Obviously she was experiencing a freak-out and he’d just have to roll with it. “Agreed.”

  “Not because he wouldn’t approve. Not that. But I don’t want him to think you can’t do your job just as well as before we had sex.”

  The mention of Kessler put an end to his post-coital buzz. He stood up to track down his pants. “Rachel, are you sure you really need a bodyguard? I haven’t seen one thing out of the ordinary since I’ve been here.” A thought had begun to form; maybe he could stop being her bodyguard and they could date, like normal people.

  She scrambled to her knees on the cushions of the couch. Its dark rust shade set off the pearly paleness of her skin and the ruby-red points of her nipples, making her look positively erotic. “Are you quitting? Because if you are, you’d better tell me right this second.”

  “Quitting? How’d you get from ‘Do you need a bodyguard?’ to ‘I’m quitting’? I committed to this job, and I’m not bailing on it. But your dad’s testimony’s coming up soon and we haven’t seen one sign of anything suspicious. I just want to know that I’m doing something important. Something that matters.”

  “It matters to me.” She curled her legs under her and clasped her hands together on her thighs. He wished he could take a picture of her, just like this, tumbled and flushed and honest. “What other bodyguard would ever take me out and play bumper cars with me? Or get in a bar brawl?”

  He winced. “Definitely not a professional one.”

  “I’m serious. I want you to stay. But I really don’t want things to be awkward between us. We need to have a serious discussion.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.” Since their discussion needed some lightening up, he pulled on his boxers. A gift from Lizzie, they had little red fire hydrants scattered all over them.

  Her eyes drifted to them, and he saw her try to control a smile. He went to the couch and sat next to her. He crossed one leg over the other, so she couldn’t possibly miss the fire engines.

  “Serious discussion time.”

  “Um . . .” she bit her lip. “I suppose we could not have sex again.”

  “Okay. Who votes for that? Anyone?”

  Neither one raised a hand. He smiled smugly. At least they weren’t pretending to like that plan. “I have another idea. We could just play it by ear. It’s only another week.”

  She drew her legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Play it by ear. You mean, no ground rules?”

  “I can think of one. No more Bradford.”

  “No. Of course not.” She looked appalled at the thought. “Okay, I have another. None of your fan club girls.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Then we might have a problem. Reliable sources say you own a ‘Fred’s My Hero’ button. You must be in my fan club.”

  She leaned against him, rubbing her head on his arm like a kitten. He wanted to eat her up. “Right at this moment, I’m the president of the Fred Breen fan club. Will you sign my boobs?”

  “Sure. One catch. It has to be with my tongue.” He pinned her, giggling, to the back of the couch, cupped her breasts in his hands, and traced his name across her chest with his tongue, wrapping the E around one nipple and landing the final N on the other. Then he went back and filled in some blank spots with little nibbles. By the time he was done, she was squirming and sighing, and he scooped her into his arms and headed for the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

  “Your bedroom or mine? Bathtub? Linen closet? Entertainment room?”

  “Um . . .” Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glimmered like stars in the twilight. “All of the above?”

  “You’re on.”

  Chapter 18

  Over the next three days, the sun rose and set, San Gabriel residents commuted to and from work, took their kids to school, and complained about the early heat wave, while Rachel and Fred holed up in her apartment and immersed themselves in each other. They exited only for essential reasons such as Rachel’s appointments at the Refuge. Other than that, they stayed inside and explored each other with an intimacy Rachel had never experienced.

  Fred was a sensual man. He liked being naked. He liked her being naked. He liked exploring her body with every tool at his disposal: fingertips, tongue, lips, teeth. In this realm, between the sheets, he claimed complete authority, and she didn’t argue one bit. For one thing, he was so much more knowledgeable and . . . carnal. She’d never indulged that side of herself before, at least not to this extent.

  Everything he did felt good. She loved waking to the feel of his hands roaming her body, delving between her legs as she surfaced from sleep. A warm, rough palm massaged gentle circles around her clitoris, while hot breath fanned her cheek. Maybe inhibitions didn’t work first thing in the morning, because she felt no shame when she ground her sex against the heel of his hand, or when he flipped her onto her knees and dragged her ass into the air. Heat flashed all the way to her toes as she buried her face in the covers. Her cheeks burned with it, her thighs trembled. He could see everything—everything!—and it didn’t matter because he wanted her, and she wanted him. She wanted him in her, around her, on top of her, beneath her, a
nywhere at all, as long as they were skin to skin.

  Every part of her, skin and flesh and spirit, brightened when he was near.

  When she thought about how much she loved being with him, she got nervous. He would be her bodyguard only a short while, until her father’s testimony, or maybe a little longer, until the media moved on. What would happen after that? What would it be like to go back to her more solitary, sheltered existence? Maybe it would be better to not get used to having Fred in her life, to not enjoy him so much. But she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. Not when every moment they spent together felt so joyous and free.

  Not that it was always perfect. He still teased her, and sometimes they squabbled over things like whether Grease was a better movie than Rock ’n’ Roll High School. Fred didn’t get her addiction to crossword puzzles and did his best to distract her. His best was very, very good; it involved tying her to the bedposts while he filled in the answers, on her skin, traced by his own personal writing tool.

  They played naked Scrabble, with the loser required to do whatever the winner wanted. She won. To her surprise, what she wanted most at that moment was to explore his beautiful penis with her tongue. She made him lie still, stretched out on her bed, with his hands behind his head, while she pressed kisses onto his half-aroused member. After only a few kisses, it began growing and stretching toward her. His penis fascinated her, both soft and hard, sweet and salty, fierce and vulnerable, like a club wrapped in living velveteen. She loved the way it responded to her in its own language of twitches and jumps. She loved the way his thigh muscles strained and his hips bucked under the strokes of her tongue. His hands dug into the sheets as if she was dragging him off a cliff with her mouth. As if to keep himself from grabbing her head and pounding into her.

  She wouldn’t have minded, but he always kept a leash on himself, as if he was still watching out for her even while losing his mind. Which meant he didn’t really lose his mind. And part of her wanted him to.

  She did her best to obliterate his control, sucking him to a ruthless, shouting climax that would have woken the neighbors if she had any. Afterward, he lay, wrecked, in her antique four-poster bed, his elbow crooked over his face, his chest rising and falling with deep shudders. She rested her chin on his chest, squinting at the slight black hairs until they looked like tangled underbrush in a forest.

  She ran her fingertips over the ridged muscles of his torso, feeling the warm stickiness of sweat. “Have you ever come so hard you forgot where you were?”

  “No,” he admitted, his voice still raspy. “I never want to lose that much control.”

  “Why not? You make me forget everything. Maybe control is overrated.”

  “Depends on the situation. When you have a big old crowbar sticking out of you, and it’s inside another person, you don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  She let out a soft laugh, a puff of air that stirred the silky hairs. Sunlight slanted through the window, casting a bright rectangle across Fred’s middle. “You make it sound like a weapon, like a tire iron or something.”

  “Of course it’s a weapon. A weapon of loooove.”

  She snorted, and rubbed her cheek against his chest. Fred was so darn cute. She could barely stand it sometimes.

  “But I’m a lover not a fighter,” he continued. “Especially with that thing.”

  “I can’t believe you call it a ‘thing.’ You’re going to hurt its feelings.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you’re around to boost its self-esteem.” He glanced down his body at his exhausted member, which rested against his leg in a dusky curl.

  “I’m a dog therapist, not a penis therapist.”

  “You should branch out. We can call you the Penis Whisperer.”

  “How flattering. Maybe I’ll put that on my résumé.”

  He wound his fingers through her hair and gently tugged, the way she liked. Tingles of pleasure danced across her scalp. “Does a girl like you need a résumé?”

  “Not really,” she admitted. “My clients don’t ask for a résumé. It’s all word of mouth. But when my college roommates were applying for jobs, I helped them write their résumés. And before I started the Refuge, I considered applying for a job at The Gap or something. Krispy Kreme. Dog walker. Something in the non-Kessler world.”

  How had she gotten onto that subject? That’s how their conversations went. From goofy sexual puns to revelations about their pasts. No topic was off limits; maybe that’s why talking to Fred was so addictive.

  “So why didn’t you get a job like that?”

  “It didn’t seem right. I don’t need the money, and I’d be taking a job from someone who does. And wherever I worked, my employers would have to deal with my crazy security-obsessed dad. And just think about the stress Dad would go through. I couldn’t do that to him. I caused him enough stress when I was . . . kidnapped.”

  She didn’t usually use that word, but everything was different with Fred. She didn’t want to hide anything from him.

  Fred was looking at her so closely, she almost wished she hadn’t mentioned her kidnapping. “You don’t like to talk about that, do you?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve been through plenty of therapy. I can talk about it, even though I couldn’t at first. But I don’t want that crazy man to dictate who I am. If I’m just the girl who got kidnapped, I might as well have stayed in that cage.”

  Gently, his hand slipped to the nape of her neck and found a knot of tension that had suddenly developed.

  “What if you’re the girl who escaped the cage?”

  An image from her captivity flashed through her mind, the big man coming toward her with that horrible white mask. Her scrambling back against the bars, warm pee running down her leg because she was so scared. Escape. Could she ever really escape? She prayed he wouldn’t ask more about the kidnapping. She didn’t want to go back there anymore, didn’t want her mind occupied by those memories.

  He must have picked up on her silent plea because he changed the subject. “How did you start the Refuge for Injured Wildlife?”

  She could have kissed him. “Well, I knew I wanted to work with animals. I used to bring rescues home to Cranesbill all the time. It was a hobby, basically, but since it didn’t involve any ominous people, my dad was okay with it. So I figured an animal refuge would be a good choice. In college I took a few workshops with a dog trainer who uses more intuitive techniques, and loved it. He said I was a natural, and that it would be a crime for me not to use my talents. That fit well with the refuge idea, although I have to keep my dog therapy office away from the wildlife areas. I found an abandoned wilderness training camp and we converted the buildings into what we needed. Since we were starting the place from zero, my father was able set up the security the way he wanted. And I didn’t take a single job away from anyone. We created jobs, in fact. We hired two vets and four techs. So everyone was happy.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “So you built an animal refuge. Just like that.”

  “Well, it took almost a year to build it and hire the staff. It’s still a work in progress. I’m really interested in the rescue dog project.” She wondered why he was being so silent. “Does it seem strange to you? I wave my father’s magic checkbook and ta-da! . . . instant animal refuge?”

  “No,” he said softly. “I mean, yes, I’m not used to that kind of power. But that’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking that you have an incredible heart. You could do anything in the world, and you choose to help animals. I admire you.”

  She sat up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Hell, no. I’m being sincere.”

  “If you look at it another way, I’m a spoiled rich girl who plays with animals because that’s all her daddy will let her do. My biggest claim to fame is being kidnapped when I was little.”

  With a sudden move, he flipped her onto her back. “Why are you so hard on yourself? You’re doing something you love and you’re tryi
ng not to hurt the people you care about. I think you’re amazing. And if there’s any spoiling to be done”—he pinned her arms to the side—“I’ll do it. With my weapon of looooove.”

  With that, he dragged his tongue across her nipples until she whimpered from the hot pleasure coursing through her.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are to me?” he murmured against her breasts. “In every respect. But especially your body.”

  “Excuse me?” She tried like hell to frown, but it was hard when her nipples were responding like spring shoots to sunshine. “Especially my body? What kind of thing is that to say?”

  “Shallow but true. I mean, look at you. This skin.” He nuzzled her chest, his hair tickling her nipples unbearably. “These perfect boobies.”

  “Boobies?” She gave a snorting laugh and tried to tug her hands free. A pointless effort, with his strong hands still binding her.

  “Yes, I said boobies.” He nipped at them gently, taking first one, then the other into his mouth. “Perfect,” he mumbled. He inserted his thigh between hers. Firm muscles and hot skin pressed against her mound. She squirmed against the intrusion, then went all liquid inside.

  He shifted to nudge the little knot of nerves that had been craving his attention. How did he know? The man was a magician. She yelped, then snapped her mouth shut.

  “Don’t keep it in,” he murmured. “I like to hear your sounds.”

  “I don’t make sounds.”

  “Yes, you do. I love your sounds. They turn me on. Especially when you don’t even know you’re making them. The more sounds, the merrier. Sounds, smells.”

  “Smells? Ew.” She tried to close her legs, but he merely wedged his thigh closer.

  “Your scent is one hundred percent pure erotic. Kind of spicy, like cinnamon or something. But also fresh, like morning rain. Rose bushes. One whiff and I go a little crazy. I just can’t help it. And then there are the textures.”

  “Textures?” she said faintly. He was moving against her with a slow grind. The rhythm seemed to take over her entire being. Her heartbeat raced to catch up.