Page 15 of Let it Crackle
She whimpers. Nods.
That’s all I need.
I unzip and shove my jeans down just enough to free myself. No time. No teasing. I grab my cock and drag the head through her folds once—just once—before I slam into her in one brutal thrust.
She cries out, nails digging into my shoulders.
I grunt, fucking into her fast and hard. “You said five minutes, baby. I’m not wasting a second.”
Her back slams against the fridge with every thrust. It’s dirty. Fast and filthy. Just skin, heat, and the sound of her soaking wet pussy taking everything I give her.
Her tits bounce with every movement, and I lean down, biting one nipple just enough to make her jolt. “Mine,” I snarl.
“Yes,” she gasps, clinging to me. “Yours. All yours.”
I slide a hand between us and rub her clit—fast, rough—and she breaks with a sob, body tightening around me like a vice.
“That’s it,” I groan. “Come on my cock. Soak me.”
She does. Loud, shaking, soaking wet.
It tips me over the edge. I grab her hips, slam in one last time, and come so deep inside her I swear I lose time.
We’re both breathing hard, her back still pressed to the fridge, my forehead resting against hers.
I kiss her—filthy, claiming, full of promise—and pull back just enough to smirk.
“Next time,” I say, still buried inside her, “we’re taking hours.”
And I mean it.
Because five minutes with her could never be enough, but it will have to do. I place her gently down on the floor. “I really have to go now, baby.” She nods her cheeks are still flushed and she’s still breathing heavily. I kiss her quickly and rush out because there is no telling what this woman does to me. I’m all smiles and empty balls as I drive to work.
Sunlight glints off the chrome of the fire truck as I rinse away the last streaks of soot. The hose is heavy in my grip, but my chest feels lighter than it has in years.
I’m still riding the high from this morning—Maya’s sleepy smile when I made her breakfast, the way she sat on my lap wearing nothing but my T-shirt, glasses slipping down her nose as she read smutty stories to me. Our quickie against the fridge.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since. About going home to her tonight. About what else she might have bookmarked in that dirty little novella. I’ve never felt more happier with anyone else before. Maya makes me so damn happy. It’s like she’s sunshine buried in my chest.
The guys are scattered around the station yard, the sun beating down on us as we go through the motions. Some are polishing gear, others stretching before drills. Zeke’s probably inside still cursing at the busted water heater, and I’m manning the hose, half in a daze.
The water streams in a steady rhythm over the fire truck’s wheel well, but my mind’s not on it.
All I can think about is Maya. How when I’m done here I go home to her.
“You still seeing that librarian?” one of the new recruits calls out, voice teasing. “I wouldn’t have figured a buttoned-up nerd would be your type. But,” he reflects for a moment, and I can tell by the flint in his eye that he’s about to say something filthy, “the frumpy ones are easy prey. Especially on crutches.”
There’s laughter. Light. Easy.
But the words twist sharp in my gut.
I blink. Straighten. The hose slips from my grip, spraying a crooked arc across the pavement.
I don’t say anything. I know I should, but I’m just trying to keep it cool—keephersafe. This place isn’t kind to softness. These people don’t know her, and if I push back against their harsh words, I know I’m in for a ribbing and taunts of being “pussy-whipped” for the rest of the week. I’m used to their teasing and crude comments, so the last thing I expect is for my chest to go tight like this.
Or for her voice to cut through the noise behind me.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Maya says.
