Page 47 of Wildfire
A groan escapes his chest. Deep and animal-like. I find the wherewithal to use my hands, and I reach for the waist of his jeans to unbuckle them. Instead, he pulls his hands and mouth away and then stands in front of me. All muscle. All man. He undoes his jeans, pushes them down to his ankles, and then drops his boxers.
Light from the kitchen dances across his chiseled frame. He stands above me as I run my hand up and down his leg, admiring his physical form.
"I'll grab a condom from the bedroom."
"Move as fast as possible." I pant as I watch his perfectly sculpted ass retreat into the other room. He is back in a flash with his erect cock bouncing as he steps over our clothes to kneel over me on the couch. I watch him rip open the condom and roll it on. I have never ridden bareback before, but damn it if I don't secretly want it right now. I don't want anything in between us.
He positions himself between my folds as I rock back and forth. My hips are under his spell, and I can't stop myself from trying to press him into me. Once he is lined up, he slowly presses forward, stopping after the head of his cock is all the way inside me so I can adjust.
Yeah, he is big.
I feel my insides spasm as my body reconfigures to fit him, and it is a deeper pleasure than I have ever known. My vag is doing cartwheels with him inside me. He presses himself deeper inside, gripping my hips to pull me down. Again, my body adjusts to him, and again, I feel spasms in my core.
Once he is sheathed to the hilt, we start rocking to a rhythm, much like the rhythm of a song. Only this is a song for the two of us, our own melody. My body is meeting him thrust for thrust as the pace quickens and the urgency grows. The only thing that exists is us. The only thing that matters is us.
I feel my body racing toward a climax, but I want to feel him longer. I don't want this to end. But before I can shift position to try and slow down my orgasm, it is as if some jet fuel is added to my system, and I rocket into the stars.
Cole keeps a slow pace as I ride the orgasm, and then he flips me on my side and drives me into the couch. His thrusts are deep and primal and pull the animal out of me as I screechand moan. He reaches a hand down and massages my bud as his pace quickens, pulling another orgasm out of me just as he drives himself as deep as he can and releases his load.
He collapses on top of me, panting and sweating, and we tangle our legs and arms together again. He plants a few kisses on my head before his hooded eyes meet mine.
"You're perfect, Wildfire."
And that is the last thing I hear before I close my eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Cole
The call comes in the early hours before the sun rises. My body alerts at the sound, but I don't wake Renée somehow. She is passed out from exhaustion, and I hope she gets hours more sleep before I return.
I dress quickly and slip out the door after leaving a quick note to let her know I am responding to a fire. As soon as I am out the front door, I run to my truck and put my light on the top so any random person driving at this hour knows to get the hell out of my way.
The call is for an address on the other side of town, which isn't far. But damn if it was too far for comfort. I want to be on the scene to meet Seth and the volunteers as soon as possible.
I see the crew pulling the hose off the truck when I arrive. Seth is hauling someone out of the house, and it looks like they've gotten burnt. It is a woman, and the right side of her is blackened, her clothes charred. She walks out with his help, so I am hopeful she isn't too badly injured.
I run up to help him guide her to safety when I notice that it's Georgia, the singer of the band Frayed Edge. She is crying and choking, and I sit her on the edge of my truck to tend to her until the ambulance arrives.
"Is there anyone else in the house?"
She shakes her head. "I’ve lived alone ever since Jensen left."
"Did you see anything or hear anything before the fire started?"
Her eyes slice to mine, and then she looks away and shakes her head again.
I pull out the first aid box and cut away the loose, burnt cloth. It looks like none is sticking to her skin, which is a relief. Then, I wrap it with gauze and give her a mask connected to an oxygen tank. It is all we are equipped to do.
Once she is breathing a little more calmly, I try again.
"Georgia, you guys had a big night, and I'm sure you are tired. Is there anything that you can think of that might help us?"
She shakes her head again, and the ambulance rolls up. They hop out with a gurney and take her away, so I help the crew finish putting out the fire. It burned the back of her house—the side that faces Owl Creek—our town's namesake. There is a ton of smoke damage, and the patio section is destroyed, but the house was saved. As I am out back, something catches my eye. It's the logo I'd seen before, but this time, it's printed on a t-shirt hanging on the clothesline. Recognition and a little shame come in a wave through my brain.
It's the band's logo, and it was plastered across the drum kit last night, but I was too wrapped up in Renée to notice.
I grab the shirt off the line and walk it to my truck. I am going to need to talk to the Sheriff about this. What is the connection between the band and all the fires? The first several were brush fires near some campsites and along the roadside. Then, there was the abandoned house at the end of Smith Lane and the alley behind Sam's Grill was a potential target. Now Georgia's house. She is the only real connection to that logo. Was this about her? What connection, if any, is between her and the other burn sites?
Georgia doesn't seem to know anything, so I am doubtful I will get more information from her, but it won't hurt to try. Shelooked like she was in a bit of shock. Maybe when that and the adrenaline wears off, she'll remember something.
