Page 40 of Fire Me Up
I doubled down, hollowing my cheeks, and he exploded—back arching, thighs tensing, a broken moan ripping from his throat as he filled my mouth with hot pulses. I swallowed greedily, not letting up until he whimpered from oversensitivity.
When I finally pulled off, he looked wrecked—chest heaving, eyes unfocused, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body. I crawled up beside him, collapsing onto the blanket.
For a long moment, we just lay there, catching our breath. Gael’s hand found mine, fingers intertwining.
That simple touch terrified me more than anything we’d just done. Guys always leave. No matter how
Chapter 13
Gael
Iclosed my eyes and leaned back against the headrest, listening to Dylan’s phone ring for the fifth time. Straight to voicemail. Again. I hung up before his recorded voice could twist the knife deeper. The doctor’s words still echoed in my head: “You’re cleared to return to active duty.” I should’ve been thrilled—back to the job I loved, the purpose that defined me. Instead, all I could think about was the hour and a half of highway between Denver and Colorado Springs. Between me and Dylan.
“Fuck,” I muttered, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat.
I’d known this day was coming. My shoulder had been feeling better for weeks—no more sharp pains when I reached overhead, no more waking up stiff and aching. The physical therapy had worked its magic, and now I was officially healed. Ready to slide back into my turnout gear and climb onto fire trucks again.
So why did it feel like I was losing something?
I started the truck, the engine rumbling to life beneath me. The parking lot of the medical center was half-empty, afternoon sun glinting off windshields. I should call Liv or Marisol, tellthem the good news. They’d been waiting for this—for me to get back to my life, my apartment, my job. To stop colonizing Liv’s couch and reorganizing her kitchen.
Instead, I picked up my phone again and scrolled to Dylan’s contact. His face grinned back at me from the photo I’d snapped while he was working on his bike, hair falling across his forehead, grease smudged on one cheek. My chest tightened at the sight.
I tossed the phone back down without calling again. Dylan had made it clear from the beginning—he didn’t do relationships. Didn’t do feelings. Every time things got too intimate, too real, he’d pull back with a joke or a deflection.
But I’d seen the cracks in his armor. The way he looked at me when he thought I was asleep. How he’d built Bacon that ridiculous luxury cage. The special spot in the woods he’d taken me to—his thinking place, he’d called it. You didn’t share that kind of thing with someone who was just a fuck buddy. You didn’t have the kind of intense connection we had with a fuck buddy.
Did you?
I pulled out of the parking lot, turning toward the FRMC instead of Liv’s apartment. I needed to see him. Tell him in person. Maybe then I could gauge his reaction, see if there was any chance he felt the same way.
And then there was the other thing. The thing I hadn’t told him yet. The thing that might change everything. It wasn’t a sure thing yet anyway.
Because what would I even say? “Hey, I know we’re just fucking around, but I’m trying to uproot my entire career to be closer to you”? Yeah, that wouldn’t send him running for the hills at all.
Traffic was light as I crossed town, my mind spinning with all the ways this conversation could go. Best case: Dylan would bethrilled I was staying, admit he had feelings too, and we’d figure out the distance until my transfer came through. Worst case: he’d see it as me getting too attached, freak out, and end things completely.
The FRMC came into view, its industrial facade familiar and comforting after weeks of classes and visits. I pulled into the lot, scanning for Dylan’s bike out of habit. No sign of it. My stomach sank, but I parked anyway. Maybe he was inside, working on someone else’s bike.
I headed for the main entrance, nodding to a few familiar faces. The place was busy for a Tuesday afternoon—a class in session in one room, customers browsing gear in another. I made my way toward the back workshop where Dylan usually held court among tools and motorcycle parts.
The space was empty. His toolbox closed, workbench cleared of the usual organized chaos. No music blaring from the portable speaker he kept on a shelf. No Purple-haired smartass lounging on a stool, making dirty jokes while fixing complicated machinery.
I checked the break room, the front desk, even stuck my head into Silas’s office. No Dylan.
“Looking for Kim?” Silas asked, glancing up from his computer.
“Yeah, is he around?”
Silas shook his head. “Took the day off. Said something about heading up to the mountains.”
“Did he say when he’d be back?”
“Nope. But he’s on the schedule tomorrow morning.” He tilted his chin and nodded at someone behind me, and I turned to find Lucas standing there. “Seen your brother, Lucas?”
Lucas frowned, shaking his head. “No. I was, um. I was just stopping by to hang out with the guys.”
Silas clapped him on the back. “Fantastic. Did you get on a bike yet?”
