Page 12 of The Firefighter's Claim
"Now we can talk," he says finally, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
Reality rushes back in, momentarily banished by pleasure but now insistent. I have no clothes. No home. No toiletries. No way to get to work on Monday. The practical concerns I've been avoiding crash over me in a wave.
"I need to figure out what to do," I say, pulling slightly away so I can see his face. "My apartment, my job, my stuff... my life is kind of in shambles right now."
His expression darkens. "Your apartment building's going to be uninhabitable for months. Maybe longer."
The news shouldn't surprise me, given the intensity of the fire, but it still lands like a punch to the gut. "I need to find a place to stay. And clothes. And contact my principal about?—"
"You're staying here," he interrupts, the statement brooking no argument.
"Dagger, I can't just?—"
"You can. You are." His arm tightens around me. "We'll get you clothes today. Whatever else you need."
The ease with which he assumes responsibility for me is both comforting and alarming. "This is moving really fast," I saycarefully. "We barely know each other. What happened between us is... incredible. But maybe we need to slow down a bit. Set some boundaries."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "Boundaries?"
"Yes, boundaries. Like... maybe I should find my own place. We could date like normal people. Get to know each other without all the..." I gesture vaguely between our naked bodies.
In one swift movement, he rolls on top of me, caging me beneath him, his weight supported on his forearms. "You don't need walls anymore," he says, his voice low and intent. "I'm your shelter now."
The declaration should sound ridiculous, melodramatic. Instead, it resonates somewhere deep inside me, speaking to a part that's always longed to be safe, to be cherished, to be claimed.
"This isn't normal," I whisper, making one last stand for rationality. "People don't just fall into... whatever this is... overnight."
"Fuck normal," he growls, grinding his hips against mine, his renewed arousal evident. "This is real. You feel it too. Don't lie to yourself."
He's right. Despite every logical objection, despite the voice of caution screaming in my head, I do feel it. This pull between us that defies explanation. This sense that I've found something—someone—I didn't even know I was looking for.
"I'm scared," I admit, the confession slipping out before I can stop it.
His expression softens. "Of me?"
"No. Of this. Of how much I already feel. It doesn't make sense."
He lowers his head, pressing his forehead to mine. "Some things don't need to make sense. They just are."
His simplicity cuts through my complications. Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm overthinking this, trying to rationalize something that exists beyond reason.
His lips find mine in a kiss that's surprisingly gentle given the hunger I feel radiating from him. "Stay," he murmurs against my mouth. "Stay with me."
It's possibly the most reckless decision I've ever made. Certainly the most unlike the careful, practical Connie Evans who plans lessons weeks in advance and always carries an umbrella just in case.
But as his hands begin to wander again, as his mouth trails fire down my neck, I find myself surrendering to the inevitability of us.
"Yes," I whisper, the word half consent, half surrender. "I'll stay."
The smile that breaks across his face is transformative, softening the hard planes of his features, making him look younger, almost boyish. It's gone in an instant, replaced by heated intent as he begins to work his way down my body again.
"Dagger, again? Already?"
He glances up from where he's kissing the underside of my breast, his eyes dark with mischief and desire. "Got a lot of lost time to make up for."
As his mouth closes around my nipple, as pleasure begins to build again, I wonder if perhaps I'm not falling. Maybe I've already fallen, plummeting headlong into something I never expected to find, especially not in the midst of losing everything else.
And maybe, just maybe, that's exactly where I'm meant to be.
