Page 22 of The Firefighter's Claim
"Let me," I say, sliding from his lap to stand between his knees again. I tug at the waistband of his sweatpants. "Lift up."
His eyebrows rise in surprise, but he complies, allowing me to pull his sweatpants down and off. He sits before me now, gloriously naked, his erection standing proud against his stomach.
I drop to my knees, looking up to maintain eye contact as I take him in my hand. His breath hisses between his teeth, his pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remains.
"Connie," he groans as I lean forward, taking the tip of him into my mouth. "Fuck."
I've done this before, but always following his lead, responding to his directions. Now I set the pace, exploring what makes his thighs tense, what draws those deep groans from his chest, what makes his fingers tangle in my hair.
His reactions fuel my confidence. I take him deeper, using my hand to supplement what my mouth can't accommodate. The taste of him, the scent of him, the sounds he makes—it all combines into an intoxicating reminder of how thoroughly we belong to each other.
"Stop," he gasps finally, gently pulling me away. "Going to come if you keep that up."
I rise to my feet, feeling powerful in a way I never have before. "Bedroom," I suggest, already pulling my shirt over my head, stepping out of my panties.
He doesn't need to be told twice. In one fluid movement, he stands and lifts me into his arms, carrying me to our bedroom with the same sure strength he showed the night of the fire. But this time, I'm not a stranger being rescued. I'm his woman, being cherished.
He lays me on the bed with reverent care, then covers my body with his, skin to skin, heat to heat. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that's both tender and demanding, his hands mapping every curve as if memorizing me by touch.
"I need to be inside you," he murmurs against my lips. "Need to feel you around me."
"Yes," I breathe, spreading my thighs in invitation. "Please."
He positions himself at my entrance, then pauses, his eyes finding mine. "Say it again," he requests, his voice roughened with desire and emotion. "Need to hear it."
I cradle his face in my hands, ensuring he sees the truth in my eyes. "I love you, Dagger Wolfe. I'm yours, completely and forever."
With a groan that seems torn from his very soul, he enters me in one smooth thrust, filling me completely. The stretch is exquisite, my body welcoming him as if made specifically for this purpose.
"Perfect," he whispers, holding still to let me adjust. "So perfect around me. Like you were made for me."
"I was," I reply, wrapping my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. "We were made for each other."
He begins to move, setting a rhythm that's neither hurried nor teasing—deep, purposeful strokes that hit exactly where I need him. One large hand slides beneath me, tilting my hipsto deepen the angle, while the other cups my face, keeping our gazes locked.
"Never going to let you go," he says, punctuating each word with a thrust. "Never going to stop loving you."
"I don't want you to," I gasp, pleasure building with each movement of his hips. "Don't ever want you to stop."
Our bodies move together with practiced synchronicity, every touch, every kiss, every thrust bringing us closer to completion and to each other. It's not just physical—it's a communion, a confirmation of everything we've become to each other.
"My girl," he groans, his rhythm faltering as he nears his release. "My heart. My everything."
His words, combined with the pressure of his body against mine, push me over the edge. I come with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him in waves of pleasure that seem endless. He follows moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of my own, until we collapse together, sweaty and sated and utterly connected.
In the aftermath, he gathers me close, his large body curled protectively around mine. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, occasionally dipping lower to possessively cup my ass. The gesture is so familiar now—his need to constantly touch, to claim, to remind us both that I'm his.
"You're my forever," I tell him, nestling closer, my head tucked under his chin where I can hear the steady beat of his heart. "You know that, right?"
His arms tighten around me. "I know," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Still like hearing you say it."
I smile against his chest, marveling at how thoroughly this man has claimed my heart. Three weeks ago, I was a woman who lived alone, who taught kindergarten, who had never knownwhat it meant to be loved with such fierce devotion. Now I'm his—his woman, his heart, his future.
"I never expected you," I murmur, the words muffled against his skin. "Never expected any of this."
"Does that scare you still?" he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "How fast it happened?"
I shake my head. "Not anymore. Now it just feels right. Like everything before was just... waiting. For you."
