Page 222 of Knotting the Firefighters
He glances over, hand tightening on the gearshift. "Try to breathe, honey. We'll be there in two minutes."
I do as I'm told. Inhale. Exhale. Doesn't help.
If anything, his words—his voice—just make it worse.
Before the truck has even fully stopped in front of the ranch house, I'm out the door. He follows, not even bothering to lock up, just a shadow on my heels.
The house is empty. Everyone else is at the station or scattered on errands, but it wouldn't matter. Not now. All that matters is the heat.
The air inside is no better—thick with the ghosts of pack scent, every breath branding me with memory. My legs barely work. I stagger, driven forward by some animal logic, straight to the nest room at the end of the hall.
There's a heartbeat of hesitation outside my door—Aidric's palm against the wood, his chest pressed to my back.
"You want this?"
He asks. He actually asks.
The question scrapes something raw and dangerous inside me.
"Yes."
The word is a whimper. I shove at the barrier between us and safety, and suddenly we're inside. The lights are low, the sheets are soft, and my knees threaten to give out seeing the nest waiting—perfect, inviting, so close I can taste it.
I forget my own strength. I turn on Aidric, grabbing fistfuls of his crisp work shirt and yanking—buttons skittering across hardwood, fabric tearing, some animal victorious roar in my ears. He laughs, low and incredulous, and catches my mouth with his before I can say anything stupid.
It's fire. Actual fire. Mouths and hands and hips slamming together, teeth scraping, lips bruising with the force. I'm climbing him, legs around his waist, hands buried in his hair, and he's trying to undress me while keeping hold of my ass, like that's even possible.
He spins, pressing me to the door, grinding against the heat between my legs. The friction is torture—so good I almost sob.
"God, you're desperate," he rasps, sucking a mark onto my neck just above the collarbone. "Anyone ever fucked you during full heat before?"
I shake my head, can't form words. It's never come like this before, sudden and total, and no one’s ever made me want enough to lose control like this.
His hands are working my shirt open, buttons flying, then lower, popping my fly, shoving the waistband down around my thighs, all while I try to peel his ruined shirt off his shoulders.
I'm panting now, every breath a plea.
"Need you. Please."
He grins, eyes gone molten.
"Patience, Omega. Gonna give you everything you want."
He rips the last of the uniform off me—shirt, bra, panties, all gone, pooling at my ankles. He peels out of his own, dropping dark slacks and shorts in a heap. And fuck, he's already hard, thick, and flushed, the sight alone enough to send a fresh wave of slick down my thighs.
Aidric lifts me, pure Alpha strength, and I wrap around him instinctively. His mouth is back on mine, bruising, wrecking,eating every sound I make. He breaks just long enough to bicker?—
"Lucky the firehouse is getting rebuilt, so you can still be chief, Murphy. Because even like this, you couldn't run my station."
I'm breathless and greedy, mouthing at his jaw.
"How about you come try to take it from me for once, Hawthorne."
He bites down on my shoulder, claiming.
"I'd never want you to bend for me in the professional field," he grinds against my entrance, almost inside, almost—but not yet— "But I'll bend you every way you let me in this bed. In this nest. Wherever you'll fucking let me."
I laugh. I actually laugh.
