Page 15 of Falling for the Firefighter
Undiluted, masculine virility.
Like if he reached for me right now, I’d fold.
Collapse.
Submit.
I shift my weight, thighs pressing tight—because the pulse between them won’t stop.
Won’t be ignored.
“Yes,” I manage, voice hoarse. “Three routes. Two eastward descents, one drops north—less exposed, but longer.”
His eyes lift, finally.
And just like that, the air changes.
Like he feels it.
The tension. The heat.
His gaze holds mine for a beat too long.
Long enough for my breath to catch.
Long enough for everything inside me to scream,Take me. Do it now.
But he just nods, eyes unreadable.
“Good work.”
Then he looks away—like he didn’t just light me on fire and walk away from the blaze.
Like he’s not the walking embodiment of everything I’ve spent my life resisting.
And still, I stand here—heart hammering, body betraying me—wanting it all over again.
Worse.
Rougher.
Real.
Focus!
"Different options for different scenarios." I point to each route. "This one's fastest but exposed—dangerous in lightning. This one's sheltered but steeper—risky in wet conditions. This one's longest but has water access and natural shelters."
"You favor the middle route." It's not a question.
"How can you tell?"
"The pencil marks are darker. You've traced it more times, considering it."
His observation unsettles me. Few people notice such details.
"It splits the difference between speed and safety." I tap the route. "Best compromise in most scenarios."
"I disagree." He traces the longest route with his finger. "Water access trumps speed in evacuation scenarios. Dehydration kills faster than most people realize."
