Page 38 of Falling for the Firefighter
“There’s no way you’re shutting the door on this,” he cuts in, voice low but absolute. “Don’t pretend the past week meant nothing.”
“It was just sex.” I lift my chin, defiant. Lying. Both of us know it.
“Don’t insult us both.”
Silence pulses between us. My heart kicks against my ribs like it wants to escape the room. His body’s still, but the air around him feels molten. Ready to ignite.
“We agreed to keep the personal separate,” I say. “Focus on the job.”
“No. You said that. I let you say it because you were scared. Still are.” He leans down until his mouth hovers beside my ear. “But I’ve had my cock inside you, Josephine. Felt you clench around me like you couldn’t get enough. Watched you beg me not to stop. You think I’m the kind of man who fucks and walks away?”
Heat surges up my throat. My fingers tighten around the pencil again—this time, I don’t snap it. But I want to.
“I don’t know who you’ve had in your bed before,” he says, stepping around the table, slow and steady like he’s stalking prey, “but I’m not the kind of man who fucks and walks away. Especially not from a woman like you.”
I hold my ground. Barely.
His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, a touch so reverent it steals my breath. “You and I… we don’t just fit. We burn. Same fire. Same fucking spark.”
He exhales slowly, gaze locked on mine like he’s reading every fractured piece. “I’ve never met a woman who gives like you. Who fights like she’s made of armor, but surrenders like it’s a gift.”
My pulse stutters, betrays me.
“This isn’t over,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing my temple, voice rough velvet. “Not by a long shot. I’m coming over tonight. And we’re going to talk. Quiet. Honest. No interruptions. You’re mine, and I’m going to show you what that means.”
A promise, not a threat. But it still leaves me trembling.
Then he turns—no hesitation, no backward glance—and walks out like he just rewrote the rules.
And all I can do is stand there, every nerve lit, every wall cracked wide open… already burning for what comes next.
Chapter 8
Smoke Signals
Last night playson repeat behind my eyes—the low rasp of Mac’s voice in the dark, the way his words didn’t just settle under my skin, they branded me.
“You’re mine, Josephine. Not just in bed. Not just in heat. I see you—all of you. And I’m not going anywhere.”
It wasn’t a demand. It was a vow. One he sealed with slow, devastating possession. The kind of sex that rewires a woman.
Feral, filthy, reverent.
He worshipped me with his mouth, his hands, his body—then ruined me completely until all I could do was scream his name into the mattress and beg for more.
He didn’t just fuck me.
He claimed me.
And I let him.
Now, dawn breaks in shades of amber and rose as Mac’s team assembles at the trailhead. The air carries the scent of pine and possibility, dew clinging to every surface like tiny prisms. Under different circumstances, I might pause to appreciate the beauty.
Today, there’s no room for awe.
My focus narrows—hazard points, terrain changes, emergency egress routes, weather fronts closing in.
Everything that could go wrong.
