Page 88 of Falling for the Firefighter
A slow shiver rolls through me. That voice. That tone.
The promise of it.
I drag my fingers down his chest, nails grazing along the ridges of muscle, and feel him harden beneath my touch. Again. Still.
His control frays in real time as I shift, straddling his hips, naked and aching and utterly his.
“I could say no,” I whisper, teasing, breath hot against his lips.
His grip tightens in my hair, just enough to sting. Just enough to make my breath hitch.
“But you won’t.” His voice is iron wrapped in velvet. “Because you need this. Crave it. And I’m not asking you to be my wife. I’m telling you.”
I don’t deny his words. I can’t.
I meet his gaze and let him see it all—my need, my surrender, my choice.
“Well, then, if it’s settled, you have my complete and undivided attention…Sir.”
The effect is immediate.
His pupils blow wide, hunger replacing the warmth in his eyes like a fuse catching flame. In a single breath, the gentle Mac who cradled me moments ago is gone, replaced by the force of nature I’ve come to love. The man who commands fires and mountains—and me.
He flips me onto my back with a growl, pinning me to the mattress with his full weight, wrists trapped above my head.
“Say it again,” he demands.
“Sir.”
His mouth crashes down on mine, teeth, tongue, claiming. The kiss steals air, thought, and time. His hands are everywhere, mapping me with ruthless precision, dragging need from my body like it’s his right.
And it is.
Because I give it to him. Because I want him to take it.
What follows is no longer gentle. It’s possession—raw, unrelenting, earned. Every thrust, every whispered order, every rough stroke of his hands against my skin carves his name into me.
And I welcome it.
I arch beneath my future husband, body trembling, breath breaking on each desperate cry.
When release takes me, it's not soft. It's an explosion. A surrender. A promise.
Hours later, as golden afternoon light streams through the windows and Scout settles contentedly at the foot of our bed, Mac traces random designs on my shoulder.
"Your father would be proud," he murmurs against my skin. "You didn't just preserve his legacy—you built something beautiful on top of it."
I think of the maps spread across my desk, marked now with routes that saved lives, tunnels that brought people home, pathsthat led a lost fire captain to love. Think of the mountains that tested us, nearly broke us, then blessed us with everything we never knew we needed.
"We built it together," I whisper, turning in his arms to find his eyes—those impossible blue eyes that saw through every wall I built and claimed the woman hiding behind them. "The mountains brought you to me."
"No, Josephine." His thumb brushes away the tear I didn't realize had fallen, his voice soft with absolute certainty. "You brought me home."
And as the sun sets over Angel's Peak, painting our mountains in shades of gold and promise, I know he's right. This is home—not just the cabin, not just the town, but this: his arms around me and the whisper of wind through pine trees that have witnessed a hundred love stories but none quite like ours.
In these mountains that demand everything and give back even more, we've found what neither of us was looking for but both of us desperately needed.
Each other.
