Page 2 of Single Mom's Firemen

"Don't stop!" I plead, teetering on the brink of an explosive climax.

"What was that?" Chase teases, pulling back his touch.

"Don’t stop, sir!" I respond quickly, acutely aware of my vulnerability.

Eric smiles delightedly. “You’re a fast learner. Now, open up,” he says, clasping my chin between his thumb and index finger. I welcome him and his playful tongue.

I revel in the taste of him.

Heavy breaths.

Grunts of animalistic arousal.

The kind of thirst that cannot be quelled unless they claim me.

Fully. Body and soul. I can’t accept anything less and they’re ready to deliver.

Eric’s cock is swollen and rock hard as I wrap my hands around it. The girth is spectacular, and I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight of a single droplet of precum lingering on the tip.

“Not yet, darling,” he says, as if reading my mind. His voice thick with restraint.

Not yet because Wyatt is still on his knees and going down on me. His fingers stretching and probing while his tongue works my clit with expertly applied pressure. He licks me like I’m nothing short of his favorite lollipop, and all I can do is hold on to Eric, stroking his magnificent erection while he kisses me.

Chase’s hands venture lower, his touch igniting new fires. While Eric captivates my mouth and breasts, it’s Chase’s firm grasp on my hips, the sharp spank that sends a shockwave through me, that fractures my restraint. "Spread for me, Halle," he directs.

"Yes, sir!" I comply, voice breathy, as Eric's lips tug at mine.

I tighten my grip on his cock.

Every muscle in my body is ripe with buzzing tension as Wyatt’s mouth makes wild love to my pussy.

My core tightens, Wyatt pulls his fingers out.

Tension coils within me.

I’m lost to sensation as Chase aligns himself, poised at my entrance from behind.

"Fucking hell, you’re irresistible," Chase growls.

"I want it all, Chase," I breathe out, the words as shocking to me as they are inevitable.

I never want this night to end.

1

Halle

A Few Days Earlier

“Something came up. You need to take them,” she says, one hand firmly planted on her hip. Her phone buzzes incessantly with incoming texts.

“You promised you’d look after them for the full evening,” I reply. I take deep, measured breaths as I stare at my mother in sheer disbelief. “I’m working.”

My blood is boiling but I try to keep my composure in front of my kids.

Luna, at five, is perceptive enough to catch the tension in my body language. Sammy, who just turned four, quickly mirrors my mood. The last thing I need is a cranky son on top of an exhausting shift and sore feet.

“What do you want from me?” she says with a nonchalant shrug.

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