Page 15 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter

I lift my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head. Cool air hits my skin as I stand before him in my simple white bra. For a moment, I feel self-conscious—I'm soft where he's hard, curved where he's flat.

But the way he looks at me, his eyes traveling slowly over my exposed skin with undisguised appreciation, banishes any insecurity.

His hands find my waist, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my jeans. I step closer, wanting to feel his skin against mine. When our bodies meet, the contact draws sounds from both of us—my soft gasp mingling with his deeper groan.

We move to the bed, Samuel guiding me down gently, coming to rest beside me. His hand traces a path from my shoulder to my hip, learning the contours of my body with patient thoroughness. When his fingers brush the underside of my breast, I arch into the touch, silently asking for more.

"Can I?" he asks, his hand sliding to the clasp of my bra.

I nod, lifting slightly to make it easier. With deft fingers, he undoes the clasp, drawing the straps down my arms and setting the garment aside. His sharp intake of breath as he looks at me sends a thrill of feminine power through me.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, before lowering his head to press a kiss to the curve of my breast.

His mouth is warm and gentle at first, exploring with careful attention. But when his lips close around my nipple, all gentleness gives way to a more urgent need. I arch against him, my hands finding his hair, holding him to me as his tongueand teeth work in tandem to draw sensations I've never felt so intensely.

"Samuel," I gasp, my hips lifting instinctively, seeking friction, seeking him.

He raises his head, his eyes meeting mine. The raw need I see there matches the ache building between my thighs. His hand travels down my stomach, pausing at the button of my jeans.

"Is this okay?" he asks, always checking, always making sure.

"Yes," I breathe. "Please."

He undoes the button, then the zipper, his movements deliberate but unhurried. When his fingers dip beneath the waistband, brushing against the sensitive skin of my lower abdomen, I shiver with anticipation.

"Lift up," he instructs softly, and I do, allowing him to pull my jeans down and off, leaving me in only my underwear.

He kisses me again, deeper now, more urgent. His hand slides down my side, over my hip, to the outside of my thigh, then slowly inward. When his fingers brush against me through the thin cotton of my underwear, I gasp against his mouth, the touch electric even through the fabric.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and masculine satisfaction.

His fingers begin to move in slow circles, finding the bundle of nerves that makes my hips buck against his hand. The pressure builds exquisitely, but it's not enough—I want more, want him.

"Please," I breathe, not even sure what I'm asking for, only that I need it desperately.

Samuel seems to understand. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear, drawing it down my legs and off, leaving me completely exposed to his gaze. I should feel vulnerable, but all I feel is desired, wanted in a way I've never experienced before.

His hand returns to me, but this time there's no barrier between his skin and mine. His fingers slide through my folds, gathering moisture, exploring with careful attention to my reactions. When one finger circles my entrance, I lift my hips in silent invitation.

He enters me slowly, a single digit that has me clutching at his shoulders. When he adds a second, stretching me gently, I moan his name, my head falling back against the pillows. His thumb finds my clit, circling in time with the movement of his fingers inside me, and the dual sensation has me spiraling quickly toward the edge.

"Samuel," I gasp, my nails digging into his skin. "I'm close—"

"Let go," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see you."

His words, combined with the skilled movement of his hand, push me over. My back arches as pleasure crashes through me in waves, my inner muscles clenching around his fingers. He works me through it, gentling his touch as I come down, trembling and sensitive.

Before I fully recover, Samuel moves to kneel between my legs. His jeans are still on, the fabric rough against my over-sensitized skin. I reach for his belt, suddenly desperate to feel all of him.

"Off," I manage, tugging at the leather strap. "I want to feel you."

He helps me, undoing the belt and button before standing to remove his jeans and boxers in one fluid motion. When he straightens, I get my first full view of him—all hard muscle and defined lines, his arousal prominent and intimidating in its size.

I reach for him, but he catches my hand, bringing it to his lips instead. "If you touch me right now, this will be over too quickly," he explains, pressing a kiss to my palm.

He settles between my thighs, his weight supported on his forearms. I can feel him, hot and hard against my entrance, but he doesn't push forward.

"Are you sure?" he asks one more time, his eyes searching mine.

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