Page 24 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
She looks up, her hazel eyes meeting mine in the dim light. Her lips part, her breath coming faster now, and I can see the desire written plainly across her face.
“Noah,” she whispers, her voice soft and husky, and that’s all it takes.
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks, and lean down to capture her lips with mine for the second time. The kiss is hungrier, tinged with desperation, our mouths moving against each other with an urgency that surprised even me.
Her hands clutch my shoulders, nails biting into my skin as she presses closer, her body molding to mine without a sliver of space. I feel the hard peaks of her breasts against me, and I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding to her waist to pull her in tighter.
The fabric is still damp and clinging, and without thinking, I reach down, tugging down her arms. I’m desperate to see her, to see the perfection, and I’m not disappointed. Her skin is pale and smooth, her breasts full and heavy; she has enough to fill each palm and spill over, her nipples tight buds of desire.
I break the kiss, trailing my lips down her neck, my hands cupping her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasps, her head falling back, her hands tangling in my hair as she arches into my touch.
“Noah,” she moans, her voice a plea, and I raise my head, meeting her eyes. The desire there is raw and unguarded, and it sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin. I'm hard, achingly so, my cock throbbing against the fly of my jeans.
I want her. Need her. But I hesitate, my hands pausing on her skin.
“Kate,” I murmur, my voice rough.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingertips trembling against the damp fabric of my T-shirt. Then they’re at my shoulders. Then, the back of my neck. Pulling me down as if she’s afraid I’ll stop.
And perhaps I should. Reasonably, I should stop.
But then she sighs into my mouth, barely a sound, more breath than voice, and something inside me unravels. Comes completely undone.
I lean her back on the couch without even thinking, my body following hers in a tangle of limbs and soaked fabric. We’re all fingertips and open mouths and reckless warmth now.
My hand slides up to cup her breast, fingers teasing over soft, heated skin. She’s warm and damp, goosebumps rising beneath my palm. Her breath hitches, and she arches into my touch—just enough to press closer—and, fuck, it feels like the whole world tilts.
She’s burning up beneath my hands, her body arching into mine, her knees on either side of me now, legs trembling as if they’re struggling to hold back the same storm crashing through me.
I kiss the corner of her mouth. Then, her jaw. Then lower.
Her skin tastes like rain and heat and something I can’t name but never want to forget.
She lets her head fall back with a soft, helpless noise, and my lips brush the hollow of her throat, lingering there, pulse fluttering wild beneath my mouth. My hand finds the small of her back and pulls her closer. Flush against me.
She gasps, and her hips shift, enough for me to feel her, warm and insistent through my soaked clothes. The press of her curves. The thrum of want I shouldn’t be entertaining, but can’t ignore. Her hands fist the back of my shirt again, this time harder.
I want to feel her completely against me. I want her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands pulling me in deeper, my name on her lips like a prayer and a promise.
But then her breath hitches.
And not from pleasure this time; it’s like she’s realizing exactly what is happening and what we are doing.
“I think we should stop,” She says. It’s like being doused with cold water.
I freeze as the unbidden thought arises. What the hell am I doing? Her son and Blaze are sleeping in the next room. I offered her a place to stay safe from the storm, and now I’m trying to get down with her in the same house I thought I would live in with Josie.
I observe her, her lips are swollen from the kisses. Her eyes a little glassy. Her skin is still a bit too cool. Damp and recovering from the storm that brought her to my arms in the first place.
And suddenly, the part of me that’s been so desperate to feel her, so drunk on this kiss, on her, wakes up to the truth of the moment.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I ease my hands back, slow, like they weigh too much to move.
She blinks up at me, still panting. Still flushed. And God help me, she looks like sin and sanctuary and everything I didn’t know I was missing.
I brush the wet hair from her face and repeat the apology. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
But my gaze goes back to her. She’s lying there, bare from the waist up, and the sight is enough to make me strain achingly against the fly; I may burst at any moment.
