Page 25 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
Her skin flushed from heat and chill, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. She doesn’t try to cover herself right away. She just watches me, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m about to bolt… or lose control completely.
And God help me, I almost do.
My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to touch her again. To map the shape of her in this dim, storm-washed room. To pull her back to me and forget everything that’s ever made me hesitate.
But I don’t move; instead, I force a breath through my nose. It’s shaky as hell.
“Here,” I manage, turning enough to grab the folded shirt I left near the hearth. One of mine. Faded blue cotton. Washed a hundred times.
I pass it to her without a word, and she takes it. Never breaking eye contact, fingers brushing mine for a second longer than necessary. Then she slips it over her head, the hem falling mid-thigh, swallowing her frame.
It smells like me. That much, I know.
Somehow, that makes this even harder.
She wraps her arms around herself, not out of shame, but like she’s gathering what’s left of her restraint, too. Her hair’s still damp, clinging to her shoulders, framing her flushed cheeks.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. My heart’s still pounding, fast and hard, like it’s trying to climb out of my chest.
“You can take my bedroom,” I say. My voice is rough. I probably won’t be getting much sleep anyway.
Her eyes narrow slightly as though she hears the layers in that sentence. The things I’m not saying. The things I want to say but don’t trust myself to.
“I’ll stay here; the couch is big enough,” she says softly, already turning away. “I would prefer to stay close to Parker.”
“You both can take my bed. It's bigger than the guest room.”
“No, thank you. You’ve done enough.”
Chapter seven
Kate
Noah’s breath is hot against my thigh.
“I want to taste you,” he growls.
I nod, already trembling, fingers tangling in his hair like they belong there, like he does.
He slides my panties down, slow, reverent, and then tosses them aside like they’re in the way of something sacred. He kneels between my legs, and I can feel his hot breath on me. I can’t help but whimper in anticipation, my body shaking with desire.
His mouth is on me in the next breath, tongue licking a molten trail from the base of my slit to the top, circling my clit like he already knows exactly how to break me apart. And he does. God, he does.
A moan rips from my throat, my hips arching up into him.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Please…”
He groans against me, the vibration tearing through my core. His hands, those big, rough hands, spread across my thighs to hold me open. Exposed. His.
His hands are on my breasts, teasing, tugging, and tweaking the nipples, his mouth still working me below. He lets out a low growl before pressing his mouth deeper, his tongue darting inside me, hot and wet.
It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before; it sends me tipping over the edge, my hips rising from the bed and pushing further into his face. His hands don’t stop roaming over my breasts, caressing and fondling them as he continues to pleasure me.
I grind my hips into his face, the pleasure building inside of me as I gasp and grasp his head tighter. When I turn my head to see him, he’s staring at me, his eyes dark with desire.
“Keep looking at me like that…” He growls against my clitoris, but for the life of me, I can’t come up with a response.
I can feel myself inching closer and closer to the edge; he seems to sense it, too. His hands come up to focus only on my nipple, brushing against them with the calloused pad of his thumb as he continues to lick and suck at my clit.
