Page 75 of My Grumpy Fire Chief Next Door
“I’m not going anywhere.” I rise slowly and extend a hand. “Come with me.”
He stands and follows, his fingers brushing mine as we cross the dim hallway to my bedroom. The air is cooler here, still carrying the hush of night.
I don't close the door. I don't need to.
I sit on the bed and look up at him. “Lie down with me.”
His eyes flicker with hesitation, not lust. Something more tender. He nods and settles beside me, both of us fully clothed, stretched across the comforter like we don’t want to break the spell.
We lie facing each other in the low light.
“I meant what I said,” I whisper. “You don’t have to forget her. But you deserve more than surviving.”
His throat works as he swallows. “And you deserve someone who isn’t afraid.”
I reach for his hand again, weaving our fingers together. “Then let’s stop being afraid. Just for tonight. No past. No future. Just this.”
Noah exhales a shaky breath, like that one sentence peeled something loose in him. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow and reverent.
“I think I’m falling for you, Kate.”He breathes the words like they cost him something.
“Not because I planned to. Not because I was ready. But because every time I’m near you… I start to remember who I am when I’m not carrying the weight of the past.”
My heart stutters, then soars. I scoot closer, until there’s no space between us. “Then fall. I’m already right here.”
His lips find mine, unhurried, like he’s tasting something precious. Our kisses are soft at first, then deeper, more urgent, but still laced with meaning. His hand cups my cheek like he’s memorizing the shape of me. I sigh into him, feeling the ache in my chest finally start to ease.
We undress each other slowly, not like a race, but like a conversation—every movement a question, every touch an answer. There’s nothing hurried about the way he touches me, nothing performative. Just skin to skin, breath to breath.
When we come together, it’s not about release. It’s about relief. About connection. About the kind of vulnerability that comes not from stripping bare but from being fully seen—and loved anyway.
And afterward, when we’re tangled in the sheets and the soft blue light of morning begins to edge through the window, I know something has shifted.
Not broken.
Not vanished.
But healed.
Together.
Chapter twenty
Noah
Ishould be tired by now, considering I haven’t taken my hands off her for hours—but I’m not. And neither is she.
Kate lies beneath me, flushed and glowing, her fingers tangled around my neck like she’s afraid to let go. Her body is soft and warm, her legs curled around my waist, anchoring me to her in a way that feels more powerful than any promise.
I trail kisses across her skin—her ribs, the soft swell of her breast, the curve of her neck—drinking in every gasp, every shiver. Her breath hitches as I take her nipple into my mouth, teasing her with my tongue until she arches into me, a low moan breaking free from her throat.
"God, Noah," she whispers, voice breathless and wrecked.
I lift my head to look at her. Her eyes are wide and glassy, lips kiss-swollen, her hair a halo around her face on the pillow. She looks like a dream I don’t want to wake from.
I cup her cheek with one hand, brushing my thumb across her bottom lip. “I can’t stop looking at you. Like I still don’t believe you’re real.”
“Every time I touch you,” I say, my voice low and rough, “it feels like I’m coming back to life.”
