Page 44 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
Foster’s whole body went rigid. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy.”
“Too much?” I asked, pulling back to gauge his reaction.
His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, and he was breathing like he’d just run a mile. “We’re going to be late,” he said, but it sounded more like he was reminding himself than me.
“Save it for later?” I suggested.
“Yeah,” he said roughly. “Fuck, yeah. Definitely saving it for later.”
I grinned and headed for the door, grabbing my backpack from its spot by the door. “See you at breakfast, Sheriff.”
“Tommy,” he called after me, and I turned back. He was standing in the middle of our tiny cabin, hair still messed up, shirt rucked up, looking like sin and temptation and everything I’d never known I wanted.
“Yeah?”
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then seemed to think better of it. “Nothing. Just… be careful today.”
“Always am.”
“Yeah, right. Your eyes on my ass during technical rescues says something different.”
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months. “It’s called situational awareness, Foster. First rule of wilderness survival is you gotta keep an eye out for predators.” I waggled my eyebrows.
Foster’s answering smile was small but genuine. “Get out of here before I teach you what predators do when you get too close,” he growled.
I grinned. “Always eager to learn.” Then I shot him a wink and hurried out of the cabin before he could make good on hisgrowl. I practically floated to the dining hall, whistling under my breath like an idiot.
Behind me, I heard Foster mutter something to Chickie that sounded a lot like, “Don’t judge me! You’ve been practically humping the man since you met him,” and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
For the next seven and a half weeks, I was going to enjoy every minute of this wild thing we’d started.
And I wouldn’t let myself think about what came next.
11
FOSTER
The alarm wentoff at five thirty, but I was already awake, staring at the cabin ceiling and listening to Tommy’s steady breathing from the bed three feet away.
It felt like Christmas morning. Today was another big SAR drill, one I’d spent the past two evenings meticulously planning for this week’s SAR cohort.
I fucking loved this job. Being able to spend every single day teaching search and rescue was a dream come true. Watching the students’ eyes light up as they suddenly grasped a concept, or answering smart questions that showed just how much they cared about their jobs, was addictive.
As I ran through everything I needed to do to prepare for the day, I felt that familiar calm settling over me, the one that always came when I knew I was exactly where I belonged.
Chickie must have sensed my movement because she lifted her head from her spot in the corner, tail already starting itsmorning helicopter routine. At six months old, she was still more enthusiasm than skill, but something about today felt different. Like maybe we were both ready to prove ourselves.
“Morning, girl,” I whispered, swinging my legs out of bed. “You ready to show these kids how it’s done?”
She bounded over, pressing her cold nose against my palm and doing that full-body wiggle that meant she was ready for anything.
Across from me, Tommy stirred but didn’t wake. I tried to remind myself it was a good thing. The only reason we’d slept in separate beds was so that both of us could catch up on sleep before the big day.
For the past several nights, we’d stayed up way too late fucking around. Then, after falling asleep together, one of us would inevitably wake up to take a piss and wake the other, starting the fuck-around-and-fall-asleep cycle all over again. I hadn’t had this many frotting and hand-job sessions since the law enforcement academy when I discovered two guys in my rookie class and I all shared something in common.
Tommy had talked a big talk about sucking me off, but inevitably, neither one of us took the time to do more than reach for each other and get off as quickly and desperately as possible. And I, for one, wasn’t complaining. As long as my orgasm happened at Tommy Marian’s hands, I didn’t give a shit how it came about.
I dressed quietly in the pre-dawn darkness—tactical pants, base layer, boots that had seen more miles than most people’s cars. As I packed my gear, Chickie danced around my feet,somehow managing to anticipate every piece of equipment I reached for.
