Page 13 of The Grumpy Firefighter
The thought of hot water cascading over our bodies, his hands slick with soap, sends a fresh wave of desire through me despite our recent satisfaction. "Lead the way, Chief."
He gathers our scattered clothing, then sweeps me into his arms again before I can protest. "Ankle," he reminds me when I open my mouth.
"My hero," I tease, but I'm oddly touched by his continued concern even in this moment.
The upstairs shower is utilitarian but spacious, clearly designed for multiple firefighters to use after calls. Paul sets me on a bench, turning to adjust the water temperature with practiced efficiency.
Steam begins to fill the tiled space, and I watch appreciatively as he finishes undressing, removing his pants and boots before helping me with my underwear. Naked, he's even more impressive—powerful thighs, narrow hips, and a perfectly shaped backside that my hands itch to explore.
As if reading my thoughts, he turns, offering his hand to help me stand. "See something you like?"
"Everything," I admit honestly, letting my gaze travel the length of him. "You're gorgeous, Paul."
A flush that has nothing to do with the steam colors his cheekbones, and I realize he's genuinely affected by the compliment. It's endearing on a man who otherwise exudes such confidence and control.
The water is perfectly hot as we step under the spray together, rivulets tracing paths down our bodies. Paul reaches for the soap, working it into a lather between his large hands before beginning to wash me with reverent attention.
His touch is exploratory, thorough, palms sliding over my shoulders, down my arms, across my back. He takes his time with my breasts, soap making his hands glide effortlessly over sensitive skin until I'm arching into his touch again, desire rekindling despite our recent climaxes.
"Turn around," he murmurs, and I comply, presenting my back to him.
His soapy hands work their way down my spine, over the curve of my butt, down my thighs. The sensation is both soothing and arousing, practical and intimate. When he kneels to wash around my injured ankle, the tenderness of the gesture brings an unexpected lump to my throat.
I'm more playful with my exploration, tracing the defined muscles of his chest and arms, circling his flat nipples until they peak under my touch. He watches me with hooded eyes as I wash lower, over his abdomen, around to his back, deliberately avoiding where he's beginning to harden again.
"Tease," he accuses softly when my hands slide over his hips, down his thighs, then back up to repeat the circuit.
"Patience," I counter, enjoying the way his muscles tense under my touch. "Isn't that what you're always preaching? Safety first, careful preparation..."
His laugh turns to a groan when I finally wrap my soapy hand around him, stroking from base to tip with firm pressure. "That feels too good to be safe."
"I'll be very, very careful," I promise, sinking slowly to my knees before him, the shower spray warm against my back.
His eyes widen as he realizes my intent. "Natalie, your ankle—"
"Is fine," I assure him, settling comfortably. "Let me do this. I want to taste you."
The groan that escapes him as my lips close around him is possibly the most gratifying sound I've ever heard. His handscome to rest lightly on my head, not guiding, just connecting as I take him deeper.
I work him with unhurried attention, alternating between my mouth and my hand, discovering what makes his breath catch, what draws those deep groans from his chest. The shower continues to rain down around us, steam rising, creating a private world of sensation.
"Natalie," he warns after several minutes, voice strained. "I'm close. You don't have to—"
I look up, meeting his eyes as I take him deeper, communicating without words that I want everything he has to give. The sight seems to undo him, his head falls back, muscles tensing as he finds his release. I stay with him through each pulse, swallowing around him until he gently guides me away, drawing me up to stand before him.
His kiss is tender now, grateful, his arms encircling me as the water continues to cascade over us both. We stay like that for long moments, simply holding each other as our heartbeats slow to normal.
Eventually, he reaches around me to shut off the water, grabbing towels from a nearby shelf. He wraps one around me first, then secures another at his waist before helping me step from the shower stall.
"We should get dressed," he says, though his expression suggests he'd rather do the opposite. "The crew will be back soon."
Reality intrudes like a cold draft, reminding me that this interlude, however magical, has occurred in a public building where his subordinates could return at any moment. I nod, reaching for the borrowed t-shirt.
"My clothes from yesterday are still in the guest room," I say. "Though they probably smell like smoke."
"I have spare clothes in my office," he offers. "Nothing that will fit properly, but better than smoky clothes."
Wrapped in towels, we make our way down the hallway to the room I'd slept in. There's a new intimacy between us now, evident in the way his hand rests at the small of my back, how our eyes meet with shared knowledge of each other's bodies.
