Page 63 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

She did her best to obliterate his control, sucking him to a ruthless, shouting climax that would have woken the neighbors if she had any. Afterward, he lay, wrecked, in her antique four-poster bed, his elbow crooked over his face, his chest rising and falling with deep shudders. She rested her chin on his chest, squinting at the slight black hairs until they looked like tangled underbrush in a forest.

She ran her fingertips over the ridged muscles of his torso, feeling the warm stickiness of sweat. “Have you ever come so hard you forgot where you were?”

“No,” he admitted, his voice still raspy. “I never want to lose that much control.”

“Why not? You make me forget everything. Maybe control is overrated.”

“Depends on the situation. When you have a big old crowbar sticking out of you, and it’s inside another person, you don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

She let out a soft laugh, a puff of air that stirred the silky hairs. Sunlight slanted through the window, casting a bright rectangle across Fred’s middle. “You make it sound like a weapon, like a tire iron or something.”

“Of course it’s a weapon. A weapon of loooove.”

She snorted, and rubbed her cheek against his chest. Fred was so darn cute. She could barely stand it sometimes.

“But I’m a lover not a fighter,” he continued. “Especially with that thing.”

“I can’t believe you call it a ‘thing.’ You’re going to hurt its feelings.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re around to boost its self-esteem.” He glanced down his body at his exhausted member, which rested against his leg in a dusky curl.

“I’m a dog therapist, not a penis therapist.”

“You should branch out. We can call you the Penis Whisperer.”

“How flattering. Maybe I’ll put that on my résumé.”

He wound his fingers through her hair and gently tugged, the way she liked. Tingles of pleasure danced across her scalp. “Does a girl like you need a résumé?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “My clients don’t ask for a résumé. It’s all word of mouth. But when my college roommates were applying for jobs, I helped them write their résumés. And before I started the Refuge, I considered applying for a job at The Gap or something. Krispy Kreme. Dog walker. Something in the non-Kessler world.”

How had she gotten onto that subject? That’s how their conversations went. From goofy sexual puns to revelations about their pasts. No topic was off limits; maybe that’s why talking to Fred was so addictive.

“So why didn’t you get a job like that?”

“It didn’t seem right. I don’t need the money, and I’d be taking a job from someone who does. And wherever I worked, my employers would have to deal with my crazy security-obsessed dad. And just think about the stress Dad would go through. I couldn’t do that to him. I caused him enough stress when I was … kidnapped.”

She didn’t usually use that word, but everything was different with Fred. She didn’t want to hide anything from him.

Fred was looking at her so closely, she almost wished she hadn’t mentioned her kidnapping. “You don’t like to talk about that, do you?”

“No. I mean, I’ve been through plenty of therapy. I can talk about it, even though I couldn’t at first. But I don’t want that crazy man to dictate who I am. If I’m just the girl who got kidnapped, I might as well have stayed in that cage.”

Gently, his hand slipped to the nape of her neck and found a knot of tension that had suddenly developed.

“What if you’re the girl who escaped the cage?”

An image from her captivity flashed through her mind, the big man coming toward her with that horrible white mask. Her scrambling back against the bars, warm pee running down her leg because she was so scared. Escape. Could she ever really escape? She prayed he wouldn’t ask more about the kidnapping. She didn’t want to go back there anymore, didn’t want her mind occupied by those memories.

He must have picked up on her silent plea because he changed the subject. “How did you start the Refuge for Injured Wildlife?”

She could have kissed him. “Well, I knew I wanted to work with animals. I used to bring rescues home to Cranesbill all the time. It was a hobby, basically, but since it didn’t involve any ominous people, my dad was okay with it. So I figured an animal refuge would be a good choice. In college I took a few workshops with a dog trainer who uses more intuitive techniques, and loved it. He said I was a natural, and that it would be a crime for me not to use my talents. That fit well with the refuge idea, although I have to keep my dog therapy office away from the wildlife areas. I found an abandoned wilderness training camp and we converted the buildings into what we needed. Since we were starting the place from zero, my father was able set up the security the way he wanted. And I didn’t take a single job away from anyone. We created jobs, in fact. We hired two vets and four techs. So everyone was happy.”

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