Page 62 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“Okay. Who votes for that? Anyone?”

Neither one raised a hand. He smiled smugly. At least they weren’t pretending to like that plan. “I have another idea. We could just play it by ear. It’s only another week.”

She drew her legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Play it by ear. You mean, no ground rules?”

“I can think of one. No more Bradford.”

“No. Of course not.” She looked appalled at the thought. “Okay, I have another. None of your fan club girls.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Then we might have a problem. Reliable sources say you own a ‘Fred’s My Hero’ button. You must be in my fan club.”

She leaned against him, rubbing her head on his arm like a kitten. He wanted to eat her up. “Right at this moment, I’m the president of the Fred Breen fan club. Will you sign my boobs?”

“Sure. One catch. It has to be with my tongue.” He pinned her, giggling, to the back of the couch, cupped her breasts in his hands, and traced his name across her chest with his tongue, wrapping the E around one nipple and landing the final N on the other. Then he went back and filled in some blank spots with little nibbles. By the time he was done, she was squirming and sighing, and he scooped her into his arms and headed for the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

“Your bedroom or mine? Bathtub? Linen closet? Entertainment room?”

“Um …” Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glimmered like stars in the twilight. “All of the above?”

“You’re on.”

Chapter 18

Over the next three days, the sun rose and set, San Gabriel residents commuted to and from work, took their kids to school, and complained about the early heat wave, while Rachel and Fred holed up in her apartment and immersed themselves in each other. They exited only for essential reasons such as Rachel’s appointments at the Refuge. Other than that, they stayed inside and explored each other with an intimacy Rachel had never experienced.

Fred was a sensual man. He liked being naked. He liked her being naked. He liked exploring her body with every tool at his disposal: fingertips, tongue, lips, teeth. In this realm, between the sheets, he claimed complete authority, and she didn’t argue one bit. For one thing, he was so much more knowledgeable and … carnal. She’d never indulged that side of herself before, at least not to this extent.

Everything he did felt good. She loved waking to the feel of his hands roaming her body, delving between her legs as she surfaced from sleep. A warm, rough palm massaged gentle circles around her clitoris, while hot breath fanned her cheek. Maybe inhibitions didn’t work first thing in the morning, because she felt no shame when she ground her sex against the heel of his hand, or when he flipped her onto her knees and dragged her ass into the air. Heat flashed all the way to her toes as she buried her face in the covers. Her cheeks burned with it, her thighs trembled. He could see everything—everything!—and it didn’t matter because he wanted her, and she wanted him. She wanted him in her, around her, on top of her, beneath her, anywhere at all, as long as they were skin to skin.

Every part of her, skin and flesh and spirit, brightened when he was near.

When she thought about how much she loved being with him, she got nervous. He would be her bodyguard only a short while, until her father’s testimony, or maybe a little longer, until the media moved on. What would happen after that? What would it be like to go back to her more solitary, sheltered existence? Maybe it would be better to not get used to having Fred in her life, to not enjoy him so much. But she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. Not when every moment they spent together felt so joyous and free.

Not that it was always perfect. He still teased her, and sometimes they squabbled over things like whether Grease was a better movie than Rock ’n’ Roll High School. Fred didn’t get her addiction to crossword puzzles and did his best to distract her. His best was very, very good; it involved tying her to the bedposts while he filled in the answers, on her skin, traced by his own personal writing tool.

They played naked Scrabble, with the loser required to do whatever the winner wanted. She won. To her surprise, what she wanted most at that moment was to explore his beautiful penis with her tongue. She made him lie still, stretched out on her bed, with his hands behind his head, while she pressed kisses onto his half-aroused member. After only a few kisses, it began growing and stretching toward her. His penis fascinated her, both soft and hard, sweet and salty, fierce and vulnerable, like a club wrapped in living velveteen. She loved the way it responded to her in its own language of twitches and jumps. She loved the way his thigh muscles strained and his hips bucked under the strokes of her tongue. His hands dug into the sheets as if she was dragging him off a cliff with her mouth. As if to keep himself from grabbing her head and pounding into her.

She wouldn’t have minded, but he always kept a leash on himself, as if he was still watching out for her even while losing his mind. Which meant he didn’t really lose his mind. And part of her wanted him to.

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