Dad's Fireman Friend Read online

  He slips a second finger inside, and it’s not long before it’s too much. Gasping for breath, wanting to call his name again but without the oxygen to do so, I tumble over the edge, coming on his fingers again, a pulse of pure ecstasy running outwards from his hands and across my whole body. I twitch and jerk as he rubs my clit unrelentingly, continuing the waves of pleasure until I’m spent, my body falling back down into the water as I catch my breath.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dom

  It’s finally time. Brit is as relaxed and happy as I’ll ever be able to make her, and there is still one last step to take.

  I take her by the hand and help her stand, muttering a voice command to enter the second phase of the evening’s set-up. The jets in the jacuzzi stop and go still, and I wrap Brit in a towel before lifting her in my arms to stand on the bathroom floor.

  I towel her down gently, patting her skin dry, making sure to pay special attention to the places where she will feel it most. After having an orgasm only a short while ago, it’s too soon to start her going again...but she can still feel those little wake-up calls that tell her body to be slick and ready for me.

  I drop the towel onto the floor. I can deal with the clean-up later and lift her into my arms. She squeals in surprise, but nestles against me immediately. The traditional fireman’s lift. Well, I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity, was I? I spank her bare ass as it dangles in the air over my shoulder, just enough to make her gasp, not hard enough to hurt her.

  I carry Brit through to the bedroom and gently lay her on the bed, where more rose petals are scattered across a fresh, deep red coverlet and piles of plush pillows. She looks up at me with a kind of fascinated haze. She is lulled by pleasure, content, ready for me. More ready now than ever.

  I stand at the foot of the bed and keep eye contact with her as I unbuckle my belt, letting the weight of it carry my trousers to the floor as I step out of them. Her eyes flick down to my tight briefs, where the outline of my rock hard cock is unmistakable. I stroke my hand across its length once, then twice, more for her benefit than anything else. Her eyes are like an owl’s, so wide it seems impossible. Even though she’s inexperienced, she’s no longer shy – she doesn’t move to cover herself up. On the contrary, her hips shift in small movements of anticipation, opening up for me.

  I pull my briefs out of the way and let them drop, too, over my muscular thighs, letting my cock spring out hard and ready. It bobs in the air for a moment with the motion, and twitches at the way her eyes fasten onto it with a hungry gaze.

  I move above her then, crawling forward until our lengths align, settling my knees on either side of her as I hold myself above her on my elbows. I fit one finger to her slit, rubbing lightly, feeling how wet and ready she is.

  I dip my face to hers, taking her in a deep and hungry kiss, and work my fingers inside of her again. She’s tight, but ready. I draw my fingers out and reach for my cock, lining it up with her entrance, ready to push in.

  “Wait,” she says, breathlessly.

  I pull away immediately, taking in her expression with concern. Her eyes dart down to my shirt.

  “Are you going to… to take me with your shirt on?” she asks. The word sounds uncertain and shaky on her tongue, like she’s never said it before.

  I hesitate, then sit up. My knees flank her, so that she can see me fully above her, looking down.

  She has a good point.

  I never dreamed I would do this – it never even entered my mind. It’s been a long time since I took my shirt off in front of anyone except my own mirror. The old uncertainties and self-doubts come flooding back, anxieties that belonged to a younger man but have never really gone away.

  But this is it, isn’t it? Brit is everything, now and for the rest of my life. This is now or never. If I lose her because of some silly ego problem, I will never forgive myself.

  I have to put those reservations aside. I grasp the hem off my shirt and pull it off in one swift movement, trying not to think too hard about what it means.

  Brit doesn’t gasp or react in any audible way, but I can see her face in the low pink glow of the lights around the bed. I can see the way she looks at me, the way her eyes widen even further temporarily in alarm.

  As she looks at me, and sees the thing I’ve tried to keep hidden for almost twenty years.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Brittany

  I’m in shock. I barely know what to say. I knew what to expect when he took off his shirt, those bulging pecs and the rigid six-pack I usually dream about through the tight clothes he wears – but I wasn’t expecting this.

  Across the center of his chest, over his shoulders, and over the left side of his body under his arm, a trail of ridged skin runs. Bumps and lines in no particular pattern, a chaos of flesh, white and gleaming. Burn scars.

  I reach out slowly and lay my fingers gently on the lower scars, the closest I can reach, my breath catching in my throat at the texture. There are stories of pain written all over him, and as I snake my hand around, I can feel that the burns continue onto his back. Over the sculpted muscles, up and up, joining with the ones that disappear over his shoulder.

  “Wow,” I say, fixing him with an open look. “You’re even fitter than I thought.”

  Dom pauses, without moving for a moment. His eyes are boring down into mine. His face could be carved out of stone. Then he dips his head and catches my lips in a kiss that takes my breath away all over again.

  There’s a new urgency in him, a kind of animal need I have never known before. He kisses me like a wolf, like he could eat me up in one bite, and his mouth trails away from mine to plant those kisses down my neck.

  I feel him position himself at my entrance again, then move his head an inch back so he can look me in the eyes. He inches forward, his head easing inside, the sensation more intense than anything I have ever felt.

  He slowly moves in, filling me, much bigger than his fingers were, so big I can hardly believe I can take it all in. He keeps moving slow, slow, slow. Each new push forward seems to bring a pinch of pain, then a release and relief as my muscles relax around him, adjusting to this new feeling. I can’t believe he can possibly go any deeper, but he does, deeper and deeper still, until finally he is flush against me, no gap between us.

  I breath shallowly, caught completely between the new and strange sensations between my legs and the way his eyes capture mine. I can’t look away, can’t move. All I know is that I am safe, his eyes tell me so. He draws out slowly, but still quicker than his first movement, and then in again.

  His speed begins to build up, and I’m starting to see it. The thing that everyone talks about, the reason why sex is such a big deal, the friction and pressure that makes it what it is. The small discomfort that I felt at first is beginning to fade away.

  “Brit,” Dom groans. “I can’t go slow like this. I want you.”

  It’s not like I’ve been in this situation before, but somehow my mouth knows what to say, even if my head doesn’t. “Then take me,” I tell him, knowing that I trust him enough now to do whatever he thinks is right.

  Dom bends his mouth to mine and parts my lips with his tongue, and at the same time, he thrusts in deeper and faster. Before I know it, he’s pumping in and out again with such speed I didn’t think it was possible, that pressure and friction increasing in bounds, starting to drive me wild.

  I’m aware of a strange noise in the room and I realize that it’s me, gasping out groans and little whimpers of pleasure with every thrust. I can’t stop myself. He speeds up, then adjusts his position, twisting above me so that he can lean on one arm to leave the other free. He cups and squeezes my breasts, twisting my nipples. Nothing else is around us, no room, no house, no universe. Only me and him together, only the places where our bodies meet, only my hands grasping onto his thigh muscles for support, only his cock powers into me over and over again.

  With each thrust he brushes against my clit, and from somewhere
inside there is an answering sensation, an all-too-familiar wave building in a new form, a more powerful one. I feel him grow impossibly big inside of me, filling me completely as he gasps my name, and I know it’s coming. I crash, the wave hitting the shore, rolling through me with intense pleasure that roils again and again and again, my whole body jerking and arching, egged on by the feel of him ready to burst inside of me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dom

  Brit’s orgasm is the only thing I need to send me over the edge. So tight, she contracts around me, and my dick can’t take it. I erupt, the kind of release I haven’t felt in years, more intense and meaningful.

  In the aftermath, when we catch our breaths beside one another, Brit’s hand comes up to slowly trace the path of the burn scars across my shoulder, a dainty touch that is almost painful in how gentle it is.

  “It was when we were rookies,” I say, finding my voice coming from somewhere distant. She should know the story. “Cyrus and me. Not long out of training.”

  “My Dad was there?” Brit asks, shifting so she can look into my eyes .

  “There was a tenement fire. An old building. Should probably have been torn down years before,” I say, watching her hands so I don’t have to see the pictures in my mind. “It was rented out to low-income families. They couldn’t all get out easily. They told us not to go back in, but I had to. I ran back in to get the kids on the tenth floor. They had no chance otherwise.”

  “You saved them?” Brit asks.

  My heart breaks at the optimism, the belief she has in me. “No,” I say, my voice thick. I clear my throat. “Cyrus followed me in. He told me not to go, but when I went in, he followed me to help. I realized too late the building was past being salvageable. It was falling. The floors were half-rotted already. When the fire blazed through, they started to fall quickly.”

  Brit stays silent, just listening. I shift my head, placing my temple against her forehead, getting that physical contact I need.

  “I looked around, and Cyrus was just standing there, a couple of steps away. He was looking to the right, maybe trying to see if there were any survivors. He didn’t see it – the ceiling giving way. The beams.” I take a deep breath, trying not to let the visions, smells, and sensations of that night flood back into my memory. “I jumped forward. It was my fault he was there. I knocked him out of the way. He pulled me out of the building, but the falling wood and the tiles and the wires – they had ripped my coat up, taken my protection. I was on fire when he got me outside of the building.”

  Brit makes a choked sound, and I look down to see that she’s crying. “You got these burns saving my Dad?” she says.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” I say, shaking my head. “I put him in danger in the first place.”

  “But you saved his life.”

  “No, Brit.” I pull away from her roughly, pushing her hand away from me. “You don’t get it. It was my fault. It was me. After that, your Mom thought the fire service was too dangerous for a father. She told your Dad he either quit or she would walk away. That’s why they got divorced.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Brit says quietly, and in that moment I know. I’ve lost her.

  It’s been so long since I allowed myself to feel anything like this. After those months in the burns recovery unit in the hospital, I didn’t want to get involved with anyone. I didn’t want them to see my scars. I didn’t want to fall for a woman who would turn away from me, like Cyrus’ wife did.

  And now I’ve gone and done it anyway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Brittany

  Dom keeps pushing me away, but he can’t see what I see. Can’t see the beauty of what he did.

  He gave everything so that I would have a Dad to come home to me. He almost gave his life. Images from the past flash through my head, my Dad picking me up from Mom’s place every two weeks, the tearful goodbye when we moved, Dad showing up on my first day of college to help me move everything into my dorm, meeting me at the airport for Christmas.

  All of that was given to me because of Dom’s sacrifice.

  “I love you,” I say.

  “What?”

  I cover my mouth, blushing. I didn’t even realize I was going to say it until I did. I didn’t mean to, but...I mean it. I do.

  “What did you just say?” Dom repeats, shifting onto his side and looking at me intently.

  “I’m sorry, that was probably too much,” I say. God, I must sound like an idiot. The first guy I have sex with, and I just blurt it out like that? He probably thinks it’s only because of the afterglow, nothing else.

  “Say it again,” Dom urges, with a fierceness that I can’t disobey.

  “I… I love you,” I say.

  “I love you too, Brit,” he says, and captures my lips with his own, slipping his arms behind me and pulling me close against his firm chest.

  Everything inside me is crashing, like a storm, everything so deep and intense that I barely know what to do with it. That animal urgency is on him again, and he shifts an arm down, pushing my legs apart. Right there, as we lay on our sides facing one another, he slips his already newly-hardened cock inside of me and plunges deep, against the slickness of our first time.

  Dom moves and I move with him, more in control this time, helping to steer the ship instead of being only carried along with it. Over and over he whispers my name, kissing it into my hair at the side of my head, against my neck, onto the curve of my shoulders. And before I know it I’m calling out his name like a prayer with every thrust that rockets through my nerves, a maddening sensation that I never want to end.

  He holds me close against him there, and it’s slow and sweet but also passionate and wild, and it’s like we are just one being. All we do is pleasure, moving in time, breathing in one another’s breaths, gasping one another’s names. His thrusts become more urgent, more hurried, until at last I can no longer hold back. I arch my neck and gasp his name one last time, feeling that pulsing ripple through me, constricting around him until he stills, emptying his seed inside me again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dom

  “Are you ready?” I whisper at the door, darting my eyes into the interior of the house to see if Cyrus is listening.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Brit says. “It has to be now. Come on.”

  She pulls me inside and shuts the door behind me.

  “Hey, buddy!” Cyrus calls cheerfully, heading out of the kitchen with a cold beer in his hand. “Come on inside. Got you a beer.”

  I take it from him with a thanks, watching him walk back towards the sounds of hissing and spitting coming from the kitchen. His leg has healed well. Now that the cast is off, he doesn’t even have the suggestion of a limp.

  He’ll be back in the station on Monday, which is why this has to happen. Why it has to be today. Because if we don’t come clean about our relationship, Cyrus will work it out on his own, and then he’s going to be mad.

  “Anything I can do?” I ask.

  Brit shakes her head and shoos me towards the kitchen table. “Just sit. It’ll be ready soon,” she says.

  I sit down at the worn wooden surface, a place I know all too well. How many times did I sit here for dinner with Cyrus and Brit’s mom? How many times since she left?

  Ghosts of times gone by gather within me, until Brit and Cyrus bustle through, each carrying plates and drinks.

  “Looks great,” I say, catching Brit’s eye and the nervous energy she is giving off like sparks around her.

  “Dig in,” Cyrus says, grabbing up his own knife and fork to get started.

  I can barely taste the food. We wait until the end of the dinner, like we agreed. Brit wanted to eat first, to be together, for Cyrus to remember how much he likes me before we tell him.

  “Daddy,” she says now, sending a spike of adrenaline to my gut. “I wanted to tell you something.”

  “We wanted to tell you something,” I correct her, stepping up. This is my opportunity t
o show Cyrus how serious I am, and that I’m willing to look out for Brit. That I won’t ever let her stand on her own again.

  His eyes dart back and forth between us. “What?” he asks, suspicious and somehow choked, as if he knows already but won’t admit it.

  I take a breath. “Brit and I have fallen in love,” I tell him, all in one. Like ripping off a band-aid. “We’re together. For the long haul.”

  Cyrus blinks, looking between us still. Down at our hands, which have entwined together on the table.

  Then he stands up with a jolt, his chair clattering back as his face goes red. “What the hell is this? My daughter?” he yells, directing his comments only at me.

  “I love her, Cy. I mean it. It came out of nowhere. But she’s mine.”

  “Yours?” he roars. “How dare you? She’s not yours, she’s – she’s mine – she’s my little girl!”

  “Dad!” Brit cries.

  “No, this is – you know how old she is? You could be her father yourself!”

  “Dad, please,” Brit says, taking hold of his forearm. “Please, just listen. Dom’s a good man. The best. He makes me happy.”

  Cyrus throws off her arm, shaking his head furiously at me. “How could you do this?” he demands. “I asked you to look after her, not – seduce her!”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I tell him, quiet and calm. I won’t get up. I won’t make the situation escalate even further.

  “Dad!” Brit tries again. “You know how good he is. He saved your life. He almost died. Don’t you remember?”

  Cyrus falters, looking at her for the first time. Then he looks at me, his eyes going to my collar, to the scars that he knows are just beyond.

  “I will look after her,” I tell him. “For the rest of my life. I swear.”

  Cyrus sinks down into his chair slowly, his face draining of color. I can see he’s calming down.

  All I have to do now is convince him that I truly mean well. And, with Brit backing me up all the way, that’s exactly what I spend the next hour doing.