Hot In Here. Susan Lyons
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condom package in hand, and moaned, “That feels so good.”
It sure as hell did.
He grabbed the package from her, ripped it open and started to sheath himself.
“I’ll do that,” she said.
“The hell you will.”
All the things he loved having women do, and he couldn’t let this girl—the hottest of them all—do any of them or he’d lose control like a thirteen-year-old.
With a shaking hand, he managed to get the condom on.
He should touch her, get her warmed up and ready, and his fingers longed to explore her seductive body, to tweak those pearled nipples, but he didn’t have that much self-control.
Besides, she was giving out signals that said she too was at the point just before flashover. When everything was so hot it was ready to ignite.
She lifted herself and used the fingers of one hand to spread herself open. Then she gripped him and brought his tip to her opening. And lowered herself slowly.
He fought to sit still, not daring to move for fear he would hurt her, as her sheath gripped him inch by inch. She was tight, deliciously tight, but wet, thank God, and she was taking him in.
All the way.
She rocked her hips, front and back, and moaned, “You feel so good.”
No, he felt fucking incredible. His cock had never had it so good, and it was making its demands known.
Now she was rocking in circles and—oh, crap, he couldn’t control this any longer.
He thrust up and Jenny gave a gasp, rocked harder against him, and she was moaning and he was gasping and their bodies were finding a frenzied rhythm of their own. No way could he last another minute but then she cried out, “Now, Scott, now!” and began to spasm around him.
And everything he’d felt all that long evening—the sexiness of the saxophone, the turn-on of the crowd’s approval, this girl’s lovely hands and silky hair, that pretty little pussy—it all poured through him and Scott was exploding. Coming harder and longer than ever before.
Coming like he wanted to reach her center and never find his way back again.
Afterward, they collapsed against each other, his arms around her, her body sagging against him. He had no idea how long they stayed like that but it sure felt good.
When he was finally capable of speech again, he said, “Jenny? Sorry, I kind of lost control. You okay?”
She lifted her head and her expression was dazed. “Yeah, I…wow.” Then her eyes narrowed. “But…” She swallowed. “I’m wet. Too wet.”
Was she bleeding? Damn, he had hurt her. Gently he lifted her, easing out of her and—“Oh, fuck! The condom burst!”
“Burst? What? Oh, no! Shit! Fuck, crap, double shit!”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, he would’ve laughed. Who’d have guessed a pink-and-pretty girl like her would have such a potty mouth?
But the situation was serious. “It wasn’t an old condom,” he said apologetically. “I don’t know what happened.” Except, he’d never come so hard in his life.
“I’m on the pill, so pregnancy’s not an issue.” She gnawed her lower lip. “But you’re a player, right? Lots of girls? Should I be worried?”
“I’m clean. I get tested regularly.”
“Guess that’s wise.” She gave a wry smile. “For a player.”
“Wise for a firefighter, too. We learn to be careful. We’re around blood, have to resuscitate people. I’m not going to take chances with my body.”
But accidents happened, like tonight. Should he be worried? Screwing a girl who’d have sex with a guy she’d just met? Cautiously he said, “Are you…?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Clean, too.”
No details. But she did carry condoms.
She was a pussycat with a bow around her neck, a Playboy bunny. They knew nothing about each other, just names and occupations.
Well, one more thing: when their bodies got together, they both ignited.
She found her backpack and pulled out a handful of tissues and wet wipes. Yeah, this was one together girl when it came to sex.
In silence they cleaned themselves up.
What a night. Weird, amazing—and scary, with that broken-condom thing.
The one thing he did know was not only did this woman turn him on, she fascinated him. He wanted to see her naked, explore every centimeter of that tiny body and see if everything was as perfect as what he’d seen so far.
Besides, he had his fair quota of male pride. He had to show her he could take it slow, make it fucking fantastic for her.
“Want to go back to my place?” he asked.
She was pulling on her panties—oh, man, a black thong. Without looking up, she shook her head. “Can’t.”
“Can’t?” What did that mean?
“I have somewhere I have to be.”
Oh, shit, was she married? Living with another guy? He’d never thought to ask.
He’d never thought, period. At least, not with his big head.
She glanced at him. “It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s a family thing.”
The way she said the words, even and kind of flat, told him questions weren’t welcome. “Okay. So, you got a car parked around here?”
“I didn’t drive, I knew I’d be drinking more than usual. I’ll catch a cab.”
In the middle of the night? Sure, it was Friday night—well, Saturday morning—and the clubby area of Granville Street would be busy and relatively safe, but no way could he let her do that. “I’ll drive you.”
“Thanks, but I’m happy cabbing.”
Maybe she didn’t want him to know where she lived? Nah, that didn’t make sense. She’d had sex with him; she had to trust him. People trusted firefighters.
Letting the taxi issue go for the moment, he said, “I’d like to get together again. What do you say, Jenny?”
She gazed at him for a long time, her expression unreadable.
What was with that? Usually women were panting to date a firefighter, show him off to their friends.
Finally she said, “I’ll think about it. It was fun, Scott, but I’m not sure if—” Then she snapped her fingers, gave a quick laugh. “Wait a minute, I have to see you again. I never got my interview.”
Interview? He could work with that. He’d have her panties off in no time, and this time he’d show her he knew what he was doing. “I’m working this weekend, but how about—” He was going to suggest they get together after his shift tomorrow, but she cut him off.
“At the fire hall?” She sounded excited. “That’d be perfect. I could get shots of you in uniform, talk to some of the other guys like that lieutenant.”
Oh, crap. Bulldog Spievak and the others would get off on telling embarrassing stories about the probie’s screwups, and there’d sure as hell be no opportunity to get in Jenny’s pants.
On the other hand, at least he’d see her again, and this time he’d be in control of his little head. He and Jenny could see how things went, decide if they wanted to hook up again.
See, he could be practical if he tried hard enough.
She still insisted on taking a taxi home, so