The guys are gone. I can still smell the faint scent of their musk clinging to the pillows on either side of me. I have them turned lengthways on the bed and smooshed them up against my body. I was hoping it would help me sleep. That I could trick my mind into believing they were here with me, just having the pressure of the pillows against each side of me. But it isn’t working.

I twist onto my back and let out a heavy sigh at the dark ceiling. With Zach and Desi back on shift, the night is longer. How is it that they feel so far away when they’re only next door? We spent nearly every single second of their days off together. They’ve been helping me set up my shop, cooking amazing meals for me and I’ve been finding a lot of creative ways to reward them for all their help.

Who am I kidding? Fucking them all around my new house hasn’t just been a reward for them. It’s been an absolute gift to me. In the past few days we’ve contorted ourselves into just about every position possible. It’s amazing how flexible I am. I had no idea until I was being coaxed to twist and turn to take their cocks at the same time. It’s amazing how motivation works.

I bite my short nails and think about how there’s still one thing I’ve been too nervous to try with them. I still haven’t been comfortable to try anal yet. I want to. I think about it a lot more than I should. I’ve even done some reading online about it. From what I’ve read, some women have the most intense orgasms of their lives with that position. Yet, every time I think I’m going to cast away my fears and give into my desires, I clam up. I still haven’t even told them about the bottle of KY I picked up and stored in my nightstand drawer.

I like knowing it’s there and often imagine how we’d use it. I’ve fantasized about experimenting with both Zach and Desi back there. I know it’s something I want to give into, but the moment has to be right.

Suddenly my ceiling flashes with red light. The siren interrupts my thoughts as the streaks of red bounce around my room wildly. I jump out of my new, huge bed and run to the window. It’s hard to tell in their gear who is who, but I watch with my heart racing as a bunch of men pile into the trucks and speed away.

“Please let them come home safe.” I raise my eyebrows and look up at the ceiling.

I’m not a religious girl. In fact, I gave up on prayer a long time ago. I was just a girl when God ignored my pleas to keep my mother with me. I kneeled at my bedside and clutched my hands together every single night, praying as hard as I could, begging really, for Him to spare my mom. I remember how tears would slide down my cheeks and stain my blanket as I tried to negotiate with God.

“And I’ll do my chores every day. I’ll never complain about it. I’ll eat my vegetables and even do my best at school too. I promise, if you let me keep my mama, I’ll be a good girl for her. I’ll never make her angry or sad. I’ll just tell her she’s pretty and make her happy. Please, God. I love her so much.”

I blink hard, pushing the memory away and try to swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. No, prayers have never worked for me. Still, I can’t help but say a silent one now.

There’s no chance I’m going to get back to sleep while they’re on a call. I’ll be wide awake just worrying the whole time. What I need is a distraction. I walk out of the bedroom and down to my pottery studio. It’s at the back of my shop. It’s closed off and quiet, and the perfect place to stop fretting for a bit and work out this nervous energy.

I grab a hunk of clay from a box and slap it down onto the center of my wheel. It only takes a second to get a bowl of water and sponge and set it down. Easing down onto my stool in nothing but a shirt and underwear, I flick the motor on and begin dripping water down onto the mud. I watch the water glaze over the unformed clay and my heart rate drops back to normal.

Carefully, I guide the slab up from the spinning base and form it into a column. Pressing down in the center, I open the clay and begin to push it down and wider. It spins hypnotically on the wheel and outside things like time and worries all slip away. I become focused as I manipulate the clay, making it form just the way I want it to.

Finally, I’m satisfied with my work. I turn off the wheel and watch my creation come to a slow stop. In front of me is the beginnings of a beautiful mug. Once it dries a bit, I’ll add a handle and then the real fun will begin. I’ll carve a design into the sides, revealing a picture that only I can see hidden beneath the surface. I’ll use my intricate tools to chisel a story.

A flash comes to my mind as I realize what it will be. A mother, holding her newborn to her breast. A simple, peaceful smile on her lips. Just like my own mother once held me safe in her arms. Just how, one day, I’d love to hold my own child close.

Are you sure you want to have a child with them?

The unexpected thought startles me. I frown down at the floor, wondering where this is coming from.

What if they respond to a fire and never come home? Then what are you going to do?

I stand up abruptly, trying to free myself from the smothering thoughts. I have already lost someone so dear to me. And it killed a piece of me inside. Maybe getting involved with firefighters is setting myself up for more heartache and misery. Maybe it’s a mistake.

“No!” I yell at my empty studio. “It’s not.”

I walk to my window and watch with relief as the fire truck carrying the guys pulls back into the parking lot next door. They’re back. They’re safe.

My feet are frozen in place as I watch the men drag gear into the firehouse. It’s true that I could lose one or both of them. Just like I lost my mother. But, if there’s anything I learned when Mama passed away, it’s that you never wish you hadn’t known the person who died. You just wish you had more time with them. Pushing away two amazing men who care about me just because they have a dangerous job is ridiculous. If anything, the fact they have a dangerous job should be a good reason to live and love hard.

And part of living and loving hard, at least to me, is having babies. Giving that eternal gift of unconditional love to someone else is the best thing any of us can do. I know in my heart I’ll never feel fulfilled until I become a mother. Now there’s only one question, how do I ask the guys to give me a baby?