I climb the steps with Mr. Pete trying to wriggle out from under the arm where I’ve tucked him.

“Be still, Pete,” I say, just as my head clears the opening.

There’s still some lingering smoke in the air, but the thickest part has blown away. A few yards away stands my cabin, apparently unharmed.

“I don’t believe it,” I breathe.

“Lila,” Shawn says, looking behind me. “It’s not all good.”

“What?” I turn to see what he’s looking at, and bile rises into my throat. “Oh.”

My studio is gone. It’s just a pile of ashy rubble, along with the garage. My Mini is parked in front of the heap of ash, and it’s burned out. Nothing but black metal—no windows, no tires. I’m certain the painting that was inside is gone, too, along with all those I left in the studio.

Oh, Jon, I’m so sorry.

Shawn’s hands fall on my shoulders.

“Hey, you can paint more. At least your home is intact. I can’t believe it.”

I know why. It’s because Jon insisted on making that clearing. It’s like he saved me from beyond the grave. I guess maybe there was a little luck involved, too, the way the wind was blowing, or something. Because the studio had a clearing around it, too. I wonder if it’s the Universe telling me to move on.

And I can’t forget the man who stuck around and insisted on saving me despite my stubborn dramatics that now make me blush to think of.

Shawn squeezes my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get in and check out the cabin. And do you have any food? I’m starving.”

I turn and smile at him, allowing him to take my hand to lead me as he likes to. I will not cry and am determined to put an upbeat take on this.

“I think I might although I’m not sure that I’m up to cooking. I’ve had more than enough heat for today. Maybe you could make do with one of my sandwiches that you seem to enjoy.”

“I need to check on the truck,” he says. “I can’t believe it survived, too.”

I didn’t even look toward it, but I guess he did.

“Okay. I’ll rustle up something to eat. It won’t take long.”

He leans over and kisses my cheek, squeezes my hand, and leaves me right at the front door. Watching his retreat, I take the few seconds to admire his fine ass, then turn to my task when the door closes.

In the few minutes he’s gone, I move to start spreading peanut butter and jelly on the bread I left out an hour or so ago. It feels like a lifetime. But as I move into the cabin, the odor of charred wood is foul. I walk to my bedroom door and step straight into a firepit. The photos of Jon that had adorned every surface are all shriveled and gone. The bed we’d had plans for is gone.

I look around in dismay. The wooden structure at the back of the house is burnt to the ground. I’m now all but homeless but all I can think about are Shawn’s hands on my body, his cock inside me, and in my mouth. I want those things again, and I’m going to be unsatisfied with my life until it can happen. I even resent that his crew will likely be here any minute.

Shawn comes in again, a wide grin on his face. That falls off when I turn and he sees my stricken look. And then observes the scene of destruction behind me.

“Fuck, sorry babe.”

He puts an arm around me but I know he’s seen this all way too often to understand what it means to have the home you felt secure in disappear.

“There is some good news. Everything on the truck survived, thank God,” he says.

Oh great.

“And guess what?”

“What?” I moan, trying hard not to feel sorry myself and doing an iffy job on that.

He reaches out to the porch and brings in two paintings. The ones least likely to have survived - left out in the open propped up against the side of the truck on the ground.

“Oh,” I say again. That seems to be my word of choice at the moment, everything is kind of overwhelming.

He comes to me, takes me in his arms, and kisses me, probing deeply with his tongue, until I’m dizzy with desire. I must be making up for lost time, because I’ve never been this hungry for anyone before, not even Jon.

“I talked to my chief on the radio,” Shawn says. “They know we’re safe. The fire is fifty percent contained and my crew’s getting a twenty-four-hour break. They aren’t coming for a while yet. You know what that means?”

I begin to smile, thinking I may know. But I shake my head with a cheeky smile. “No. What does it mean?”

“It means it’s next time right now.”

He sweeps me off my feet, into his arms, and carries me toward the armchair.

“We have no bed,” I squeal.

“Does it seem to you like I need a bed after last night?” he growls, lust filling his voice.

This is our chance to make that truck fantasy come true although I doubt it could measure up to our bunker in the dark experience which was close to mind-blowing, for me anyways.

“What are you waiting for?” I whisper, threading my fingers into his hair.

Shawn puts me down, takes less than five seconds to tear his clothes off and sprawls across the chair. He props himself against the back, puts one hand behind his head while the other dangles over an arm and then spreads his legs. He’s offering me a delectable view of his impressive cock, standing solid and straight not even swaying in the breeze.

My eyes must be saucers and he throws me a satisfied grin as I lick my lips, getting them plump and moist.

“Strip,” he commands.

I peel off my tank top. “Now what?” I say, following the script even though I’ve got plenty of ideas of my own about what I want to do next.

“Take it all off.” he gruffs.

I slowly unzip my jeans, watching Shawn’s eyes hood into a lusty gaze. He hasn’t actually seen me properly naked and he’s planning to relish every inch, I can tell. I do as he says and push them off my hips, down my thighs and step out of them.

“What’s next, stud? You’re showing me your skill. So far, I’m doing all the work.”

“Come over here, straddle me, but don’t touch my dick. Not yet. Give me those luscious tits.”

I do as he commands, and once again his lips and tongue bathe my nipples with delight. He moves his hand between my legs, slips a finger into my wet folds, and teases my clit. I back away.

“Huh uh, Hotshot. You promised.”

“If you insist,” he says. His low voice is hoarse with need.

I back away on my hands and knees, then slide down his rock hard thighs until I’m kneeling between his legs. His cock is beautiful. Solid and straight, throbbing with virile life. I take a moment to admire it, touch it with feathery-soft strokes of my fingers. I glance up to make sure he’s watching.

His eyes are rolling up, his mouth slack. I lick my lips, and his cock twitches in response. Then I lower my head and give him every lascivious trick I know. Licking from the underside of his balls up to the tip. Swirling my tongue around and then seizing him in my lips and plunging my head down, down, down the length of him. I make sure I’m sucking hard as I sweep my lips and tongue back up.

I hum, low in my throat, and taste the first salty spurt. It goes on until I choke, and I pull him out of my mouth, letting the rest spill on my breasts.

“My God, woman,” he says at last. He pulls me up to his chest and curls me into his lap. “I could do that all day.”

His thumbs rub his essence into my breasts, and I need him again.

“Me, too,” I confess.

“I hate that you live all the way up here. Any chance you’d move to town?”

“Any reason I should?” I counter.

“What’s left for you here?” he asks.

I think of the pictures of Jon and me on the dresser, think about my studio, also destroyed and know I have other things to paint now.

“Nothing.”

“We still need to get to know each other. It will be easier, if you’re in town.”

“Where would I live?” I don’t expect an answer. Don’t even realize I’ve said it out loud.

He gives me that cocky grin once more. I’m sure he knows how irresistible he is when he throws that into the mix. But before we discuss it further he flips me over onto my knees so I’m bent across the chair and leaps up to stand behind me.

He palms my ass cheeks and presses them apart. I’m already squirming with desire and I have no idea how he manages to maintain a solid erection again already. But when he slides all the way inside, filling every last millimeter of my pussy, I’m lifting off into the clouds. I tilt my pelvis back and grind down onto him demanding more.

As Shawn pounds into me, with every building thrust he mutters a word.

Every. Single. Day.

The instant he feels my pussy constrict around his length he deepens the filling so that we both fall over the edge, shouting and groaning then collapse in a tangle of sweaty limbs across the armchair.

“So,” he says, as soon as his breathing calms enough, “it’s all settled.”