6

PICK

Sarah Jo bites me.

Not hard, but enough to make a dent in my finger that will be gone within the hour. I’m a tough son of a bitch, partly because it’s a job requirement, but mostly because that’s how life’s made me. Teeth marks don’t put me off. Fuck, part of me likes the fact that she’s decided to sink her teeth into me. The rest of me knows I damned well deserve whatever she dishes up because I shouldn’t be pushing her. Shouldn’t be touching her yet since she hasn’t issued an invitation.

Yet.

Hasn’t issued one yet.

Apparently, I’m an eternal fucking optimist where this woman is concerned, too. Still, I move my finger. I’m not entirely certain she won’t try to detach it from my body otherwise, and I have all sorts of dirty plans for that finger and Sarah Jo’s body. I’d hate for her to miss out because I’ve been reduced to a nine-finger wonder.

Now that I’ve removed my finger from her person, her grip tightens on the pile of forks she’s clutching like they’re an arsenal of deadly weapons she just can’t wait to launch. Possibly, she’s entertaining fantasies of stabbing me. Although I’d rather she mentally undressed me and rode me like a cowgirl, I’ll take what I can get. She’s not ignoring me and that goes straight into the plus column in the Pick Revere Dating Ledger. Frankly, that ledger’s been a little too empty lately. I haven’t dated much in recent history—a fire call comes in and I go out, which makes me bad Friday-night fodder and a frequent flyer at the local titty bar where I can at least look if I can’t touch—but even I know that paying attention is a good sign. Besides, I get the feeling that Sarah Jo doesn’t do things the easy way. She won’t be Friday night and a movie.

Or maybe that’s just me, looking at her and seeing something more. Maybe yesterday’s kiss really was just a quick dare, a little fun that’s over now and she’s thinking why the fuck isn’t this guy moving along? Maybe I’m the only one who sees her move as the opening gambit in something bigger. I liked the taste of her all right—and I definitely want more. I’m not settling for the one-scoop vanilla cone when I could have the entire fucking sundae and a cherry. I want her naked and underneath me. Or over, alongside, or reverse cowgirl. We can work our way through the entire Kama Sutra if she wants, even the crazy positions that would challenge an Olympic gymnast.

But instead of getting naked followed by getting down and dirty, she’s tense and hyper-focused on the sheriff parked outside the building. I don’t know why a police car has her jumping like fleas on a dog, but she’s visibly a nervous wreck. Pretty sure she’s trying to hide behind me, too. On the other hand? I can work with that. Shielding her from sight is simple enough, and letting her lean on me some is even easier. Hell, I can even admit that having strong, sassy Sarah Jo leaning on me gives me a primitive satisfaction and awakens a desire to take care of her. Whatever bad thing she feared isn’t going to happen on my watch. It’ll just be non-stop orgasms and good times.

You know what? I’m not sure where this urge to go all protect and defend on her came from. It’s a little foreign when not applied to burning buildings.

Maybe it’s because she definitely looks good enough to eat. Today she’s wearing another sassy T-shirt—Hugging a firefighter is hot—and a matching skirt that clings to her ass and her thighs. An enormous flannel shirt is tied around her waist, her full-body camouflage shucked in deference to the already oppressive temperatures. Likewise, her bare legs sport flip-flops instead of boots because only a sadist or a hotshot would wear steel-toes in the triple-digit summer heat baking the camp. Missing her would be hard since her shirt is the most obnoxious shade of purple I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m not certain she’s wearing a bra beneath all that color, and I damned certain want to find out. So I rile her up just a little bit more.

“You still say there’s nothing wrong?”

She moves then, putting me between herself and the car’s line of sight. Obligingly, I step closer so my shoulders block the window. I’m such a fucking Boy Scout. Maybe she’ll pin a merit badge on me later. With her mouth.

Sarah Jo doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who runs scared. She’s more likely to kick trouble in the balls (and yes I’m watching mine), so I don’t know what could have set her off so. It’s just the county sheriff, doing his weekly drive-by and the other usual fire camp visitors. She’s made it clear she isn’t sharing, however, so I won’t push.

Much.

“Not a thing,” she says confidently, but then jumps at nothing, showering forks all over the floor. The clatter’s loud enough that you’d think a one-man band just exploded or something. The move, however, puts her right in my arms. Her amazing tits brush my chest, and now I’ve got firsthand evidence that she opted out of wearing a bra today. There’s a whiff of something citrus, too. Her shampoo, maybe, or lotion. Either way, she smells like she belongs on my menu. She’s lunch and I should absolutely eat her up. And out. Fuck, yeah.

She slides her hands up my arms and over my shoulders, linking them around my neck. If she’s omniscient and on board with my dirty plans for her, I’m the happiest man alive.

“You liked kissing me?” Not stopping for an answer, she abandons the forks and walks me toward the side door, her thighs pressing into mine with each step she takes. I have no idea where we’re going but I’ll let her lead in this little dance we’ve got going on. “The other day?”

I’d kiss her anywhere, anytime. I set my hands on her hips and let her steer me outside. I’d even be up for sex in public at this point because my dick’s that damned hard.

No point in beating around the bush. “You know I did.”

I have the feeling my mouth is opening and shutting in a troutlike fashion I’ll regret later. Something about Sarah Jo knocks me off balance, starting with the unexpected offer coming out of her mouth. Apparently, she isn’t waiting for my answer, however, because her fingers walk up my neck, find my ear like she owns it, and just like that I’m even harder. I definitely want to do that again.

And her. Performing wicked, naughty sex acts on Sarah Jo’s willing body is high on my to-do list right now.

“My shift is over,” she announces.

Does that mean what my dick is praying it does? Could be she’s just making awkward conversation or is leading up to abandoning me and my hard-on, but it’s hard to not be hopeful.

“Mine too,” I growl. Meant that shit to come out as a whisper, something soft and teasing, but the blood’s abandoned my brain and nothing about me is smooth and easy. Sarah Jo’s fucking gorgeous, and she’s got me so hot for her that I’m about to spontaneously combust. You think I should be romantic about this? Come up with some heartfelt compliments and do the woo? I’d like to, but my dick is in overdrive and this is so not what I thought would happen when I followed Sarah Jo into the cafeteria. I was planning on a beer and some dancing of the fully-clothed variety. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a woman who would kiss me in front of an entire fire camp would also make it clear what the next step in our not-relationship should be. I like that she’s not afraid to show me what she wants.

She dances me straight out the side door and into open air, executing a clever little twist that reverses our positions so I’m once again between her and the parking lot. Are you confused? So am I. Not sure if this is really about sex or not, but I can’t help hoping. Which makes me an even bigger dick than I already am because if she’s scared or worried about shit, I shouldn’t be taking advantage of her.

I’m still wrestling with my inner good guy (FYI he’s fucking losing), when she stops. Inner Good Guy abruptly comes over to the evil sexy hook up side when she goes up on tiptoe to peer over my shoulder, her pussy rubbing against my dick as she turns my body into her own personal ladder. “You know what’s inside that cabin? Is it open?”

She points. I turn my head and look. Sooner or later, we’re gonna have to have a conversation about who gives orders and who gets them.

Typically, my days start and end with the fire cache housed in the rundown wooden cabin at my back. Forty feet by forty, the one-room cabin is stuffed full of ordered supplies and twelve-packs of tools half-broken into, cardboard boxes and piles, piles, and more piles. When I’d opened the cache at the start of the summer, I discovered that someone had gone crazy with an ancient label-maker, sticking precisely lettered strips of black-and-white everywhere, although no amount of labels could ever corral the mess of Pulaskis and axes, sleeping bags and hard hats. Everything has been ordered in by the caseload and in multiples—and then left to explode everywhere.

“Supplies,” I growl out, maneuvering her a little closer. Her hips are the perfect fit for mine—we slot together like two pieces in a sexy puzzle. But she’s asked me a question, so I try to concentrate. Supply depot is definitely too fancy a term for what lies inside that cabin. More like dumping ground or organizational nightmare. Maybe, if there were fewer fires, I’d give a damn. And maybe pigs will fly.

She beams. “So it’s empty.”

If you count metal shelves crammed with crap empty, then, yeah. Totally empty.

She bounces against me, and turns up the wattage on her smile. I’m pig enough to ignore the forced cheer because holy fuck, the bounce move slides her pussy up and down the front of my jeans yet again, and I’m in unexpected danger of going off like a rocket.

She pats my chest. “Let’s go in.”

What the lady wants, the lady gets. I’m an absolute fucking gentleman like that. Possibly, I nod like a bobblehead because something about Sarah Jo short-circuits the thinking portions of my brain. Or maybe it’s just that all available blood has stampeded south of my belt where there’s a whole lot of happy and turned on going on.

She takes charge again, not waiting for my answer. That’s fine. The only thing my mouth is good for right now is kissing and licking. Possibly also biting, moaning, and loving her good. My body doesn’t mind the Sarah Jo takeover one bit. On the contrary, my dick jumps right to attention and my feet move doubletime. She sure is sexy. She slaps her hands against my shoulders, pushing me faster because she’s impatient. I agree. Getting naked and closer is high priority. I move.

When my back hits an immoveable wall, I consider and then discard the idea of just picking her up and banging her against it. Wall sex is amazing, and she’s so tiny that I could hold her up for hours. On the other hand, doing it for hours would put us on full display for the hungry hordes, and that has to violate about a hundred different HR rules. Might be a health code violation as well.

Since I like my job, I shove my hand down, feeling around the rough timbers for the doorknob. She takes charge of that, too, reaching around me, her fingers brushing against my ass as she pushes the door open.

And then she fucking shoves me inside.

Okay, so I go. Willingly. Apparently, I’ve answered my own question, and I’m up for a repeat of yesterday’s kiss. I’ve tried being a responsible, mature adult and asking her what’s wrong—because, clearly, something out there in the camp has spooked her bad—but she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want words. She went for my goodies instead, and I’m so on board with that plan. I’m even willing to let her sit in the driver’s seat. Temporarily.

Yesterday’s kiss was smoking hot, even with an appreciative audience. She apparently enjoyed kissing me because this unexpected lunch date in the storage cache proves I’m more than a dare and a drive-by kiss. Clearly, she’s ready to give me a second shot, so screw Hunter and his claims that I was a throwaway and a convenient five minutes. I’m getting me at least an hour today—and a promise of more.

She two-steps me deeper into the cabin, her tongue tracing my lips.

“Making me work for it, Pick?” She whispers the teasing question against my mouth, and I smile. She has no idea.

“You’re always welcome, honey.”

My ass bumps up against a desk shoved along the wall, and my dick suggests we take full advantage of the horizontal surface. Good plan. I sweep one hand beneath me, ignoring the clatter of office supplies biting it. I’ll sign on for pickup detail. Later. Right now, I park my ass down and pull her between my legs.

It’s my turn to kiss her.

She doesn’t make it easy. I don’t mind the unexpected hookup, but the cabin isn’t aces in the romance department. Chockablock full of card tables and shelves loaded down with extra handles and oil, wedges and spray paint, the few visible inches of the walls are papered with less-than-sexy park posters. A graffiti-covered Smokey the Bear stares at us, surrounded by fire road signs and maps bristling with pushpins. Those are souvenirs and victories right there, half covered with flight maps and helicopter schedules. I’ve been in here hundreds of times, and it’s never looked so good as it does now that she’s here with me.

“Sarah Jo,” I say roughly, threading my fingers through her hair. Her name comes out half plea, half demand. We’re still fighting to see who gets to be in control of what’s happening here, and for the first time in my life, losing doesn’t seem so bad.

“Don’t talk.” She leans in closer, her tits squashed up against my chest. She has to feel the massive boner I’ve got for her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she gives a little wriggle, like she’s checking my stuff out and so far, so amazing. Her words trail off in a little moan-sigh.

“You don’t want to slow things down?” Asking the question sucks, but informed consent is non-negotiable. Once I get the verbal go-ahead, I’ve got plans to strip off her clothes, lay her down on the floor, and go at her despite our potential audience outside the cabin. I’d be happy to draw you a flowchart, but showing you will be so much better.

“Not a chance,” she growls. “I’ve decided that life is too uncertain not to take what I want, and you’re first on my list.”

I admire her priorities. Better yet, she slaps her hands down on the wall behind the desk, pinning my head between her palms. This is new. I take a second to appreciate my position. Usually I’m on top and in charge, but I’m willing to let her hold the reins for a moment. It helps that she’s looking at me like I’m the center of her universe, and she’s in a mood to explore.

Sure enough, she eliminates all remaining distance between us, pulling us closer together until there’s not an inch of space left. I can’t help groaning, which makes her smile. Naughty girls get what they have coming to them, and I have plans for Ms. I-Started-This Sarah Jo. Needing to touch her, to feel her hair, her skin, down her back, and over the soft crease of her hip, I reach for her. Behaving myself is no longer an option.

“See?” Her eyes light up with humor even as her fingers find my shoulders and squeeze. I squeeze back, but since my hands are on her spectacular ass, it’s her turn to groan. “Talking’s over-rated.”

The lady is always right. Have I mentioned how much I believe that? She follows up the groan with a whimpering sound as I touch her more. Running my palms over her perfect curves. Pulling her closer, sliding my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt because I need bare skin, now.

She’s hungry for me, too. The gentle shoulder squeeze turns dirty, her hands sliding slowly lower, yanking me close. She’s not tall. She has to tip her head back to make eye contact, but we’ve got enough light, even with the door shut, that I can see her clearly. She gives my face another once over, and then smiles. Her hands move. Skim over my shoulders. Down my arms until her fingers tangle with mine.

She makes me feel… Christ, I’ve never deliberately set a fire outside working hours, but I suddenly know how an arsonist must feel. It feels so goddamned good to go up in flames, to make her burn.

“I’m right here.” My voice sounds rough. “Right where you put me, babe.”

She grins. “I’ll make sure you don’t mind.”

Mission. Accomplished. She sends her hands roaming over my body like she wants it all right now. Over my shoulders and down my chest, yanking up my T-shirt and smoothing her fingers over my abdomen. Slowly because Sarah Jo’s a masterful tease. Yeah, it’s that good. She pulls me into her embrace and then our lips meet and we’re devouring each other, hungry and urgent.

Turns out Sarah Jo doesn’t take orders. Or directions, suggestions, or hints. Her tongue strokes mine boldly, taking my mouth exactly as she pleases while her hands go on a wicked, wicked walkabout. I have no complaints, but no way I get mine before she does. It’s that gentlemanly code of conduct I can’t quite seem to shake. Fortunately, although I’m not more determined, I am both bigger and stronger. I flip her around, laying her back on the table in one smooth move, pinning her hands.

“Kisses first,” I whisper roughly.

“Pick.” She gasps my name, trying to reach for me. I’d like to give in, give her what we both want, but I have to make this the most amazing fucking first time ever because I already know I want a second and a third chance. Is a million too ambitious? Because I can’t imagine not wanting more Sarah Jo over and over.

So I hold her hands over her head. “Ladies first.”

Before she can protest, I let go and drop to my knees in front of her. If she wants kisses, I’ll give her kisses.