Page 109 of The Goat Next Door

“Brooks,” she gasps against my lips. “Stay. Forget the truck. Forget the logs. Stay right here.”

I want to.

Fuck, I want to say yes so badly it hurts.

I lean in, my nose brushing against hers.

“Emmy,” I groan. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Is that a complaint?” she teases, her hands trailing lower, her thumb brushing the hard ridge of my cock through my pants. “Because you seem pretty responsive.”

I grip her wrists, pulling her hands away, my jaw tight enough to crack. I lean in to kiss her, my lips hovering inches from hers—

Squawk.

My radio screams on my belt, a harsh, static-filled intrusion.

“Station Two to Chief Lawson. Brooks, you copy?”

I freeze.

Ember doesn’t let go.

She leans in closer, her lips brushing my ear, her voice a low whisper. “Tell them you’re busy. Tell them the Chief is occupied with a very serious, very urgent inspection. Don’t you dare answer that, Brooks. Just… let them find someone else. You don’t need to go. You need to be here, inspecting my perimeter.”

Fuck.

My heart is hammering against my ribs.

I want to throw that radio out the window and drag her into the bedroom. I want to spend the next six hours doing absolutely nothing but making sure she doesn’t have a single coherent thought left in her brain.

“I have to,” I say, the words feeling like glass in my throat.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispers, pressing her lips to the sensitive skin right under my ear. “Stay. Let me show you exactly how good I am at ‘inspecting’ the Chief.”

I am literally vibrating with the need to say yes, but the weight of my life—the radio, the uniform, the daughter waiting for me—is a physical anchor.

It’s the difference between the man I pretend to be with her and the man I really am.

I unclip the radio, my thumb hitting the lever. “Lawson. Go ahead, Miller.”

“We’ve got a three-car tangle at Route Nine. Birch logs everywhere. We need the winch truck. You clear?”

I look at Ember.

She’s standing there, looking like a beautiful, chaotic mess, her lips swollen, her eyes defiant and hungry.

She’s waiting to see if I’ll break. She’s waiting to see if the professional exterior is just a layer of paint over a very volatile structure.

“I’m clear,” I say. “Five minutes out. Have the chains ready.”

“Copy. Out.”

I clip the radio back on.

“You’re no fun, Brooks.”

“I need to work,” I correct her.