Page 8 of Hot Under the Collar

“Sheesh, Lynne. I’m twenty-one. This is definitely not my first time.” He paused, eyes glinting, a small smirk across his face. “It’s my second time.”

“What?” She blinked then huffed a breath. “Oh, no. No no no.” She covered her face, half laughing despite herself. “Leo!”

“Kidding.” He caught her wrists and pulled them down. “I’m just kidding.”

Some of the tension drained from her shoulders. She exhaled a shaky little laugh.

He angled his mouth, inviting her to claim it, and she answered immediately. The kiss slipped into something warmer, deeper, impossible for either of them to resist.

“But I do have something to confess,” he whispered.

Her fingertips clutched at his shirt, keeping him one breath away. “What’s that?”

“It’s been ten minutes. Probably more.” She didn’t move a muscle. “So did you want to head back home, or did you—?”

“Come here, Leo.” She kissed him like she wasn’t going anywhere, her lips sweet against his.

They tried to be smooth. They really did. But the second she tugged him down on top of her, their clothes started coming off in stuttering, breathless pieces. They both burst into a jumble of moans and laughter that somehow only made everything hotter. When all the space between them finally disappeared, her hair came down, and she guided his hand between her thighs, showing him where she needed his touch.

For a minute his mind scrambled, still disbelieving this was real. But her hand told him everything he needed to know—the type of stroke, the pressure, the pace—without her saying a word. And he caught on quicker than she probably expected.

He lowered his face to the juncture of her thighs, and her legs parted for him. So he traced and teased her slick warmth as her fingers combed through his hair.

She let out an appreciative groan. “Fuck, Leo. You really are good with your—” He gently sucked at her clit, and she shuddered. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Do that again.”

After a while, she was aching and demanded more than his mouth. He reached blindly into his nightstand for a condom. Thank God he found one fast. She was kissing his shoulder and stroking him the whole time, not helping at all.

When he finally eased inside her, he stilled, his forehead pressed to hers. He needed a second to savor this feeling. Her smell, her touch, all the little sounds she made.

She tightened her fingers around his shoulders and whispered, “Please,” and that one word brought him back to life. Leo moved with a tenderness that bordered on worship, each thrust a careful mix of restraint and hunger. She met him, matched him, until their rhythm synced and their whispered curses tangled together. Lynne went over the edge first, and she wasn’t quiet about it either. The sound of her crying out his name nearly finished him on its own. He’d never felt wanted like this before, never felt someone take him in like she was starving for him. It made him come harder than expected.

When it was over, they stayed in their embrace. The heat between them finally cooled with gentle touches and slowing heartbeats. She curled into his arms, head pressed under his chin, and eventually fell asleep. He stroked her hair until he dozed off, too. But every hour, it seemed, either of them would wake and rekindle that fire with a kiss or a fingertip brushing along a hip bone. And every time it got better. Less rushed. More confident and exploring. Lynne was insatiable. Being with her felt instinctive. But there was nothing performative about her either, and he loved that. They’d had each other so many times by the end of the night, he was sure they’d both be sore in the morning.

Then, as he woke to the first glimpses of sunrise, he turned over in bed and found Lynne wasn’t there anymore. Her warm spot beside him was already cold. His insides turned to ice. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, expecting to see a text. Maybe she’d gone out for coffee and would be right back. But there was nothing.

He knew she had his number. He had hers from a couple years ago when his mom hosted a March family reunion. O’Donnell’s had catered the booze, and it was his job to intercept it. Lynne’s cell was the number given to him then. But he felt a slight shudder of panic when he considered that may not be her phone number anymore. Had she ghosted him? Could she even do that in a town as small as Autumn Ridge?

He lost his appetite for sleep. He got up and brushed his teeth and prepped a little for his next firefighter training day. Then a message lit up his phone.

Hey, Leo. It was Lynne’s number. Sorry I left without saying goodbye.

A wave of relief swept over him. You get in trouble with Dale? he texted back.

No, she texted swiftly. Then a few moments later—I didn’t tell him about us. But it’s okay. I got it covered.

He didn’t quite know how to reply to that. As he drafted a couple different messages, Lynne texted him again.

I don’t know how else to say this but … I don’t think it was a good idea, what we did last night. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you. I got caught up in the moment.

He wanted to text back that she didn’t take advantage of him—that he wanted this—and then he wanted to ask her how she could accidentally get “caught up in the moment” so many times with him last night. Was she saying all those times were just mistakes?

Instead, he took three deep breaths and remembered what Chief Bob had told all the trainees on their first day. Fire talks. If you hear it change its voice—crackling to a hiss, a roar to a whistle—don’t ignore it. That’s the sound of something about to go very, very wrong.

He should have known. He did know. There were more reasons for her to write this off as a mistake than there were to keep it going. He’d just chosen to ignore it.

Okay. Sure, he texted back. And then, I get it, even though he didn’t.

If she wanted to act like last night hadn’t changed things between them, he couldn’t do anything about it. Not right now. She’d seen him once. All he could hope was that she’d see him again that way someday.