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When he took her into the shower afterward, he wouldn’t allow her to wash herself. He did all of it, every crevice. Though she was shuddering with arousal, he let her suffer without a release. He did at least make her breakfast.
Mid-morning, she’d brought some cut fruit to his bedroom office to share. As she put it beside him, he was on his phone, setting up a fire code inspection on a factory in the area. As he went over the details, he scribbled words on a pad at his elbow.
Thank you. Take off your panties and jeans and bend over the end of the bed. Spread your legs.
He ate the fruit and finished his call while she did that. Whenever she looked over her shoulder toward him, she found him leisurely gazing at her backside and sex. Her cunt got wetter and wetter from nothing more than the visual attention.
After he ended the call, he put his thumbs in his mouth, one after the other, to suck the juice off of them. Or so she thought. He pushed back from the desk and came around it, his strides purposeful. Putting both large hands on her ass, he parted the cheeks so he could tease her rim with those damp thumbs. When she was gasping and wiggling, he dropped to a knee and started eating her pussy.
He kept doing it until she screamed through an orgasm so intense it strained her vocal cords and her thigh muscles, from her convulsing against his relentless grip.
She was lucky he was a caring Dom, because after he had her against the hallway wall two hours later, he’d made her a sandwich for lunch and let her take a nap on the sofa. Naked, covered by a blanket. He woke her up by moving her into his lap and kissing her, putting his hand between her legs to stroke her until she was begging. Then he lifted her to a straddle, lowered her on his cock, and had her ride him until they both released.
He made her study after that. Until sex on the table and dinner time.
“Les?”
“Sorry, yes?”
He lifted a brow. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m okay. Really.” You nearly fucking me to death helps me forget I’m at the scene of a family tragedy. Whether it was something she could admit or not, thinking of him taking her over that way helped her. Except for when she’d slept naked on the sofa, she’d worn one of his T-shirts all day. Nothing beneath it.
“I want you accessible, doc.”
Her five pictures had always helped her level out during times of stress. She had a feeling they’d been irrevocably replaced by images of what he’d done to her, and imaginings of what he intended to do to her next.
“All right. I have my phone. If you need me to come back out, text me. Don’t follow me in, no matter what. Remember what I told you. Burned materials can still put off bad stuff, days later. That’s why I’ll wear gear to go inside.”
“Understood.”
He retrieved a protective suit, hat and face mask from the storage box in the truck bed, donning it in a matter of minutes. She noted he also had turnout gear in there, including an SCBA. Always the ready firefighter, even as an arson investigator.
She settled into her seat, knee against the console as she turned toward him, showing she was comfortable studying there. She pointed to her pack of crackers and soda. “Seriously, I’m good to go. I used to sit in that tree in our backyard for hours reading, with nothing but a Moon Pie and a cherry cola.”
“I remember. I could see you from Rory’s window.”
“And I could see you.” She smiled. “I always hoped there would be some reason for you to strip down.”
“Your parents should have given you more spankings.”
She stuck her tongue out, but she also touched his hand. “Take your time and get done what you need to get done. If this wasn’t an accident, I want you to get the asshole who did it.”
“You and me both.” He grabbed his pack and shovel and headed for the house.
Les watched him head off, wondering how many decades would pass before she wasn’t stirred up watching him do his job. But seeing him against the backdrop of this burned home brought a more sobering thought. Every fire he went into exposed him to the risk of serious injury. Or death.
There was no point to that line of thinking. She’d thought being a doctor was a calling for her, something she needed and wanted to do. Now she wasn’t sure. But for Brick, there was no doubt how deep it ran for him. She had to accept that worry without resentment or regret, because it was who he was. But she was glad he was an investigator, not always on the front line.
He'd taken the main case folder with him into the house, but he’d left out a family picture of Jasmine and her children. On the way over, he’d tapped the image of the little girl, who was holding a stuffed bear tight against her. “Jasmine told Tracey she wouldn’t go to sleep without it.”
She expected he’d left that picture behind to help her think of the people they’d been, instead of burned corpses. Before she popped open her soda to take a sip, she tucked the picture inside the front cover of her tablet to protect it. Then she started working on her exam questions.
Despite her mind’s wish to wander back to the incredible sex she’d had yesterday, she corralled it enough to start digesting information. Occasionally she’d look up to see if she saw any sign of Brick. By the time a half hour had passed, she’d made herself eat a couple crackers so Brick wouldn’t admonish her for her lack of appetite. She was taking another swallow of soda to wash down the last bite when she heard a crunching gravel noise.
A red truck was pulling into the driveway behind her. It had a firefighter vanity plate on the front. Someone who knew Brick, perhaps here for a similar follow up.
She opened her door as the man slid out of the truck. He looked tired, as if he’d been fighting fires for days. He was unshaven, wearing jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, the pocket printed with the logo of a firehouse.
