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Then a second text follows.Please say you’ll delete both my texts right now.
I laugh softly, but do as he asks. I know this forbidden relationship is dangerous for us both and I would never want to risk either of our careers. I text back,done.
Good girl,he texts back.
I’m starting to wonder about myself. About why those two words have such an effect on me. It seems supremely ironic after spending my entire life defying sexism to prove I’m capable of doing a man’s job, I’d get off on being treated like a little girl.
At least four times since Tuesday night I’ve panicked, wondering what all this means about me. Am I flawed? How could I, of all people, want to be some guy’s babygirl? How could I want to be disciplined and told what to do?
And yet I do. I just keep trying to remember this is sex. It’s not real life. It doesn’t mean I can’t be a firefighter or that he doesn’t respect me on the job… at least I hope it doesn’t.
What if it does? What if I’m ruining my career because I couldn’t help but get kinky with my captain? Because I sure as hell can’t quit—I was lucky enough to get this position.
I jiggle my phone in my palm, staring at Blaze’s name. Finally, I text something real, something bothering me.Why does James hate me? Because I’m a woman?
As soon as I do, I’m sorry. What’s he going to say? You can’t tell people how to make friends. They have to figure it out on their own. He’s going to text not to worry about it, and I’m going to feel stupid for asking.
His reply comes after a moment.You’re replacing his cousin. He’s still mourning that loss. Give him time.
Oh.I suddenly feel like the biggest ass for not guessing it might be about the guy I’m replacing. I knew he’d been badly hurt on the job. I just was so caught up in trying to prove myself I forgot people might resentanyonewho took his place—male or female.
I text back,shit. I’m sorry.
No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. He’ll come around. They all will.
They all will.Does that mean the rest still haven’t? I was kinda thinking I was part of the crew. I mean, I have a nickname and everything.
I hit the side of my phone to turn the screen off. Fatigue is making all this seem way more daunting than it should be. I reach for a book of matches. I thought about throwing them away after my first date with Blaze. I haven’t lit one since. But now I’m glad I didn’t. An addict never gets rid of their drug.
I need the flame. It will calm me down. Give me focus.
I rip off a match and hold it against the striking strip, but something won’t let me flick it.
If you need to burn something, you come to me and ask for a punishment.
I want to, I really do. It actually sounds far more satisfying than lighting a match. Except we’re at work. He can’t give me what I need.
Still, I don’t light it.
Instead, I flop back on the small bed and stare at the ceiling. After a minute, I stand up and grab the book of matches. I open my door and pad back out to Blaze’s office.
He looks up at me, his blue eyes scanning my face like he knows something’s wrong. I toss the book of matches on his desk.
“I need help.” It nearly kills me to say it.
There’s no smile on Blaze’s face when he stands. He’s dead serious, like I’m a fire he’s going to put out.
And then the alarm sounds. Neither of us moves for a full three seconds.
I guess I’m not the fire.
“I’ll get you after.” His deep voice holds promise, rings like a vow.
I nod and we both move, running for our gear and the truck and the emergency we’re trained to attack.
* * *
Blaze
