SERIES: Firehouse 69
She’s the one fire he may not be able to control.
When a roof collapse kills his best friend and his girlfriend clears out his apartment and leaves, firefighter John Cooper knows he shouldn’t sit alone in his empty apartment. But when he accepts an invitation to Club LaForge, his feet get colder with every step he takes inside.
The sights, sounds and smells of the BDSM club make him sweat, and not because he’s turned off. Yet he can’t bring himself to admit—to himself, or to his luscious guide, Moira—that this lifestyle might just be what he needs.
An experienced BDSM trainer, Moira senses that Coop is not only a Dom in the making, but exactly what she’s been looking for. A man to be her lover and her Dom. The only problem is, Coop isn’t looking for anything complicated.
Moira’s willing to start slow and easy, but even once there’s enough trust to bring Coop into her world—and to her Dom—she’s still worried he’ll look for the nearest exit.
Warning: Do you smell smoke? Don’t worry, it’s just a hot and sexy firefighter getting down and dirty. Contains BDSM scenes, ropes, floggers, some spanking, some sharing, and some five-alarm sex.
With her heels digging into the backs of his shoulders, Coop knew Moira was right fucking there. So was he. He grimaced as he slammed his hips forward, forcing her to withdraw her hands. With one hand cupping her rump to hold her the height he needed, and fingers still pumping into her ass, he was a little too busy to concentrate. Ambidextrous, he was not. It was hard to keep on task.
Calling her slut had made her expression soften, her lips poutier. The word had done something to him too. Made him powerful and then immediately remorseful, shamed for feeling that way. She wanted it, but he wasn’t comfortable giving it. His upbringing, which required that he always treat a woman like a lady even when she wasn’t behaving like one, might be a little too ingrained.
Still didn’t soften his dick one iota. Gazing down at her, he found he was searching her face for clues, looking for indications he was getting this right, giving her what she needed. Something he usually took for granted with his partners because what he brought always seemed to be enough.
With Moira, he wasn’t sure. For one thing, she wasn’t sinking her nails into him. Her hands were curled beside her head, her gaze clinging to his face, begging him silently. He wanted to ask her what she needed but sensed she didn’t want to direct him. He’d have to figure this out himself. Go with his gut.
Only once had his gut failed him.
He swallowed, halting his motions. He stared down at her and a drop of sweat trickled from his hairline down his cheek to his nose and then plopped on her cheek.
Moira angled her face and swiped the droplet as it veered toward her mouth.
Sexy as hell. He was driving into two of her three orifices, staring at the third. She was his. He could take her any way he wanted. And she was waiting….to see whether he was worthy? Whether he’d figure her out?
He remembered the dude on the stage at La Forge. The one with the ridiculous saw-blade hair. He’d been in control, and while he’d paddled the woman, burned her skin, he’d never been too crude about it. Never made her an object. His tone had remained intimate, respectful, even when he’d called her slut.
He’d given her what she’d wanted—no, needed—and never taken a thing from her, except perhaps the pleasure of knowing he’d given Britney pleasure.
Coop wanted to be like that. Wanted to see Moira’s eyes flare with pleasure and respect. He wanted her to trust him. For her to know that if she fell through the roof, he’d catch her.
He bowed his head, dropping it to lie against her shoulder to hide his face, seeking privacy while he came to terms with his emotions.
Grief was still there at the fleeting, unwanted thought of that roof and the black cloud of smoke that had burned his eyes to tears. He hadn’t failed Danny. He knew it in his heart. Danny’s death had been out of his control. Lack of control was the crux of his problem.
The woman beginning to quiver beneath him was a gift he didn’t deserve, but one he wasn’t about to refuse. She was giving him the means to take back control, if only for the short time they’d come together. She was willing to let him take charge, take her wherever he wanted in any way he desired. She’d offer him only her unequivocal submission.
The thought was combustive to his libido, but also a sweet balm to his soul.
About Delilah Devlin
Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred thirty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths. She is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Montlake Romance, Running Press and Samhain Publishing. Find out more about Delilah at www.delilahdevlin.com.
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