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Blaze

By: sticky_cherry_syrup



Traffic inched forward in a snarl of overwhelmed intersections. Somewhere on the other side of the interstate, a fire engine's siren screamed through the hot air. The light turned green and Holly started to go, but the big Silverado in front of her didn't budge. She swore under her breath. Just then the fire engine turned in front of them followed by an ambulance and then a red SUV. The light turned red again and, groaning, Holly flopped back in her seat. She was wet with perspiration in the oppressive central Texas heat in a car with no air conditioning.

She looked down at the seat beside her, at the mail that had come from her post office box. There were the ubiquitous bills, a birthday card from her sister, and a letter from a regional publisher. It was the last piece of mail she most wanted to open, but she knew not to open it in rush hour traffic. Since it was thin she was fairly certain it was a rejection letter. That being the case, she would be in a foul mood the rest of the way home and very likely get into a wreck. No, she would wait until she was home, sitting at her drawing table, before she opened it.

The light finally turned green and Holly followed the Silverado across the intersection. She watched the big pickup truck's brake lights, reminding herself not to tailgate. She was really bad about that. For an instant she took her eyes off the road, noticing something black rising from just beyond those trees. Her eyes widened at the sight of flames licking the sky. A moment later she glanced back at the truck, seeing nothing but glowing red brake lights. Bracing herself against her steering wheel, she jammed both her feet on the brake pedal. The front of her car stopped inches away from the Silverado's back bumper. The next moment, her car slammed forward and she gasped as her car rammed into the pickup. For what seemed a long while she merely sat looking at the lettering on the truck in front of her. Then someone opened her door.

"Are you okay?" the man from the pickup truck asked. 

Holly shook herself. "Yeah, yeah," she said. She unbuckled her seat belt and got out. 

People were already honking as they had to change lanes to avoid the accident. The air was stifling, car exhaust and smoke from the burning building making it difficult to breath. 

The airbag had gone off in the Cadillac behind her. The man from the pickup ran back to check on the white-haired lady in the Cadillac. Holly stood where she was, looking from her car wrinkled like an accordion to the burning building. It was four stories high and the second floor was on fire. 

"I can't believe your airbag didn't go off," the man said when he walked back to her. He dialed emergency with his cell phone. 

Holly let out a sigh. "My car's too old to have an airbag." 

She knew her car was totaled. The book value couldn't be more than two thousand dollars. Where would she get even a used car for two thousand dollars?

Wrapping her arms around herself, she moved away from the accident towards the parking lot of the building partially in flames. She watched from sixty yards away as three fire engines worked to put out the blaze, a row of hulky firefighters holding hoses that arched water into the air before disappearing into the smoke billows. She couldn't really hear anything over the din of truck motors and water, but it seemed people were shouting. 

A man with short, dark hair and dressed in blue slacks and a matching shirt emerged from the tangle of trucks and hoses and walked quickly to the red SUV designated FIRE CHIEF. As he walked he began unbuttoning his short-sleeve shirt and yanked it over his head to reveal a light blue t-shirt underneath. Holly's eyebrows went up. Quickly she glanced over her shoulder just to make sure the police hadn't arrived at the accident scene before glancing back at the much more interesting sight before her. 

He unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants. Holly took out her cell phone. He was wearing skin-tight trunks that possibly doubled as workout shorts. Anyway, she had to have a picture of it. He turned away from her to open the SUV's back doors just as she was about to take the picture. 

As he turned back around with something in his arms, Holly took the picture. She looked down at it and made a face. He was really too far away. When she glanced up he was already in the yellow bibbed pants and sliding his arms through the suspenders. 

A news crew arrived from the television station, stopping their van within fifteen feet of where Holly stood. They were, unfortunately, right in her line of vision, and rather irritated by their lack of consideration, she stepped around the van just in time to see the man dragging on his jacket. The name SCOTT was stenciled along the bottom of the jacket. 

He glanced one time behind him at the news van, his eyes a dark and smoldering color in his tanned face. Then, for the slightest moment, his gaze fell on Holly. It stilled there long enough for her to feel the shock of connection. And then he was off, slapping a helmet onto his head as he hurried towards the burning building.

David Scott. She had heard he was back in town, but that was twelve years ago and she had let his memory slip out of her mind in much the same way one hopes to get over a splinter. He was hard to forget. She had known him in their shared youth, in another place, when talent and beauty first blossomed and innocence was something easy to let go of.

The place had been New York and for Holly Alexander, it had meant a scholarship to a prestigious art school. Plucked from a small Hill Country high school, she had fallen quickly into the rhythm of the city not so much out of a desire to fit in but as a means of survival. For four years life moved at a frantic, dizzying pace. She went places, met people, and did things, which now seemed so far removed from her current everyday life that she could believe them fantasies of her own mind. 

But they had happened. Really, all she needed to do was hook up with an old high school friend with a yearbook and turn to the page of Most Handsome to verify at least the beginning. David Scott had had the look of a beautiful, sensual savage. He hadn't been like the other kids: goofy, clumsy, always saying the wrong thing. Instead he'd been blessed with the most effortless charm and wit, appealing to everyone around him. Old, young, male, female: they all loved him. It seemed natural that he should go to New York to become a model. Why not? He was something beyond the rest of them.

It was in New York that she first saw David again, at an art show. He'd lost a lot of weight, as models will do, and his face was just one chiseled mass of bone with haunted eyes and pouting lips. He barely remembered her from high school, but he was happy to talk to someone from home, someone who knew all the people he knew in this sea of strangers.

He'd been there with a man, and at the time Holly's naiveté was so severe that she'd simply not made the connection. She remembered the way the man's hand had touched the small of David's back, shepherding him in the wanted direction. Looking back now, she didn't think David had really cared for the man. But it hadn't mattered, because not long after that, there had been more important men who came into his life.

Holly knew artists, but David knew power. The men he moved with owned the city. They speculated with billions and flew in private jets and financed blockbuster movies. He had his place as the amusement of the day, and he enjoyed the prestige along with the Lamborghinis and silk shirts and diamond watches. 

The last time she saw him in New York, she'd been on the verge of graduation. She'd honed her craft to a degree that received not only recognition but financial reward. A client requested that she make a series of sketches for him. He'd tried himself to capture the young man's brutal beauty but failed, and he wanted a lasting memento to remind him of these halcyon days of romance.

She'd agreed, never suspecting that the subject of the sketches would be David Scott. The client had led her to the patio and presented her with a new sketch pad, then left, too anxious over the finished product to remain. 

Holly could vividly recall David's body inclined on the lounge chair, naked except for a towel over his groin. She'd sketched him thus the first page, but after that the towel left him and the images had become more erotic with each succeeding page.

Standing in the scorching heat of a late afternoon in summer, Holly found it difficult to reconcile such memories with the man she had just seen rushing into a burning building. But it was him; yes, she'd heard twelve years ago that he'd come back home and gotten a job with the fire department. But hearing of a thing and seeing it are worlds apart. 

The police arrived within a reasonable time and, having given her report, she was free to leave.

The tow truck driver dropped her by her house before rolling away with her little mangled car. Holly walked slowly up the walkway of the small frame house. It wasn't hers, of course. She only rented it. She'd been living there for four years and it looked almost the same as when she'd moved in. It had the look and feel of a rental: unloved and ill-used. Not that Holly wouldn't have liked to plant flowers and hang curtains in the windows; she would have. But those kinds of niceties required money, and money was in short supply these days. 

Inside the very small living room, she sank down on the sofa and opened the letter from the publisher. A deep sigh escaped from her. They'd liked her pictures but not the story. The month before, another publisher had liked her story but not her pictures. And no one liked anything she did separately well enough to give her money for it. She would be spending yet another year teaching art classes at the community college. 

She picked up her sketch pad and started drawing out a figure. It was halfway done before she realized who it was. She wanted to quit. But her hand kept making those long lines, each stroke of her pencil making her heart race as David Scott's naked form stretched out in front of her. She could see his hand on his cock as he'd slowly stroked it into a hard shaft and how he'd stared at her with that come-hither look that turned his lovers into slaves. She could have easily fallen for him, and would have, if only he'd beckoned. 

She tore out the sketch and set it aside and began another, this one of the man she had seen today. She chose the very moment, one now emblazoned on her mind, when his gaze had moved from the news van to her face. He held his helmet between his hands and wore his full bunker gear with his surname stenciled across the bottom of the jacket. Painstakingly she captured the eyes, dark and yet clear, looking out at her, full of fire and mystery and desire. 

It was a good sketch. Probably the best she'd done in years. She tore it out of her sketch pad and carried it to her studio and pinned it to the wall. The man in the fire gear stared at her. She felt strangely at ease with him there, and yet unnerved. It was a though he could read her thoughts. 

Next day, she opened up the newspaper during a break to find David Scott posing in front of the doused building. 

"'Fire Chief David Scott was on the scene at the Haygood Building on Jefferson Street Tuesday'," she read the photo caption out loud, "'after an electrical fire on the second floor caused significant damage to the building's structure'." 

"Isn't he a hunk?" her friend Ellen asked, leaning across the table in the faculty lounge to take in the picture. "God, what a body."

Ellen taught anatomy classes to the pre-med students. For her everything was about the body. 

"I actually met him once last year when he was teaching a class here," Ellen went on.

Holly almost choked on her soda. "He taught here last year? What did he teach?"

"I don't know. Something about fighting fires, I guess. Anyway, we happened to be at the soda machine at the same time and it wouldn't take his dollar so I gave him four quarters."

"That hardly qualifies as meeting someone, Ellen."

"Well, yeah, but then I saw his badge with his name on it and I was like, 'So are you single, Chief Scott?' And he looked at me very coolly and said, 'Are you?' And of course, he had me there, because I'm wearing this big hunker wedding ring. And I said, 'A girl can pretend, can't she?'And again he looked at me with those dark eyes and said, 'You can pretend all you want, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna play your game. ' And I gotta tell you, he just had me totally wrapped around his little finger."

"You're insane," Holly said into her soda can. 

"You should try to get him to model for your class," Ellen said.

Again Holly choked on her Dr Pepper. "Are you trying to kill me, Ellen?" she demanded. "The fire chief isn't going to pose for my class."

"Oh, you never know. I heard he did some modeling in his younger days...the kind of modeling you wouldn't put on your resume if you're Fire Chief."

Holly said nothing. She'd never told anyone about that experience with David.

"Apparently he went to New York for several years and did quite a few things up there, including swinging both ways, if you know what I mean."

"Ellen, we work in Austin. We don't have to use code. You can come out and say he's bisexual and the world won't come to an end."

"I'm not saying he's bisexual now. I'm just saying he tasted some forbidden fruit in his youth."

Holly sighed in exasperation. "You're talking in code again. And if he is bisexual, or gay, or whatever, so what? It just means he'll most likely have a date Friday night while I stay at home and sharpen my colored pencils."

Ellen laughed. "Well you could have a date if you let yourself get over You-Know-Who," she said, like a friend who knows too much and doesn't mind reminding you of the fact.

Holly stood up and cleared away her mess. "Yes, I know who, Ellen. His name is Sam. He broke my heart two weeks before our wedding and four years later I'm still getting over it. Sorry I don't heal fast enough to keep you comfortable."

She walked away from her friend, knowing she had sounded sarcastic and peevish. She didn't care. She was feeling bothered but by what she didn't know. She wanted something she couldn't have and it was grating her. She just didn't know what it was she wanted.

As she settled down to her desk in the art room, she saw voice messages waiting for her. Pressing play, she listened to a creditor harass her for money; her sister called to wish her a happy birthday; and David Scott wanted to speak to her. 

Holly couldn't believe her ears. Replaying the message, she listened to that dark and sultry voice sounding oh-so-official.

"This is David Scott. I'd like to speak to you for a moment if I could. Please give me a callback at the following number...."

She scribbled down the number and immediately picked up the phone and dialed. She knew better than to put it off. If she did, she would never be able to carry it out and then he would only call her again and she'd feel like a fool. 

"David Scott."

She gripped the phone. "Hi, this is Holly Alexander. You had called?"

"Hi, Holly. I was wondering if I might come over and speak with you."

"Now? I have a class and—"

"When it is convenient?"

"My last class is over this evening at eight."

"May I come to your home?"

"Yes," she sputtered. "Yes, of course." 

She gave him the address and he hung up. It never occurred to her to ask him what it was he wanted.

Having picked up a rental car earlier in the day, she made it home just as he was pulling up in his personal vehicle. He stood out and waited for her on the curb, looking ravishingly handsome in a t-shirt and baggy khaki shorts. Holly steeled herself against his extraordinary good looks and walked up to him with a smile.

"Hello, David. It's good to see you again after so long."

He followed her up the walkway. "You, too. I recognized you yesterday on Jefferson. I understand you were involved in an accident. Did you know that was the mayor's wife who hit you?"

Holly laughed. "No, I didn't know that. All I know is that her insurance is paying for my rental car until they send me a check for my totaled one."

She unlocked the front door and led him inside, turning on lights as she went. There wasn't far to go, just the living room and then a place to eat and the kitchen. She gestured to the sofa and he moved around the coffee table to sit down. For the first time she noticed the envelope in his hands.

"Would you like something to drink? I don't have any alcohol but I have some sodas. Or water."

"No, I'm fine." He watched her finally settle in. "I actually wanted to talk to you about possibly illustrating a story for me. It's a children's story. I have a publisher lined up but I'm not crazy about their ideas for the illustrations."

Holly smiled, envying his position. Rarely did an author get to choose their illustrator unless they were their own, and sometimes not even then. But then, David Scott wasn't like everyone else. 

He opened the envelope and drew out a stack of about ten sheets of typed paper and passed them to her.

Holly sat back in her chair and read the story. It was about a widowed fireman whose little boy was afraid his father would die. The story was sweet and poignant and stirring. The camaraderie and emotional support of the fire station was captured for a moving resolution. It left her feeling emotionally satisfied and wishing she could be a firefighter.

"That's very good," she said, holding the story between her hands. "Have you written before?"

"Well, I took a creative writing class," he admitted.

"It's very good, David. Superior. I would love to illustrate your book."

For the first time his handsome face relaxed and he smiled. "I'm so glad. I wanted someone local who could come into the fire station and really capture the feel of the guys in action, and I knew you would be perfect for it."

"I appreciate that." She didn't add that it would be an amazing opportunity for herself since she had yet to break into the market.

He stood up. "Well, that's it. Keep that copy for yourself. Give me a call when you have time to come by the station and make some preliminary sketches."

"I'll be calling you soon," Holly said. Very soon. Like, tomorrow morning.

He stopped at the door and turned around and faced her. He was a good foot taller than her, and just being so close to him in the narrow hallway was a bit overwhelming for her. 

"Holly, there's one more thing," he said in a low voice, not making eye contact. "I appreciate you keeping what happened in New York all those years ago to yourself. You could have done a lot of damage to my reputation but you didn't. That means a lot."

"It was nobody else's business," she said simply.

Then his gaze met hers, warm and thankful and caring, and she barely kept herself from giving him a hug. 

When he was gone, she sat down and read the story again. Making a cup of chamomile tea, she took the story with her back to her studio and started drawing. The sketches came easily, as though they had been saved up in her fingers just waiting to come out. At times she stretched or went to the bathroom, but for the most part she worked with an energy and focus she couldn't remember having ever possessed. Then the alarm on her cell phone went off and she looked up. It was six o'clock in the morning. She had worked all night.

She couldn't sleep. She lay down on top of her bed to try to get a few hours before leaving for the college but it was impossible. Thankfully today was her light load, and she showered and dressed and drove to school, thinking all the while about the story and the sketches and David Scott.


Blaze



With a great deal of coffee she made it through the day. Driving home, she deliberately passed the fire station because she knew she would not sleep if she didn't. She pulled into a side street and stepped out of her car and took in the lines and colors of the engines inside the garage. The doors were open as they usually were and bunker gear was placed on the floor of the garage at the ready. The structure itself was fairly new. She thought it lacked the warmth the story called for and made a mental note to ask David if there was an older fire station she could visit. 

And then she went to bed. She was drained, and yet sleep evaded her for several hours more. It was as though her body had entered some other cycle of existence that had taken her out of her sluggish lifestyle. She tried to remember if she'd eaten that day and realized she hadn't. What was wrong with her?

The next morning she called in sick. She'd slept for two hours at the most, and even that had been troubled. 

Instead, she called David Scott and asked him if she could visit the fire station where his office was located. 

The fire station was very different from the one she'd visited as a Girl Scout twenty-something years earlier. The front of the building had carpeted offices for the chief and captain, and there was a small conference room for community meetings. The kitchen and weight room were downstairs, and the bunks, showers, and rec room up. There really were poles in the floor leading down to an equipment room off the garage. She smiled at this. Some things never changed. 

David's office was utilitarian, with not even a personal picture. He sat a little ways back from his desk with his long legs crossed at the ankle in front of him. His office faced the south, and wonderful natural light poured into the office through the blinds, carving his face into shadow and substance. The palms of her hands itched to draw him. She'd brought her sketch pad but used her camera instead to catch the myriad details of the fire station, and she thought it would be rather obvious if she just suddenly began to sketch when she hadn't before.

They discussed the book again and reviewed her ideas for illustrations. David explained the different trucks and engines as well as the equipment. They brainstormed a timeline and even made a conference call to the publisher. In all she spent three hours at the station, even being treated to lunch with the crew. She enjoyed the camaraderie and humor shared by all, noticing how at ease David was with the room full of strong, hulky firefighters. She didn't sense he was involved with any of them; she only noticed he was among his own, at home with all those hard bodies with deep voices and hairy limbs. 

He walked her to her rental car and hung on her open door while she started the engine and let the air conditioner run to disperse the heat. 

"I don't want to mess this up," David said, watching her as she got on her seat belt, put on her sunglasses, adjusted her rear view mirror. "But there's something else I've been wanting to ask you to do for me. For me, not for anyone else. I'm willing to pay whatever you ask. But I have to know two things: that it won't screw up the book deal; and that you'll keep it to yourself like you did before."

Holly peered up at him. "What is it that you want?"

"I want you to sketch me."

A warmth washed over her that she hadn't felt in a long time. She looked quickly away from him, stunned. She hadn't seen this coming. She'd always assumed that when he'd posed for her before, it had been something against his will, or at least not his idea. That he wanted to lie before her naked, touching himself the way he had then, overwhelmed her. She was simultaneously aroused and afraid. 

"Was I wrong to ask you?" 

Holly shook her head. "No."

"Do you not draw nudes?"

Of course she drew nudes. She even taught a class with nude models. But it wasn't the same.

He stood up straight. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's not that," Holly said quickly. "I just want to make sure that, as you said, nothing else gets compromised. Of course I would love to sketch you; you have a beautiful line and it would be very erotic. I just want to make sure we're on the same page as to the purpose."

He knew what she was asking. "I won't deny there's a certain element of exhibitionism at play here," he admitted. 

"As long as I understand that," Holly said, sounding very professional and objective. Behind her sunglasses, however, her eyes were wide with astonishment. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. God, he was admitting to her that he found sexual fulfillment in being sketched in the nude...and not just in the nude, but while fondling himself. 

"Are you alright with it then?" he asked. He was trying not to sound eager but she knew he was.

"Yes."

"Can we start tonight?"

That soon. Yes, he was eager. 

"Alright."

"I'll be home around seven. I'll give you a call before then with directions. It isn't hard to find from your house, maybe just a five minute drive."

"Alright."

He shut her door for her and she pulled away, driving like a normal person, while behind her cool façade she was exploding in long-dormant sensations. She drove a few blocks down the busy road, then pulled into a side street and stopped. Her vagina was constricting and she couldn't breath. She felt a rush of something between her legs and realized she'd orgasmed and fluid was running out of her. Oh God, he'd done this to her. She'd never experienced a spontaneous orgasm, never even known it was possible. She lay her head back on the head rest and waited for the smoldering fire between her legs to dissipate, yet it remained, like hot coals in a brazier. 

She drove quickly home, ran into the house, and threw herself onto the sofa, masturbating through her jeans. A second orgasm shortly followed, hard and agonizing and long. She lay there soaked with perspiration, her mouth dry, her body spent. She didn't try to find the reason for this sudden eruption of desire. It was self-evident.

She took a long shower and put on clean clothes, moving in a way she hadn't in a long time. Being jilted had not only hurt her self-esteem; she hadn't orgasmed in four years. She hadn't felt the need to. All passion and desire in her life had flown away along with her fiancé. Now she couldn't remember what he looked like. What was his name? Oh yeah. Sam. She walked into her studio, her ass shaking a little for the first time in years. Her fingers brushed over the features of the man who had ignited the fire again in her. 

"Thank you, David," she whispered. 

He was waiting for her when she arrived at the attractive house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Walking up the brick walkway, her gaze took in the nicely landscaped yard, handsome brick and stone façade, and ornamental light fixtures flanking the very solid carved front door. But from the moment David opened that door to invite her in, she could not have recalled a detail of his home if her life depended on it. She knew there were walls and a ceiling, but otherwise she was captivated by the moving art form before her. 

He wore a pair of red Speedos and his skin glistened with oil. His broad back rippled with muscles as he moved in front of her. Long, sinewy arms swung from broad shoulders. His thighs were lean and his butt narrow and rounded. He had the graceful walk of a natural athlete.

He led her through the house to a covered patio. A pitcher of Sangria sat on a table next to a pair of lounge chairs. He poured her one and passed it to her. A ceiling fan whirled over their heads, diffusing the heat from the setting sun. She barely noticed the swimming pool ten feet away from them.

"Is the lighting here okay?" he asked.

"Wonderful," Holly said. She sipped the Sangria. 

"Tell me where you want this," he said as he dragged a padded iron chair from a patio set over to the lounge chair.

"That's good." She sat down, making minor adjustments to the chair.

He laid back on the lounge. He assumed the most natural and effortless position, looking as though he'd been there all along. She marveled at the command he had over his body. She opened her sketch pad and began to outline the form of a man on a lounge chair drawn from a slight angle. Her hand flew over the paper. God, he was so easy to draw. Her head moved slightly back and forth like an orchestral conductor. Her face was very still, but her hands and eyes moved with lightning speed. Very quickly his muscles took shape and she began to give identity to his face. His eyes stared unflinchingly at her. The only movement to him was his hair where the ceiling fan caused a small disturbance above him.

Her eyes fell to his chest and she drew his nipples, taking in the shapes of the areolas and how his black hair grew in little swirls over his chest. Her gaze lowered, and her hand created his defined abs and the subtle outline of his rib cage. She sketched his belly button and the fine hairs that tapered downwards across his flat belly to disappear into the waistband of his Speedos. Her eyes fell to his groin, taking in the long, thick shape of his erect penis as it strained against the stretchy fabric of his swim suit. She kept her gaze steady, not allowing her expression to betray her. This was all part of the process, she told herself. And she wanted to do it. 

She finished his thighs and feet, then glanced back at his face. The eyes were always the last, for it was in the eyes she caught the essence of the subject. His face was intense now, his eyes staring into her like twin laser beams. She felt the color rise in her cheeks and refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she redoubled her objectivity and added the last few strokes to the sketch. Then she stopped and looked at it for a long moment and stood to pass it to him. 

He didn't rise from the lounge chair. He relaxed into the cushions and studied the sketch with an appreciative gaze. 

"You're amazing," he said after a long while. "You give life to me where I don't see it in myself."

She thought of that without answering. It was an enigmatic statement, one she could spend a lifetime trying to unravel without coming up with an answer.

"Do you mind if we do another?" he asked. 

"No."

"Do you mind if I take off my swim suit?"

"No. Do you want me to change the angle?"

"No, I like that angle."

He stood up and, with his back to her, pulled down his swim suit. Her eyes briefly moved over the gorgeous curve of his ass before he sat down. He adjusted his erect penis so it lay mostly towards the right side of his belly. As far as she knew it was fully erect; as it was, she tried to completely ignore it. Instead she repeated the previous process, creating first a general outline and then giving definition before beginning the details. Her pencil moved a little slower this time. She found it harder to concentrate. Her eyes fell involuntarily to his groin and she quickly looked back up. He was watching her very intently. 

For the first time her lips parted; she was finding it difficult to breath. She stopped for a moment to drink some of the Sangria, swallowing much more than just a sip this time. Then she went back to work, telling herself she must remain professional. He didn't want her losing it. She had a harder time with his nipples; they seemed to have grown erect and she couldn't create the shadow to her satisfaction. His chest was rising and falling faster this time, and he kept moving his hand to adjust his penis. Her gaze swept over his groin to his legs; she'd go back to his groin in a minute. She fleshed out his legs and feet, and drew the end of the chair, and then went back up. His penis had thickened somewhat and she knew he was becoming more aroused. His thighs moved imperceptibly against his balls, gently squeezing them. She hurried to finish his genitals, frowning as she did so. God, she was so turned on. Her crotch was burning with desire for him but she didn't dare move. She finished drawing the lines of his cock and sac and moved back up to his face. His lips were beginning to curl back and his eyes to narrow. 

Somehow she caught that look, and brought it out on the flat piece of paper in front of her. She ripped out the sheet of paper and gave it to him, not stopping to look at it. He gave the sketch a cursory glance and set it down. 

"Will you do another one?"

Holly glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes had passed. 

"Alright."

She raised her pencil over a fresh sheet of paper, ready. He closed his eyes and put one arm over his head and began to stroke himself. She began to sketch more rapidly than the first time, but from the beginning it wasn't right. She angrily tore it out and tossed it on the floor. David lifted his head to look at her. 

"I messed up," she said and started again. 

He lowered his arm to its previous position, by his side, and gazed at her through half-open eyelids. His hand moved over his penis in long, intense strokes, his hips rising slightly upwards. Holly struggled with the line. It wasn't right. She erased and tried again, tilting her head to find her error. What was she doing wrong? 

She crossed her legs and immediately wished she hadn't. Her clitoris was engorged and the added pressure from her thighs squeezing against her made it impossible for her to concentrate. But she stayed that way, sketching his body as he pleasured himself. His mouth was slack and his chest rose and fell rapidly. His eyes bore into her; she longed to lock eyes with him and watch him as he orgasmed, but she refused herself that luxury. 

His pumping increased to a feverish pace and his face contorted. She was not nearly done. She tried to catch that moment, when the muscles in his forearm almost popped through his oiled skin and his toes curled under and his nostrils flared and he came. His semen shot out over his arm and splattered onto the patio. He continued rubbing his dick, looking at her, his expression becoming relaxed and peaceful. 

Slowly he rose to his feet and walked to her side and glanced down at the drawing. 

"It isn't very good," she admitted. 

His hand moved over her shoulder. He bent and dropped a kiss on her cheek just under her eye. 

"Thank you, Holly. Wait for me. I'll be back in a minute."

She gazed in front of her, seeing nothing. She was so near orgasm that she was afraid to move. But her body had a will of its own. Her thighs pressed together, causing a chain reaction. Grabbing onto the arms of the iron chair, she clinched her teeth as her clit orgasmed against the thick seam of her blue jeans. Desperately she tried to keep her hips still, but they rocked under her anyway, over and over and over again, as the wave of ecstasy carried her along. Her ragged breathing slowly calmed and her shoulders and arms relaxed back into the chair. The muscles in her face softened for the first time in over an hour. She breathed deeply the scents of lemongrass and honeysuckle that hung in the air. Her eyes closed. She could have easily fallen asleep at that very moment. 

A hand moved across her shoulder blades and she opened her eyes to see David standing in front of her wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a t-shirt. 

"Come inside with me," he said. 

She roused herself, wondering if he had seen her. Would he be angry? 

David bent to pick up the sketches she'd made and reexamined them with a discriminating eye. She tore the last picture out of her sketch book and handed it to him. 

"It isn't very good," she said again. "I couldn't get the line right.'

"Perhaps next time," he said, and gave her an encouraging half-smile. 

Holly looked away. She wasn't sure she wanted a next time.

David studied her face. "Is this okay with you?" he asked. "Because if it isn't let me know now and I won't mention it again."

"It was difficult," she admitted. 

"I admire your professionalism. You stayed with me to the very end. Other artists haven't been able to."

Other artists. So, there were others he had employed for the task. 

She followed him into the house, feeling even more uneasy now that she had to leave. In some way it felt as though she'd had sex with him, and yet now they were parting on the most indifferent of terms. Was this how it felt to be a prostitute? 

At the last moment, as she started out the door, he caught her arm and she stopped to look up at him. 

"This isn't right," he said in a voice laden with doubt and conviction. He touched the side of her cheek, his dark brows furrowed over his eyes. "I don't want you to go. Stay with me, Holly. I don't know what will happen, but I do know I want you to stay."

She stared for a long while up into his eyes. How easy it would be for him to hurt her. And yet, in some strange way she sensed that he was the one who was damaged. She saw him in that moment as the boy he had been in high school, wildly popular, and yet, like the rest of them, just a boy. 

She nodded, and turned with him back into the house. Setting down her sketch pad, she moved with him into the living room. He had only begun to reveal himself to her. 



Blaze Ch. 02



David Scott. The yearbook picture was something like eighteen years old and yet, except for the length of his hair, he looked almost the same. The chiseled face was one of youthful confidence, with a cocky, alluring smile, impudent eyebrows, and haughty forehead. But it was the soulful, piercing eyes that grabbed you, that made you want to stop and look and never turn away. The rest of the package was pretty, too, but the eyes revealed the fathomless depths of his soul.

Holding the yearbook, David flipped back to Holly's senior picture. Sitting beside him, she groaned and tried to cover it with her hands.

"Now stop," he said, pushing her hands away. "You got to see mine, now we get to look at yours."

She cringed at the bespectacled Holly Alexander of the Class of 1990. She looked like a total dork with her enormous dark brown curls, oversized plastic glasses and silly Material Girl outfit. The plastic jewelry alone was an embarrassment. 

He looked at the picture with an objective expression, then at the current Holly. "That was a really hot look for you," he said straight-faced. "Maybe you should go back to it."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically even while he cracked up laughing. She grabbed the yearbook from his hands and closed it. "So much for walking down memory lane. Now I remember why I didn't want to buy one of these yearbooks my senior year. And the sad thing was, that was the best of the pictures the photographer took of me. I vaguely recall that the rest of them made me cry."

"Well, the important thing is, you're hot now."

"Yeah, right. Drink some more sangria and tell me more lies."

Sitting on the sofa in his den, Holly was struck by the irony that of all the girls in her senior class, she was the one sharing a pitcher of sangria with David. She hadn't been popular in high school; in fact, if it hadn't been for art, she would have been a total social misfit. Her art had distinguished her in her high school and beyond. But for David, beauty had been his birthright. And not just beauty, but charm and wit and athleticism. Captain of the swim team, top honors on the wrestling team, a standout in track. And wildly popular, not just with the girls, but with everyone. Everyone loved David. He was easy to love.

She felt an arm stretch out on the back of the sofa behind her. His body was close to hers, close enough that she could feel his body heat through his t-shirt and her top. She looked down at his thigh as it rested beside hers. It was hard to believe now that she had sketched him in the nude, stroking himself to the point of orgasm. But she had, and the memory of it gave her a thrill that made her heart race. 

"Holly," he said, setting down his glass on the end table beside him. "There's something I need to make clear to you. I've had relationships with women as well as men."

He stopped, looking into her eyes as though to gage her reaction. Then he continued. 

"I can't tell you what the trigger is, why I feel attracted to someone. I just know it's there. Someone once told me that bisexuals are greedy. We want it all. I don't know, maybe it's true. I just know when I'm around someone and it clicks, I want to get to know that person better, and part of that 'getting to know you better' is having sex. Maybe I'm wrong to think that way, but I do."

She shrugged. "I don't think you're wrong in feeling that way. I think most of us are just too afraid to act on unconventional feelings."

"Have you ever had sexual feelings for a woman?"

"Sure. Everyone has same-sex feelings now and then. But I've never felt those feelings so strongly that I wanted to explore them. I don't really click very often anyway. My former fiancé was the only lover I ever had and I haven't been with anyone since him. I guess I'm just not a very sexual person."

She had said all this while staring down at the design on his t-shirt. Now David was silent, and her gaze lifted to look into his dark eyes. It was easy to mistake them as brown; up close, however, as she was now, she could see the blue flecks against the darker shade. She remembered thinking once that his eyes were the color of the ocean at sunset: like fire on water. Perhaps it was that enigma that made him so irresistible. 

His hand moved over hers while his gaze searched her eyes for some telltale sign. Holly felt a blush rising on her cheeks. His words echoed in her ears: "When it clicks, I want to get to know that person better...." Was he looking at her that way, holding her hand, because he wanted to get to know her better? 

His face grew closer and she closed her eyes. A moment later she felt his lips. Raw desire possessed her; she opened to him, giving herself over completely to his roving tongue. She had no defense against his kiss. It was unlike anything in her experience. His tongue was like a creature with a life of its own, not even a part of him. It filled her, possessed her, made her subject to its will. She was enslaved and joyful to be so. She gave back to him out of instinct, hardly cognizant of her own actions. The world was reduced to wet lips, probing tongues, clashing teeth, and hungry sounds.

The sighs that came from her wouldn't be silenced. Her hands, too, willfully went where they wanted, up his arms, over his shoulders, to his hot neck. His arms at the same time were bounding around her, hard muscles crushing her ribs as he dragged her against his chest. Muscle and heat enveloped her. Holly felt his hand in her hair, against her scalp, as he relentlessly kissed her. She felt faint for lack of air and overwhelmed by the passion pulsating in her groin. What had she said only minutes ago? That she wasn't a sexual person?

His grip loosened as one of his hands effortlessly swept up her flowing top. The lacy fabric of her bra almost melted under his scorching touch as he fondled her breast. David felt a large, erect nipple against a hard areola. He broke the kiss and looked down at her breasts, at the nipple he held, and distractedly bent over to suck it. His full lips took in more than just her nipple; her whole breast seemed to disappear into his mouth. Holly laid back her head on the sofa and stared unseeing at the ceiling while he administered his seduction to first one breast and then the other. 

Her fingers ran through his dark hair. She glanced down, seeing for the first time a few glints of gray across his temple. His head was so big compared to her small hand; not until now had she really noticed how truly big-boned he was. His face was right there on her chest as he sucked and licked her nipples, and from time to time he glanced up at her, a smile curving his mouth. 

Having no confidence in her own looks, Holly couldn't have imagined how her beauty struck David. Sure, he'd been with some of the most beautiful women in the world, professionally, romantically, or both. But Holly was real, all smoldering dark eyes, flushed cheeks and gaping mouth, with her pink tongue laying just beyond her curled lips. With a groan of longing, David went back to her mouth, kissing her with savage intensity. 

Beneath him, she shuddered. Her groin lifted to meet his, her upper thighs pressing in around his hardening shaft. Maybe it was just the way the seam of her jeans pressed against her clit, but she felt she was about to orgasm. 

David broke the kiss and pulled her onto his lap, rocking her back into the crook of his arm. The soft cushion of the sofa arm was there behind her as well, and he brought both his arms around to dispense with her shoes and the zipper on her jeans. She watched silently, as he pulled her jeans off her narrow hips and down her legs, then did the same with her thong. He lifted her top off her head and turned her to unclasp her bra and draw it away from her chest. Naked in his arms, flushed by the unexpectedness of it, she stared at him in complete bewilderment. How had this happened? 

Wrapping his arms around her naked frame, he lifted her and carried her into his bedroom. The bed gave under their combined weight. Holly felt a cool sheet under her; the bedspread was folded down to the foot of the bed. She was aware of dark, heavy, masculine furniture, but her gaze rested on David as he stripped off his clothes. 

Ironic, that she had sketched him nude earlier, yet seeing him now, standing over her...it was like she was seeing his body for the first time. His muscled shoulders shadowed narrow hips. He wasn't just beautifully made; he'd kept what nature had given him and improved on it over years of purposeful fitness. As she laid there looking over his body, his hand fell to his cock and he stroked it lightly. She smiled, a warm feeling tantalizing her groin. She liked watching him do that. 

"Touch yourself," he said, and Holly spread her legs before him. He watched as her small hand lowered to the glistening patch of black pubic hair, to the hidden nub underneath. With her middle finger, she gently stroked the hard bead, her hips lifting rhythmically against the sensation. Tilting to her side, she wound her left hand behind her and slid her middle and index fingers as deep into her vagina as she could go.

"Oh fuck," David gasped, stepping closer to the bed to watch her masturbate. From his vantage point he could see her small fingers plunging into her sopping vagina while her right hand continued stroking her clit. Holding his dick in his hand, he jerked it harder as he watched her. He could smell her aroma wafting up to him and he sucked in breath after breath, almost able to taste her from where he stood. 

Holly fought to keep her eyes opened. She didn't want to miss anything. Her gaze was fixed on his cock, and how his long fingers shaped in a tight O swept back and forth over it, pulling slightly against the skin. He jutted his hips forward just a bit, and it seemed all the muscles in his abdomen and thighs were flexed as he strained to control the blood flow to his groin. She longed to both watch him come and have him come inside of her. At the same time she was tantalized by the way he was staring down at her cunt, so obviously aroused as she masturbated. She'd no idea he was such a voyeur himself. 

"I want to watch you come," he said, making his intent clear. "Don't hold back. Give into it."

She groaned and let her eyelids close for a minute, reveling in the copious amounts of juice that coated her fingers. Her vagina was pulsating with the most intense sensations, but it was her clit that seized her and carried her upwards. Each thrust of her hips took her to higher levels of pleasure. Nothing short of raw ecstasy held her. Her body felt like a butterfly crashing out of its chrysalis, a magic butterfly that radiated hot flames and shot off fireworks with the first flap of its wings. She erupted, crying out, as her orgasm possessed her and sent her body crashing, like the butterfly, into a pool of warm exhilaration.

Her eyelids fluttered upwards to see him staring down at her crotch, an agonized look on his face as he pumped his shaft rapidly. The moment their eyes met, he gasped and climaxed, his semen flying over her to the other side of the bed and splatting on the floor. Another load landed on the sheet, the next on her stomach, the last on her belly. A few more dribbles fell on the floor. His contorted face relaxed and he fought to regain his breathing. 

Suddenly he smiled. "Well, fuck, that was hot," he said enthusiastically, reaching down to rub her inner thighs with both his hands. He continued looking down at her pussy swimming in her own juice. "Damn, you're a squirter. Did you know that?"

"What's a squirter?"

"You don't watch much porn, do you?"

"No, not really."

"A squirter is a woman who has a lot of fluid come out of her, like an ejaculation."

"Oh." 

"Want to take a swim?"

She could think of nothing better. 

Throwing open the French doors off of his bedroom, David led her outside to the dark pool. 

"One of the great advantages of this lot," he said, "is that I don't have neighbors behind me. Not yet, anyway."

He dove into the pool first, gliding under the surface with an ease that made her envious. Holly followed after a moment, easing her way in and gasping a little at the cool water as it lapped at her sides. She was skinny dipping for the first time in her life and it felt luxurious. Turning onto her back, she floated more than anything, although now and then she threw in a back stroke or two to keep the momentum going. The sky overhead was a deep blue-black and, because of the lack of lights around them, she could see constellations she hadn't noticed in years. She remembered going camping with her father when she was six or seven and hearing his stories about the constellations, but really she'd only half-listened. She'd been too busy following shooting stars. 

Behind her, the theme to Jaws resonated from a baritone voice. Something dark with a fin on its head skimmed toward her. She shrieked with laughter and tried to escape, but the man-shark kept coming, closer and closer and closer, his two-note, "bum-bum, bum-bum" getting louder and louder the closer he got. Suddenly the shape disappeared under the surface and Holly turned frantically about her, trying to see in the darkness. Something nipped her leg and she screamed and jumped, laughing hysterically as she did. Another nip on her butt and she whirled around, flinging her arms at the surface, which served no purpose but to splash water in her own eyes and blind her. 

Then something huge came right up in front of her and bounded out of the water. There was an "Ahhrrrrrrrr!", and a pair of hands like jaws dragged her down under the surface. The creature jerked her in mock-attack back and forth, then lurched upwards, still holding her, to the surface. She gasped for air amid her giggles; David was chuckling deeply and lustfully, and she held onto him with one hand while the other playfully beat on his shoulder with a closed fist. 

"Let me go, you animal!" she screeched. 

"No! You're mine!" he declared in a funny voice, hoisting her in his arms to carry her to the steps. "As a superior creature of the deep, I have defeated you fair and square! Now I will satisfy my hunger on your young flesh."

"Oh no! Please don't eat me!" she cried as he set her down on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling over the edge. 

He dragged her hips to the edge and pushed her legs apart. 

"I will eat you!" he asserted, grasping her upper thighs with his big hands and pressing his thumbs into her cleft. He looked at the dark glistening opening beneath the pink lips. With lusty enthusiasm, he announced, 

"Tonight, I dine on pussy!"

Holly smiled in helpless delight as he foraged in her grove, plundering her fruit with a searching and eager tongue. It took her about fifteen seconds to realize David was a master of cunnilingus. His thumbs rested on each side of her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, while his tongue pleasured the mysteries deep within her vagina. Holly closed her eyes and relaxed back on her hands. Whoever had taught him to do this deserved her thanks. 

But keeping her eyes closed was impossible. She had to watch him. His wet hair glistened in the darkness as he slowly administered his oral caresses. He obviously was enjoying himself immensely. Her one frame of reference was Sam, who would have rather crawled over broken glass than perform cunnilingus, although she could recall him doing it once or twice when he was drunk. 

So watching David was a breathtaking experience. His tongue left her vagina to lap at her labia with long, slow, agonizing strokes. This he did with careful insistency until finally, in her deep, tortured, "Oh, God!" he got the desired effect. Like the rest of him, his tongue was big on her labia, almost covering it completely when pressed against her flesh. With just the tip of his tongue hooked into her vagina, he pushed the rest of it hard into her soft folds and wiggled it. 

"David!" she gasped in a high, breathless voice. Despite her efforts to keep her body in check, she couldn't help but thrust against him. The pressure on her clit from his thumbs increased just as his tongue dipped deeper into her vagina. The rest of his tongue squirmed over the surface of her pussy, tantalizing every possible nerve ending with the help of her thrusting hips. Powerless to escape him, Holly gave into the agony. She stared at his face, at his half-closed eyes, and adored him for doing this to her. While one hand supported her as she leaned back, she lifted the other to anxiously stroke his head.

"David, I'm gonna come," she whispered urgently.

He didn't change anything, just kept doing what he was doing, keeping steady, relentless pressure on the sides of her clit while his tongue played havoc with her senses. Something gushed over his tongue and he closed his eyes. She cried out and orgasmed, her hips jerking uncontrollably against his face as juice squirted out of her all over his chin. The taste of it was sweet and ripe, its texture silky different from anything else in existence. At leisure he sipped from the surface of her hot flesh, loving the delicate folds of her labia. Small wonder he was a huge fan of Georgia O'Keefe's paintings. 

With his hands holding onto her hips, he laid his head on her upper thigh and closed his eyes. His cock was rock-hard in the cool water and he wanted to wait until it relaxed a bit...although, if he were honest with himself, he was not in the best position to get over being aroused. The scent of her sex was intoxicating.

Holly peered down at his dark head, gently caressing his wet hair. "Thank you, David," she said. "That really was a gift."

He smiled but didn't move. With a pang in her chest, Holly realized just how deeply he could hurt her. She could so easily fall in love with him. Thank God she knew he was bisexual. It would be disastrous if something like that were sprung on her unexpectedly. As it was, she couldn't pretend to be comfortable with the idea. It was a foregone conclusion that he would never be monogamous. Someone would always be in the wings, maybe more than one someone, and she couldn't see herself blithely accepting others into their relationship. It wasn't so much a jealousy thing as it was a desire to keep their life private. She had no desire to let another man into their bedroom to watch them or even participate. What she had with David she wanted to hide, like a treasure. 

"I bet you're hungry," he said without opening his eyes. 

She grinned. "I'm dead, remember? You ate me up."

He moaned seductively and kissed her leg. "Yes, I do remember," he said against her skin. Holly watched as he sprinkled kisses over her flesh. His full lips were beautiful to watch and even more beautiful to feel.

After a moment he walked out of the pool and she followed him back into the house. He retrieved two bathrobes from his closet, a heavier one for himself and a short one for her. Standing in his bathroom, she tied the sash, then looked in the mirror. Good grief. Her mascara had run. She glanced over the counter for something to use and spotted a bottle of body lotion. It wasn't usually what she would have liked but it did the job of removing the streaks from under her eyes. 

David stood behind her messing with his hair. His eyes met hers in the mirror. He made a funny face at her and she chuckled. 

Leaning towards her, he intoned softly against her ear, "Bum-bum, bum-bum!"

Holly shrieked and ran out of the bathroom. He followed closely on her heels, chasing her all the way to the kitchen. She picked up an oven mitt from the counter and threw it at his chest.

"Ouch!" he cried, stopping in his tracks. He held his chest where she had hit him. "You hurt me," he said, feigning tears. "You hurt the land-shark."




Blaze Ch. 02



"That's because land-shark is a bad boy," she scolded, shaking her finger at him. "No more bum-bum, bum-bum for you, land-shark."

"Can land-shark bum-bum later?" he asked, ever so slowly backing her into the counter.

Holly felt behind her. She was trapped. "We'll have to see if you can be a good land-shark," she said tentatively. 

He reached out for her sash and effortlessly untied it. "Land-shark never been very good at being good," he said in a thick voice, pushing open her robe. "Maybe you could teach land-shark how to be good...like you."

As his hands swept over her breasts, she closed her eyes, sighing at the delicious sensation. His hands were big, warm, and somewhat calloused, and when he enveloped her breasts, they all but disappeared under his fingers. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he embraced her, drawing her hard against him to hold her. It was the hug of a friend. She laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes, giving him back the gentleness and warmth. This was something she understood.

When he stepped back from her, he looked searchingly into her eyes. "Holly, your friendship means so much to me," he said. "I'm really good at fucking up my relationships. I don't want to do that with you."

"I know that you're complicated, David," she said evenly. "Look, don't worry about it. I get the whole friends-with-benefits thing. I'm not going to go all crazy on you and move in or something equivalent to that. I like being with you. You're an incredible lover. Let's just leave it at that."

If possible, his gaze warmed even more on her face. "You're amazing," he said quietly, sincerely, and gave her a quick hug before setting off to make dinner. 

He was a hungry man. Holly watched him devour a steak and potato while mostly playing with her salad. She ate a bit of the delicious t-bone herself, only because she needed the protein. But in all honesty, she wasn't terribly hungry. Sex did that to her.

As she started to clear the dishes, David kept her from standing up. He turned her in her chair and pulled one of her feet into his lap. Very slowly he massaged the sole of her foot. She watched him, her eyes growing hungry for his body. He looked magnificent sitting there in his white bathrobe, all dark and brooding, with a day's growth shadowing his hollow cheeks. When he was done with the first foot he got the second. 

"Let me have yours," she said.

He shook his head. "No. I'm ticklish."

"I won't tickle you. I'll just touch the pressure points."

She knew a smattering of shiatsu techniques. 

"Let's go in the bedroom," he said.

They left the dishes on the table and retreated to the bedroom. As Holly moved to the bed, she was delighted to see him lighting some large candles on giant brass holders in the corner of the big room. His bedroom was becoming familiar. The king-sized bed was made of mahogany and included a wooden canopy with a starburst design carved into the rich wood. The only other piece of furniture was an armoire. No mirrors. No froo-froo. Four king-sized pillows were piled against the hard headboard. With the candles flickering in the corner, they could have been in some medieval Spanish castle.

With the press of a few buttons on a wall panel, soft guitar music floated from hidden speakers. David moved to the bed and tossed two of the pillows to the foot of the bed. He lay down and Holly followed suit from the other direction. She took his foot in her hand and gently applied pressure against the sole. She could feel his uneasiness; someone in the past must have tickled him in a way he hadn't liked. She was painstakingly careful not to let her fingertips sweep over his flesh. Trust was so important. With each minute that went by, she could sense he was relaxing. 

Until now he hadn't touched her feet, his attention being on her and his own disquiet. Now, knowing he could trust her, he settled back against the pillows and drew her foot into his big hands. Holly concentrated on her own task, even while she could feel a sense of calm sweep over her. The simple art of touch was so beneficial to the mind and body, yet as a single person she very rarely gave or received it. Sure, she could pay someone to do this, but it wasn't the same. 

He was done with her second foot long before she was with his. Putting his arm behind his head, he watched her, his other hand absently stroking her ankle. His eyes were smoldering, his facial muscles stiff with longing. Gazing back at him, she noticed that he was breathing hard. Her eyes fell, and she saw the thick outline under his robe. Holly went back to her task, but between her legs, the yearning for him stirred. 

He continued watching her, but behind his stillness she sensed a storm brewing. He was waiting for the moment when she put his foot aside. Knowing what was coming, Holly deliberately slowed down. She pressed her thumbs into his heels and looked into his eyes. His lids were growing heavy with desire. The craving in her groin made it hard for her to breath. His lips parted. Unable to attend to her task any longer, she let her hands fall away. 

David stood up and untied his sash. She watched the robe fall away from his body. Candlelight flickered over his chiseled form. He moved towards her with the grace of a cat, his fingers trailing up her leg. He set a knee on the edge of the bed and, untying her sash for a second time that night, leaned in to kiss her. Holly enthusiastically responded, opening to him with all the fervor that she felt within. He groaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss. She gladly answered him, resting her fingers lightly against the back of his neck. A heavy breath escaped him and he had to move back for a moment. He looked down at her, mouth gaping as he struggled with his own breathing. Her hands had settled on his shoulders and she caressed his skin with the backs of her fingers. He turned his face into one of her palms, kissing the hollow. 

"Holly," he whispered. 

Suddenly he stood up and, to her bewilderment, disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later he emerged unrolling a condom onto his thick shaft. He moved to her side and deftly removed the robe from under her. Fluffing the pillows behind her head, he gave her a final kiss before crawling between her legs, his big form shadowing her small-boned one. Holly looked up at him and watched his face as he guided his penis into her vagina. Feeling the tightness of her, his eyelids lifted and he frowned.

"Holly, are you a virgin?" he asked.

"No. It's just been a while."

His hips thrust forward and he gasped despite himself. Then he released a long, luxurious moan.

"Oh God, that feels so fucking good," he drawled, just resting there, halfway into her. He laid his forehead down on hers and breathed so heavily she thought he was coming. But he wasn't. He was enjoying her. He was stretching out each and every lovely sensation, experiencing every tantalizing pulse and throb as though it were a distinct and unique act unto itself. 

With another groan he pushed deeper. He moved slowly in and out of her, watching her face. She gazed up at him, a knowing look passing between them. It was a good fit. 

His lips twitched as he fucked her. The pleasure of it was intense. Every now and then she moved to meet his thrust, but for the most part her hips just barely lifted. It was her breathing that gave her away. She couldn't control the breath coming up and over the back of her tongue in quick bursts of pleasure. Her eyes closed, and her head rocked back and forth on the pillow in rhythm with her hips. He watched her, watched her breasts rising and falling, the blush on her skin deepening. Her hands on his forearms kneaded his flesh; he was grateful for her short nails. 

He closed his eyes, loving the way she felt under him. She was small-boned for someone so tall, even delicate. Everything about her was refined and gentle, soft and yielding. There was something wild and exotic about her, too, but at the same time ancient and classical, as though she belonged to another epoch. He loved the way her dark eyes looked in her white face, how her dark hair had dried into an unruly, curly mane. 

"David," she whispered. 

He opened his eyes to look at her.

"David, it feels so good."

"Yeah," he agreed.

Her hands tightened on his forearms. "No, I mean really good."

His lips curled back. "Oh, yeah, Holly, come for me."

"David!"

"God, you look so fucking beautiful."

"David! Oh God, it's fucking ecstasy!"

"Yeah, baby. Come on, come for me. Come for me."

Suddenly her eyes opened and her face contorted. As her hips bucked against him, her cheeks grew crimson. She yelled out incoherently and climaxed, grinding her crotch into his with a ferocity that took his breath away. He came abruptly, spurred more by the sight of her than anything else. She was still coming under him, her vagina spasming around his cock as he ejaculated, and he gasped unevenly, groaning loudly as the last of the semen was milked from him. His cock still throbbed inside of her. 

"David! David!" She was still coming, still thrusting against him, still crying out. 

He lay against her, feeling it, experiencing it, watching her, listening. Finally, he had to pull out of her, and he laid his hand against her pussy, letting her ride it as long as she wanted. Another full minute went by before she stopped.

"Oh wow," he murmured at last, shaking his head at her. "Holly, that was really...really excellent."

Holly sighed luxuriously. She felt reborn. Recreated. 

David rolled off of her and disappeared into the bathroom. Her vagina still throbbed with the afterglow of the orgasm. Or orgasms. Whatever. All those technicalities didn't mean much when it was happening. She rolled over onto her side and buried her face in a pillow. The sleep that had eluded her for so long suddenly found her. 

She awoke sometime in the depth of night. David was beside her, facing her, and she had to creep from under the sheet to keep from waking him. His drapes were open and moonlight filtered in through the windows, spilling onto the wood floor and showing her the way to the bathroom. She flicked on the light and squinted painfully before her eyes could adjust. Looking into the mirror, she was surprised that she looked the same. She would have thought the experience had transformed her in some way.

She used the toilet and washed her hands, then bent over to drink out of the tap. As she stood back up, she glanced at her wristwatch. It was a quarter past three in the morning. She had slept almost six hours and she felt as though she could sleep another six. Silently she walked back to the bed. 

Not until she settled down next to him did she realize he was awake. He looked straight at her and smiled. 

"You were sleepy," he remarked.

She nodded. "Yes. I've had trouble falling asleep lately."

"Better now?"

"Uh-huh."

"I have to go to work at five. The alarm will be going off soon. I usually swim for about half an hour before breakfast. You're welcome to stay. I don't really want you driving home in the dark."

"Okay," she said readily. His pillows were incredibly soft under her head.

He watched her go back to sleep and turned off the alarm so that it wouldn't wake her. Then he got out of bed and stepped into his Speedos. Opening the French doors off of his bedroom, he walked outside to the swimming pool and stood for a moment in the moonlight, warming his muscles. As he did so, he noticed the somewhat odd configuration of the lounge chair and the other chair from the dining set. The memory of what he had done the evening before, with Holly sketching him, came back like a flashflood. He could feel her dark eyes sweeping over his skin like caressing fingers. Watching her watching him...he wanted it now, again. He wanted to feel her eyes on him, watching him touch himself. 

Glancing behind him, he was somewhat surprised to not see her standing in the open doors. The desire to go back to her was strong. He thought about it for a few moments, and then dove into the pool. Even as he plied his way across the water, he knew he would hold back from Holly on purpose. It was in his nature. It was why no one could get close to him. 

After the swim he showered and dressed. She still slept soundly in his bed, and he marveled at how small and peaceful she looked. He made breakfast and sat on the patio eating; it was that hour when the sky was the darkest: just before the dawn. Having no idea what time she needed to leave for work, he reset the alarm for six and put a spare key to the front door next to her purse. Then, making sure the house was secure, he left for work. 

Holly awoke to the shrill noise next to her head. Groggily she turned the awful thing off and flopped her head back into the pillow. No, she did not want to get up. The smell of coffee nudged her and she lifted her head. Hmmm. That smelled fresh. But hadn't he said he was leaving for work at five?

Curiosity got the better of her and she sat up to find her clothes waiting for her at the foot of the bed. She dressed quickly, then went into the kitchen to find the coffee maker brewing a fresh pot. Well, she reflected wryly, that was enough to win her heart. Her purse was there on the counter as well, with a spare key to the house beside it. He'd written a short note as well.

"Take the key with you. Surprises on the way. David."

Surprises on the way? What was that supposed to mean?

She drank a cup of coffee on the patio, imagining him doing the same hours earlier. He'd moved the chair she'd used the evening before back to its original place. But the lounge chair was still there, and just seeing it sent waves of desire through her. David had said that for him, sex was a way of getting to know a person better. With Sam, sex had been a way to keep him happy; it had never been about personality or revelation. Perhaps that was why sex with David had been so liberating. It hadn't been about him at all, but it hadn't been about her either. It had been about being real. It had been about honesty and acceptance. She hadn't had to perform for him. He had just let her be and she'd enjoyed the most mind-blowing sex of her life. 

Driving to work after going home to dress, she felt resentful having to go back to her routine life. What she really wanted to do was work on the book David had written. Ideas swirled in her head she hadn't thought of before. She wondered if, perhaps, she might be able to find time in her day to make a few preliminary sketches from the photos she'd taken. The urge to draw a big red fire engine, complete with a couple of chisel-faced hunks in yellow, was strong. 

Considering the image floating around in her head, the sight that greeted her as she pulled into the parking lot of the community college was surreal. Several fire engines stood at one end of the parking lot while students meandered about, talking to the firefighters. Having a few minutes to spare before her first class, Holly walked over to the scene, looking about for David. Despite her sunglasses, the glare from the bright morning made it hard to discern faces. Then she walked around a corner to find him talking to a young man she knew. When he saw her, David broke off the conversation and put out his hand to her. 

"Here you are," he said. As she stepped to his side, she was a bit overwhelmed to feel his arm circle about his waist and draw her against him. She lifted her face to his and he bent to kiss her. It was more than just a peck. 

"Is this the surprise you mentioned?" she asked coyly, looking up into his dark eyes.

"I don't know. Are you surprised?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. We have recruiting here every couple of months. Or hadn't you ever noticed?" he asked, still holding her. 

"I noticed," she allowed. "Although this time I'm noticing more."

Her student, Byron, was standing there watching them with a nonplussed expression. Holly smiled at him.

"Sorry, Byron," she said, stepping an inch away from David. "This heat is getting to my head. I need to go inside to the air conditioning."

David still held her. "Just remember to keep lunch open for me. I'll be here all day."

"Let me know when you're coming and I'll call ahead for a delivery. I know this great restaurant around the corner."

He kissed her again and let her go. As she walked back towards the main building, her ass wiggled a little more than usual under her denim skirt. She was feeling pretty sassy right now, knowing his gaze was on her butt. The temptation to turn around was so strong she couldn't resist it. She glanced over her shoulder to see him watching her, his arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head at her and laughed, white teeth making his face look darker. She waved at him and turned back around to continue on her way. For the first time in a long time she went into work with a massive smile on her face. 

Usually she was the consummate teacher, so wrapped up in art that her students sometimes complained she took it too seriously. Not today. Today they found her sitting at her desk looking dreamy-eyed at whatever she was sketching. Now and again she broke from her daze to glance about her as though noticing anew where she was. Then her head would go back down and she would continue sketching the fire engine with its shiny chrome glinting in the sun.

Byron Ludgnet, the student she had seen talking to David earlier, came in at ten-thirty for a pottery class. He was a few minutes early, and as she prepared the equipment for the class, she was aware of his sideways glances. A sensation stirred within her, an uneasiness that made her stop to think. She glanced his way. Although he was still in his second year at the community college, she knew he was already in his early twenties. He was of Dutch ancestry, tall, slender, and cute, with short strawberry blonde hair spiked in the middle and blue-green eyes. He had the kind of complexion that was always a bit ruddy, and when he was embarrassed his face grew bright red. At the moment he looked positively neon.

"Do you know David well?" she asked casually, going back to her work. 

"Pretty well," Byron said, looking pained.

Holly nodded. "I've known him since high school. He's a great guy."

"Are the two of you dating?"

"Dating? I wouldn't put it quite that way."

He still stared at her, trying to gauge how safe it was to proceed in the conversation, if at all. Holly continued going about her work. She would have liked to eased the young man's discomfort and confusion, but she wasn't about to reveal any personal details about her relationship with David. 

Byron was not in his best form that morning. She knew he was upset, but whether it was jealousy or something else she couldn't tell. It was easy to imagine him in love with David. But then, as Holly frequently reminded herself, David was easy to love.

At eleven-thirty David called to tell her he would be around to her room at noon. They talked for a bit about what he wanted to eat and she called in to her older brother's restaurant for two Greek salads. Given that she was the owner's sister, she always received her delivery promptly, usually with something extra for good measure. This time it was baklava.

David walked into the room just as the delivery girl, as well as the students, were leaving. He spotted Byron and gave him a casual high five. Then he pulled up a chair to the table where Holly had spread their lunch. 

He smelled good, like sunshine, fresh air, and sweat. His skin was damp with perspiration. She looked him up and down, an appreciative smile on her lips. But he was too hungry to notice her gaze and delved enthusiastically into the food, moaning with satisfaction.

"Man, this is great stuff," he said. "I love Konstantine's."




Blaze Ch. 02



"It's my brother's restaurant," she said.

His eyebrows went up. "I didn't know that."

"Well, Konni is quite a bit older than me and technically he's my half-brother."

"And you have a sister, too, right? Natalie, isn't it?"

"Yeah. She's two years older than me."

"What's she doing these days?"

"She lives in California. She has four kids and her husband runs a winery. Runs it, doesn't own it. But he does well. They live in a gorgeous area."

"Do you ever go see her?"

"I've been once." She didn't want to add that the airfare was too stiff for her budget. Natalie had offered to pay her way but Holly was too proud.

She knew that David's father had been a firefighter before his retirement. "What's your dad up to these days?" she asked.

"Puttering around his yard, growing tomatoes."

"Are you an only child?"

"Yeah."

She knew his mother was dead. It had happened when they were young, still in middle school, and Janice Scott's slow deterioration from bone cancer had been something that shook the entire community. It was a painful, terrible death. As far as Holly could remember, David never talked publicly about it. 

When they finished eating, Holly showed him the sketch she had completed just before his call. 

"I'm trying to grasp the beauty and complexity of the equipment," she said. "I think the order and security of the fire station is one of the things that comforts the little boy, that makes him feel safe there."

"Exactly. That's very insightful, Holly." His dark eyes moved over her serious face. "Have you guessed yet that I'm the little boy?"

"Well, I thought that might be the case but I wasn't positive."

"Of course, the little boy is much younger than I was when my mother died, but it was the crew at the fire station that got me through it. My father was no help at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I think in some ways, part of this book comes from what I would have wanted my relationship with my father to be like."

"That makes perfect sense."

He looked at her and laughed dryly. "Why is it I can always talk to you?"

She smiled. "You honor me by saying that."

"I mean it, Holly," he said, dark brows furrowing over the bridge of his nose. 

He leaned in to kiss her. Holly laid a hand on the side of his cheek, returning his kiss with a longing that made her weak. As though by some mutual agreement, they broke the kiss and sat back from each other. He had to go back to work; she had another class. 

When he left, there was no promise to call, no suggestion of their next encounter. Holly sat at her desk, twirling her pencil and thinking about him. She could feel it already, feel what she knew she would regret feeling for him. 

Being with David Scott was like playing with fire. It was only a matter of time before she got burned. But like a pyromaniac, she was helpless to control herself. She wanted to be with him no matter what it entailed. 

Somehow she sensed that her limits were about to be tested.



Blaze Ch. 03



The sketches were FedExed to the publisher by the next Friday. They weren't the final product; it would take weeks more for Holly to do the sketches in pen and ink and add watercolor. But it was a huge step in completing the project, one that she was glad to be done with. 

David's emotional retreat from her had begun that day in the art room. She sensed his reluctance in even working with her and it hurt that he had no reason for suddenly being unavailable. She tried to remind herself that she'd known all along what kind of man he was, taking care of himself first and others second, but it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered, really, was her desire to be with him again, to feel his arms around her and his mouth on hers. 

Angrily she had to admit he'd ruined her for any other man. 

So when he appeared suddenly at her door on a Saturday afternoon, she was a bit overwhelmed, almost to the point of tears, to see him.

"David!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. 

He chuckled softly. "Wow. I should come here more often."

She stood back to look at him. "How are you?"

"Good. I just came from the plant nursery so I may have some dirt on me."

"Come in. Are you thirsty?"

"A little."

"I have some water. Juice. Milk. Lemonade."

"Water is fine."

He followed her into the kitchen, smelling of plants and sunshine.

"What did you get at the plant nursery?" she asked, using the dispenser on the refrigerator to fill a glass with ice and cold water.

"Some stuff for my old man. I'm helping him put in a pond. I'm not sure why he needs a pond, but I'm helping him with it."

"I'm sure it'll be pretty."

He took a long drink from the glass of water. "Anyway, they had these perennials on sale and I got you some. If you want them, that is."

"For me? Sure. Where are they?"

"In my truck. If you show me where you want them, I'll put them in. I have some extra potting soil as well."

She walked outside with him, wincing at the heat. It had to be over a hundred degrees. In the bed of his truck were sacks of sand, black liner, rocks, gravel, tubing. All of that was for the pond. There were also dozens of pretty mums in yellow and red. Holly got the flats of perennials while David tossed down a several bags of potting soil. He had a new shovel with him as well and he walked over to the two empty beds that she kept weeded but were devoid of flowers. 

Wordlessly he went to work, making breaking up the hard soil look easy. Then he added in the potting soil, working it down into the mix. Holly squeezed the little plants out of their flats and passed them to David to plant. Having landscaped his own yard, he went about the planting with a trained eye. There were a number of things he excelled at and knowing where and how to plant was among them. 

In a matter of half-an-hour, her sad front yard was transformed. 

"I feel like I owe you dinner," she said while he watered the flowers.

"That works for me," he said. "Want to go to Konstantine's?"

"Sure. I'll need to clean up a bit."

"I have a better plan. Grab your suit and come over for a swim. Then we'll go. Or order in, which ever you prefer."

Holly wheeled around and hurried to get her suit. She moved with eager anticipation. Everything within her recalled the night of sensual delight she had spent with him. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't deny she was hoping for more.

David was still cleaning up the rubbish from the planting when she stepped out. He'd already rolled up the hose, and the ground smelled warm and wet from the water and dirt. She stood for a long while admiring the flowers. When he was done, David brushed his hands off on his shorts and walked over to his truck to open her door. She smiled at his chivalry and got in. He gave her a look—a warm, appreciative look—before closing the door. Holly curled her toes. Her ardor for him was already flaring.

The drive to his house was no more than five minutes. Once there, it was just a matter of getting in the front door. Holly stepped in first and waited while he set down his keys and wallet and peeled off his wristwatch. With his hand on her back, he guided her to the bedroom to change. Apparently the daylight necessitated the wearing of swimsuits. She was sure he had his reasons and suspected he'd caught peepers spying over his fence. Not that she could have blamed anyone.

She hadn't seen him in his Speedos since that day she'd sketched him on the patio. Now, glimpsing him, she wished she had her sketch pad. He stood at the open French doors rubbing in oil while she put on her suit. She was relieved he wasn't standing next to her when she slipped off her panties. The telltale patch of moisture on the gusset made her blush, and she folded them tightly and hid them inside her folded shorts. 

The water felt remarkably cool compared to the heat. As before, Holly only half-heartedly swam, while David made an exercise out of it. She found it remarkable that he could move his big body so effortlessly through the water. Eventually she sat down on the steps leading out of the pool to the patio and leaned back on her elbows, her face tipped to the sun. 

He was not in a playful mood today but rather brooding and serious. She wondered if his dark mood had something to do with his father. It occurred to her almost by accident that he'd turned to her out of need. He was troubled by having to deal with his father, and in Holly he found acceptance. She gave up her own insecurities then and there and made up her mind to let the evening unfold in whatever way was most natural and unforced. 

Eventually David joined her at the steps. "I have sunscreen," he said, noting her white shin. 

"I don't usually burn."

He nodded and settled back beside her. "I'm sorry I've been distant, Holly. In case you haven't noticed, I can be a moody son of a bitch."

"I wouldn't say that, David."

"I would," he said almost savagely. He had a look in his face that startled her. 

"David, what's wrong?" she asked with sincere concern.

He shook his head. "I'm not what I want to be for you. It bothers me."

"What do you mean? What do you want to be for me?"

He looked about him, searching for the word. "Disciplined."

Holly chuckled. "Why would you want to go do something like that? I like you the way you are."

"Do you? I'm not sure you'd feel that way if you knew what I'd been up to lately."

She looked into his eyes. So. There it was. His confession didn't surprise her. In fact, she found it rather admirable that he'd confided the truth to her.

"David, I'm not your wife and I'm not your mother. I'm not here to judge you about what you do when you're not with me."

"Other people have said that to me, then they've changed their minds."

"It's only because they want you for themselves. They don't want to have to share you. Can you blame them?"

His dark eyes roamed over her face. "I know I don't want to share you. I hate the thought of you being with someone else, but then I go and do it myself and feel like a hypocrite."

"I don't want to be with anyone else," she said quietly.

He looked at her with profound agony. "Holly, I was with Byron this past week. He and I have a history that goes back pretty far. He...he tried to sketch me once, the way you did. But unlike you, he...."

David left the rest of the sentence unfinished. Yes, she could well understand what had happened between them. It made sense. 

"Holly, there's no sodomy involved," he began.

She quickly put up her hands. "David, I don't want to know about your other relationships."

"But it's important that you do know."

"No. It doesn't concern me," she said firmly.

"It does concern you," he retorted.

"How? I don't want to be involved."

"Holly, I want you to sketch us," he blurted. "Together. Me and Byron."

She stared at him, not believing her ears. Her first instinct was to hate him for wanting to bring her into something she didn't want to even imagine. But as the thought of it gelled in her brain, an unfamiliar longing stirred within her. 

Though she would never have admitted it to David, some part of her was aroused by the knowledge that he was bisexual. All those years ago in New York, she'd first been repelled by the idea of him sharing his body with other men. The change in her thinking had really begun with Sam, with his narrow view of sexuality and his own homophobia. She'd felt so stifled by his rigid lovemaking and angry at the way he'd condemned everyone who didn't practice sex exactly as he did. She remembered thinking how lucky other people were to be able to experiment, to branch out a little, to expand their horizons. She'd begun to envy people she knew to be promiscuous. 

But when it came to David's request, she was torn. The image of him with Byron didn't trouble her. But the thought of being in the same room with them, trying to sketch them as they engaged in sex...it seemed beyond her ability. Perhaps if she and David hadn't already been sexually intimate it would have been possible. 

"I've gone too far," David said with finality. He shook his head at himself. "I always do. It seems to be in my nature to push the limits."

"I just don't think I can do it, David," she said honestly. "I mean, just now, thinking about trying to sketch the two of you together...." She shook her head. "I'm completely turned on. I think I would lose it."

He stared, dumbstruck. "You're turned on?" he asked incredulously. "You're not disgusted or pissed or something like that?"

"No." Her gaze swept over his beautiful body. "No, I'm not angry. I simply doubt I could do it. I had a hard enough time concentrating when it was just you."

His dark eyes penetrated hers. "You like to watch me?"

"It's very arousing for me, David. Did you think it wasn't?"

"I wasn't sure."

Holly nodded. "Yes. I was very turned on. Very aroused," she added, recalling the orgasm she'd had as soon as he'd walked into the house.

His expression visibly hardened and he leaned in to kiss her. It was a hot, furious kiss, full of wanton lust. His mouth devoured hers, sucking and pulling at her own as though to take from her the ardor to which she had just confessed. His arms dragged her body against his until she was in his lap, where he held her in the bands of his steely grasp, one of his hands in her hair, the other on her hip. Beneath her, his cock was rigid and straining against the fabric of his Speedos. His hips lifted to press his erection into her soft crotch. 

If she had been wearing a two piece instead of a one piece, the deed might have been done there on steps of the pool. As it was, he was conscious of his neighbors and didn't think Holly would enjoy flashing the neighborhood. He lifted her in his arms and carried her dripping to the bedroom. As he peeled the swimsuit off her shoulders, he saw where the sun had already scorched her skin a little. Bending over her, he kissed her sunburned shoulder, feeling the heat from her skin and smelling the warm aroma. It was delicious. Her face was burned as well, her cheeks two red patches that made her look years younger. She'd said she didn't burn but she had today. He finished ridding her of her suit and only had to step out of his own before pushing her down into the bed. Rather irritated with himself, he left her for an instant to get a condom.

"Is this okay?" he asked when he returned and assumed the missionary position.

Holly smiled coquettishly at him. "It certainly worked well last time."

He chuckled and guided his penis inside of her. She was tighter than last time. He stopped midway to catch his breath, wondering to himself if she would always have this effect on him. She was beautiful against his pillows, her black ringlets splayed like a sunburst around her glowing face. Her dark eyes smiled up at him. He'd never in his life known such a contented lover. 

"Holly," he whispered. "Baby, you know just how to reach me."

Her hands swept over his chest, over the swirls of black hairs around his nipples. She leaned forward and licked one brown circle, then the other, then went back to the first to suck it. He groaned approvingly and began thrusting rhythmically into her. His nipples were a bit fleshy and easy to suck. She liked doing it. Obviously he liked it too. 

He was thrusting harder, his breath uneven as he towered over her. Holly tried to concentrate on his other nipple, but the fire between her legs suddenly demanded her attention. She fell back on the pillows and closed her eyes, giving into the burning that consumed her every thought. 

His groin rocked against hers, against her clit, and the sensation of it combined with his cock filling her gripped her in near-orgasmic ecstasy. Behind her closed eyes, she saw David with Byron. Muscle moved against muscle, strong hands caressed stiff cocks. Deep male grunts filled the air. The image of them together made her groan with pleasure. 

She was so close she could see it coming. It swept over her in successive waves, caressing her face, her neck, her chest, teasing her breasts, stroking her belly. It embraced her pussy and squeezed, pulsing against her, against the hard shaft moving inside of her. Muscles contracted around the shaft and a flood of fluid burst over inside of her. 

David gasped at the unexpected sensation; Holly jerked uncontrollably against him as the orgasm held her in a relentless spasm. He felt rather than saw the explosion around him; it enveloped him in a white-hot craze, silken fingers of pleasure ripping at his flesh and obliterating him. He yelled out at the intensity of it, not just once but over and over again, mingling with her own cries of unceasing ecstasy. 

She was still coming beneath him and he gradually stilled himself, relishing the feel of her throbbing pussy against his dick. He closed his eyes and waited, listening to her, reacting to her hoarse cries with unexpected ardor. He'd never been with a woman who orgasmed for so long and the wonder of it made him want her again. He pulled out of her and went into the bathroom to dump the condom and grab another one. His dick was semi-hard and getting the damn thing on was going to be difficult. 

Holly looked at him in something like agony. She couldn't make it stop. Putting out her hands, she dragged his hips to her face and took his cock into her mouth, coaxing it back to hardness. David held her head in his hand; his penis was so sensitive that every touch of her tongue made him feel like coming. He drove his dick into her, longing for it to end and yet titillated that it was still going on. Only in his youth had he been able to get a second erection this quickly. It felt different somehow...better. More sensitive, more intense. And although the blowjob was great, all he really wanted to do was get inside of her. 

He stepped back from her to slide on the condom. Then he lay down on his back and dragged her on top of him. Grinning up at her, he was going to make her do the work. Judging from the smile on her face, she looked more than up to the task.

Holly rode him slowly, savoring the feel of his hard shaft in her sated pussy. Every nerve ending in her vagina was like a tiny supernova, exploding over and over again against the rigidity of his cock. His hands encircled her breasts and pulled her forward; his full lips took in both her nipples at once, sucking and licking them with unhurried enjoyment. He loved the feeling of her hard nipples against his tongue and how her areolas got stiff as well. As she rocked forward, her white breasts jiggled against his nose and he inhaled the scent of her, warm skin and chlorine and his own scent all mixed together and enhanced by the smell of sex lingering in the air. 

Lying back on the pillow, he let his hands wander down her sides to her butt cheeks. They were surprisingly cool compared to her breasts. He held them firmly, thrusting up into her. Suddenly, the leisurely pace of their lovemaking changed. He wanted her.

"Fuck me, Holly," he said between clenched teeth. "Fuck me harder. Come on. Grind down on top of me."

His words spurred her and she plunged downward, taking all of him into her before crushing her groin against his. His eyes widened and he grinned roguishly. He wouldn't have thought her capable of being so rough.

"Harder," he urged her. "Come on, Holly, don't be such a wimp. You can fuck me harder than that. You know you want to. Do it. Do it, baby! Harder!"

She pounded him, her knees squeezing against his rib cage and her hands grasping his shoulders. His own fingers gripped her ass as he drove fiercely up into her. He looked down to where his dick was disappearing inside of her at a furious rate. Her black pubic hair glistened with moisture. He brought a hand around to it and rubbed her clit with a rough thumb. She gasped, gaping at him. Her lips curled back from her mouth like an animal. She hardly looked like Holly anymore. 

"Yeah," he drawled lustfully. "Oh man, you are so fucking hot. God, I love fucking you, baby. Keep fucking me, Holly. Don't stop. Shit, it feels so good."

She couldn't believe what his thumb was doing to her. He was sending her over the edge to new territory, to a place she hadn't been before. Was she having another orgasm? God, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that her pussy was exploding in waves of pleasure and she didn't want it to end. She rocked up and down on him, her eyes squeezed shut, willing him not to come. She didn't want to stop. She was on some kind of orgasmic high that she hoped to never come down from. 

"Oh," he groaned. "Oh, Holly. Fuck. Shit. I'm fucking gonna come. Oh, baby...."

He jerked violently against her, gripping her hips and driving her down onto his shaft. He felt a small amount of semen ejaculate and sighed. Too bad it had to end. 

She looked equally regretful and yet completely spent. Moving off of him, Holly laid down on the bed and dragged the bedspread over her body. She immediately dozed off. He watched her, smiling to himself how she did that. 

She slept several hours, partly from the vigorous lovemaking, partly from the slight sunburn she'd gotten. Opening her eyes, she was happy to find David sleeping peacefully beside her. For a long while she stared at his face, at his dark lashes lying against his bronzed skin. She wondered if he fell asleep with Byron in his arms. Almost immediately she told herself not to think that way. Perhaps his relationship with Byron was completely different than the one he had with her; then again, maybe not. Once more she had to acknowledge that she was feeling jealous over something she could never change. She wanted David too badly in her life to give him an ultimatum.

When he did awake, it was because of the smells coming from the kitchen. Holly had ordered several dishes from Konstantine's including her personal favorite, stuffed grape leaves. She was in the process of artfully arranging the food on two plates when he came into the kitchen. She stopped for a moment and smiled at him; David walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her body draped in the short white bathrobe. 

"You were wonderful," he murmured against the skin of her neck. 

She tilted her head to allow him more access, loving the way his lips felt as they grazed her flesh. He continued kissing her neck, lifting her unruly curls as he went. She closed her eyes and sighed. The bliss of being with him was almost too much. She wanted to turn and open herself to him then and there in the kitchen, but she refrained from doing so. Their lovemaking had been so rigorous and fulfilling, she didn't want to spoil the effect by rushing into it again. 

When he had made a circle of kisses around her neck, he stood back and noticed the food on the plates. 

"I'm ravenous," he announced. 




Blaze Ch. 03



Holly laughed. "You should be."

"Let's eat in bed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I have some ouzo somewhere in the liquor cabinet. If you'll carry the plates through, I'll go find it."

Holly didn't want to tell him that ouzo made her wildly intoxicated. Indeed, she very rarely drank. Finding a tray on top of the refrigerator, she set the two plates on it along with napkins and utensils, then added two glasses of ice water with lemon wedges. She carried the tray into the bedroom and set it on the floor before straightening up the bed linens. David came in with the bottle of clear liquid and a pair of liqueur glasses. He was wearing only his briefs. 

They talked about Greek food and her half-brother's restaurant, how her father had been married in his youth to another woman who had died and Konni was the product of that union. Holly's half-brother had been fifteen when their father married Holly's mother, and the two households had been very different. For Konni, Greek heritage and the Orthodox Church was everything. But for Holly and her sister Natalie, who had been raised by an Irish Catholic mother, embracing the Greek culture had been more of an option.

"Konni even went to Greece and married a Greek girl," Holly finished with a sigh. "I can't get that wrapped up in being a certain thing. I chose as I go along."

David had finished eating and laid back into the pillows, listening to her monologue with benign interest. She was mildly aware that she'd monopolized the conversation but he hadn't seemed to mind. By contrast his own family was rather two-dimensional, just him and his father living in isolation from one another. 

When she finally did take a breath, Holly had to admit she dreaded the silence. She knew that David would be bringing up the subject of Byron again, and she was afraid. What he'd asked her to do was beyond her capacity as a woman, a lover, and an artist. Aside from Sam's occasional porn movies, she'd never witnessed two people having sex. The thought of him with Byron was arousing in a carnal way, but it wasn't something she could see herself watching much less sketching. 

Unlike her, David had indulged in more than a little of the ouzo. He had a dreamy look on his face as he laid there staring at her. Holly had slowly sipped her way through a single glass instead of taking it as a shot. She was only mildly warmed by the liquor. Otherwise her capacities were intact. 

"Holly," he said after a long moment of complete silence, "would you mind terribly if I invited Byron over?"

Her breath caught in her throat. Yes, she would mind, her head screamed. She didn't want to share him. She was selfish and wanted him all to herself. 

He leaned towards her, velvet eyes caressing her face. "I want you to sketch us together. I want to watch you watching me with him. I want to see what happens to you."

She closed her eyes, too weak to say no. Too in love with him to refuse. 

The thought that she must be in love with him came suddenly from nowhere. She was stunned. Her heart began to pound wildly and she moved away from him. 

David was just intoxicated enough to not care that he might be pushing her too far. He'd been fantasizing all week about Holly sketching him with Byron, and now he had to have it done. Byron's number was at the top of his cell phone list. The conversation was brief, just a few monosyllables, and no mention of her whatsoever. When he put down the phone, Holly could tell from his expression that Byron was on his way.

"I don't have my sketchpad," she said.

"Byron is bringing one," he answered.

"Does he know I'm here? And why?"

"We've discussed the possibility, yes."

She nodded. It had all been settled before. Obviously Byron was not adverse to the idea and David wanted it. She was the only holdout. 

"Where do you want to be?" she asked.

"Right here, in my bed."

"Where do you want me to sit?"

"Oh, that's right. I'll have to get you a chair."

He stood up, rocking a little unsteady. He wore a perplexed expression. The ouzo had hit him harder than he'd realized. 

He came back with a chair and set it to one side of the bed. Then he went into the bathroom, and she heard him brush his teeth. She thought seriously about leaving. Each moment that passed brought her closer to something she was sure she wasn't ready for. Then, suddenly, Byron was stepping into the room. He had his own key to the house, just as she did.

Holly stood up from the bed and started for her clothes. No, she couldn't do it. She wanted to do it but she couldn't. 

David stepped out of the bathroom, saw Byron, and guessed her reaction. He put out a hand to stop her from gathering her things.

"Please," he said simply.

She hesitated, looking into his face. At that very moment she hated him for pushing her beyond her limits.

He glanced at Byron. "Did you bring the sketchpad?" he asked. 

"It's in the car."

"Can you get it, please?"

When Byron was gone, David dragged her down on the bed beside him. "Holly, it's important to me that you see how it is between Byron and me. If you don't want to sketch us, fine. But I want you to know what we do."

"I don't want to know," she said, repeating what she'd told him earlier that evening.

"I think you will. If not now, then later. After you see how it is between us, then you'll be able to gauge how you feel about me...if I'm worth it. Because honestly, Holly, I don't think I can give this up. It's too much a part of me, and it's something that feeds me in a way nothing else can. If you and I are to be together, as a couple, you'll have to accept this part of me. If you can't, I'd rather know now."

Byron had returned with the sketchpad and a pencil. He stepped into the room tentatively, looking between them to determine what he should do. Holly stood up and took the pad and pencil from him. She stood with her back to the bed as Byron walked around it. With her eyes steadying on the pad, she listened to the sounds of Byron losing his clothes. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. She heard the bed squeak a little under their combined weights. In something akin to fear, she glanced out of the corner of her eye towards the bed.

Two long figures simply lay there side by side. She looked around fully at them. Byron lay closer to her, pale and almost hairless in a pair of gray briefs. David was longer, heavier, darker, and his white briefs strained with a full erection. With a trace of resentment, Holly sat down in the chair and opened the sketchpad. 

She drew the two men on the bed, two men simply lying there, although one of them was clearly aroused. Byron was semi-hard but much smaller overall than David. In Holly's opinion, Byron was the easier subject to draw. He had a slightly dazed look on his face as he looked back at his art teacher. The entire situation was somewhat surreal. David was more complicated. He face was perplexing, as though he was angry with her or himself or perhaps both. In point of fact, he didn't quite grasp what he was feeling, and that confusion showed in his face. 

Holly found capturing the two expressions rather challenging. The light wasn't everything she could have hoped for; with just the overhead light on, most of the bed was in a shadow from the canopy. Still, she was able to catch the innocent look in Byron's eyes compared to the hard, jaded expression in David's. When she finished she tore out the sketch and passed it to David.

"Wow," Byron said, studying the picture like an art student. "Gosh, Holly, that's totally excellent. Look, David, how effortlessly she makes the eyes appear. I can never catch that emotion."

David seemed to have a different opinion but he kept it to himself. Wordlessly he stood up to slip off his briefs. Byron simply wiggled out of his, perhaps self-conscious of his teacher sitting there. Being in charge, David determined what would happen next. After lying back down beside Byron, he settled his hand lightly around his own dick and began stroking. Byron did the same. Holly watched them both for a long moment, too distracted by the sight before her to begin sketching. 

Finally she lowered her eyes to the pad and began to outline the figures. She worked more from her memory than from observation. It was easier that way. But at some point she knew she would have to look up. 

The moment came when Byron moaned and Holly glanced up to see him rocking his hips as he masturbated. He was staring down at David's cock wet with precum. His lips were parted and she knew what he wanted to do. Desire shot up through her vagina; he wanted to suck off David... and she wanted to watch him do it. 

The knowledge of what she wanted to see shocked her. Desperately she tried to concentrate on the sketch—to capture Byron gazing hungrily at David's dick—but it was difficult. What she really wanted to do was join them, to lie at the foot of the bed and masturbate while watching them. 

David stared unflinchingly at her, his mouth twisted into a knowing smile. He knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling; her face was flushed and, though she tried to control herself, he could see the muscles in her upper thighs contracting around her clit as she squeezed her legs together. Every now and then a small cry would come from her and she'd stop sketching and shake herself before going back to it. He loved the look of struggle in her expression, how she was fighting giving in. 

Just as she finished the sketch, Byron tilted his head back and raised his lips to David. The older man obliged him, kissing him deeply and roughly, as Byron's hand flew furiously up and down his own dick. The two cocks suddenly rubbed against each other and Byron moaned loudly into David's mouth. 

Holly watched as David's hand moved over Byron's balls, squeezing and tugging them in a way that elicited frantic cries from the younger man. Byron's hand moved to David's, imitating him, and a moment later they stroked each other. Holly let the sketchpad fall to the floor and raised her feet to the edge of the bed. Opening her thighs, she slipped her fingers into her sopping vagina and masturbated against her hand, not caring if Byron saw her. 

Suddenly the young man cried out and orgasmed, his spunk spewing against David's stomach. For a long moment they continued kissing, then Byron fell back on the bed as he waited for his breathing to normalize. In the brief interim, David took to stroking his own cock again, his gaze returning to Holly's face. 

Her thighs were open to his view and he watched as she pleasured herself, her pussy dripping with juices. He loved watching her do that, especially right now. She looked incredibly hot with her thighs open that way. 

"Let me see your tits," he said.

Holly used her other hand to open the top of her robe. Her breasts lay against her white flesh, nipples erect. She encircled one of her breasts and kneaded it roughly, then rubbed the nipple between her thumb and index finger. She would do anything right now to feel his dick in her pussy. How tempting it was for her to just crawl on top of him and take him right where he was.

David's request had brought Byron out of his post-orgasmic stupor. He glanced somewhat shyly towards Holly, then back down at David's cock gleaming with precum. Without a moment's hesitation, he lowered his head to take David's dick into his mouth. David's gaze fell from Holly to the strawberry blonde head over him, and he moaned approvingly at the talented servicing from the young man's hot mouth. Lowering both hands to the back of Byron's head, David held him as he bucked against Byron's mouth. 

"Oh yeah, suck it," he murmured, gasping a little between each word. 

Almost as an after thought, he glanced up to see Holly. Her eyes were glued on Byron's mouth, on the sight of David's dick thrusting up into his saliva-drenched lips. Her own mouth was slack as she watched, eyebrows furrowed, her erratic breathing giving away just how close she was to orgasm. 

David watched her, watched as her hips rose and fell rhythmically against her hand, watched as her thumb and index finger tortured first one nipple then the other, watched her eyelids grow heavier and heavier until the moment of her orgasm possessed her and she came, crying out loudly as Byron had done, her body jerking violently in the rigid chair. 

He waited until she was still. Then, with a hardness in his tone she hadn't heard before, David said, "Sketch us."

Holly stared wide-eyed at him. "What?"

"Pick up the sketch pad and sketch us."

She shook her head at him. She didn't want to. But the expression in his face was unwavering. He expected her to do as he asked...as he told her. She bent over to pick up the sketch pad, her body seized with anger and humiliation. Why couldn't she just say no to him? 

The moment she put pencil to paper, his entire demeanor changed. He lay back into the pillows, lifting his hands from Byron's head to put them behind his own. As his body relaxed, so did his face, and he smiled lazily as he gave into the pleasure of Byron's fellatio. 

Then Holly understood. It was a stunningly beautiful image, one David must have carried in his imagination for a long time. His eyes were just barely open, just enough to make it evident in the sketch that he knew he was being watched. Having already orgasmed several times that evening, David was taking his time. Holly was for once not rushed to a completion. 

She was forced to study the unfamiliar line of one body bent oddly over another, and the tangle of limbs was somewhat complicated. She watched Byron as well, wanting to capture that moment when his face was half-turned towards her; she'd even gone so far as to outline what she wanted him to do before he did it. She caught the very moment when David's cock was only as far into those delicate lips as the head, and the rest of the long shaft was held by Byron's hand, both wet and gleaming with saliva. Byron's eyes were closed...but not David's. David's remained open, smoldering, his lips parted, his brows furrowing as he neared climax. 

"Let me see it," he said raggedly. Holly walked around to his side of the bed and turned the sketch pad towards him. As his eyes moved over the lines, his jaw tightened. "Byron," he called.

The younger man glanced at the sketch. His eyes flared open at the image as renewed arousal gripped him. With a furious groan he went back to work on David's cock.

David wasn't lost on what the image had done to Byron. He deftly turned the slender man so that they lay opposite from each other and eagerly took Byron's stiff dick into his mouth. Holly stood where she was at the edge of the bed, watching. Without even being conscious of what she was doing, she sat on the edge of the bed with a close-up view of David's cock thrusting into Byron's mouth. She longed to touch David's clenching ass but was afraid it was the wrong thing to do. Everything about the moment was over the top for her and unfamiliar, yet she couldn't stop watching. She heard Byron crying out around David's shaft and knew he was coming. With wild curiosity, she moved to see the white spunk dripping out from between David's lips before he swallowed. His gaze met Holly's, and an instant later he yelled out as he was seized by an amazingly fierce orgasm. 

"Holly!" he shouted as his body jerked against Byron's mouth. A second later, he grabbed her arm and dragged her to him, forcing her head down to his and her lips to open as he kissed her. She fought wildly to keep from being kissed by him; she could taste Byron's semen in his mouth. But he forced her to take his tongue in her mouth, to share the semen with him. When she finally freed herself from him, she was livid. 

"Why did you do that?" she cried, dragging her hand over her mouth. She hurried into the bathroom and rinsed her mouth out with water before using his toothbrush to scrub her teeth and tongue. But even as she did so she knew it was useless. He had forced her to share Byron with him. Whatever his twisted purpose was, he had gone too far this time. 

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she had every intention of leaving for good. She wasn't going to allow him to take her any farther done the path of his erotic fantasies. But when she stepped out, Byron was already getting into his clothes. He glanced at her with a sleepy, appreciative look, then nodded a goodbye to David. In a moment, they were alone in the room, just she and David. He still reclined on the bed where he had been earlier. 

He watched her as she went for her clothes. "You're angry," he said.

She ignored him. Any discussion they might have would only go in his favor. She was tired of him always having the upper hand just because of her silly emotions. 

"Come to bed, Holly," he said.

She continued getting into her clothes. Only when she remembered why there was a smudge on her t-shirt did she realize she'd ridden over in his truck. She would have to walk home. And it was the middle of the night. 

"You're really too much," she bit out, crossing her arms as she faced him. "You must have had this whole thing planned out to the last detail. The plants, the swim, the sex. It was all just a way of you getting me involved in some kind of ménage a trios with you and Byron. What's next, David? You want to share me with him? Maybe bring in a woman, too? Have an all-out orgy? Is that where this is all going?"

"You didn't seem to mind at the time," he observed.

"I was wrong. I can't be involved with you this way. I'm not that uninhibited. There has to be a line drawn somewhere."

"I don't want to share you with Byron," he stated.

"Why did you kiss me like that, then?"

"I got too excited, Holly. It was just too hot. You had your face right there, watching me. Don't you remember?"

She did remember. She didn't want to, but she did. It was something she would never, ever forget. It had been incredibly sensual in a way that still left her breathless and wanting. 

He stood up slowly from the bed, looking like some kind of wild, dark animal as he moved towards her. She watched him saunter to where she stood, arms folded defensively in front of her. He wasn't smiling charmingly this time. His expression showed real concern, even a trace of fear. Silently he reached out to draw her gently into his arms. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I went too far. I won't do it again. You're too important to me, Holly. I don't want to alienate you."

With the side of her cheek against his bare chest, she closed her eyes and let him hold her. She had to be a fool to accept his apology; didn't she realize that more of the same was bound to follow? And yet she had to admit to herself that he had become too important to her as well. 

"Come," he said after a long while. 

She let him lead her to the bed and lay down with him, feeling odd in her clothes compared to his nakedness. He flicked the switch beside his bed and the lights went out. She lay against him, his arm about her shoulder, staring into the darkness. After another moment he was asleep. 

Holly rolled away from him and withdrew her clothes again. Something like resignation had settled on her; she knew now for certain that she had fallen in love with him, but that she would forever have to share him with others. How could she do that? How could anyone? 

Part of her wanted to walk away now and never see his face again. And yet she knew she could never do it. He had effortlessly drawn her into his web; it would have to be David who ended it. But in the interim, she didn't have to just spinelessly accept anything he asked of her. She could stand up to him and say no to anything that made her uncomfortable. If he'd meant what he'd said—if he truly didn't want to alienate her—he would accept her limits. 




Blaze Ch. 03



And yet a part of her had to admit that she wasn't sure what her limits were. What she had done tonight, what she had participated in, was far beyond anything her imagination could have conjured. As sleepiness swept over her, she found her mind wandering to the myriad sexual fantasies she'd entertained over the years. Women, men, multiple partners...the images swirled in her mind, lulling her into a kind of aroused sleep. She pressed her groin into David's thigh and heard him moan in his sleep. His hold on her tightened. His lips brushed her hair.

Light tilted into the room. She opened her eyes to see David leaning over her; he was dressed for work. It was hard for her to reconcile the David that she knew in bed with the one who fought fires for a living. 

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I need to drive you home."

"Okay," she said, sitting up with a trace of reluctance. 

The drive was silent. Even with his sunglasses on, he looked tired. Whereas Holly could go back to bed, David had a full day ahead of him. For the first time ever she experienced fear in association with his job. She didn't want him going to work half-exhausted, possibly putting himself in danger. 

As they pulled up in front of her house, she was surprised when he cut his engine. He turned to her and withdrew his sunglasses. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. He gazed at her with deep concern. Though he said nothing, she sensed his thoughts. 

"Give me another chance, Holly," he said at last. 

"Respect my boundaries," she replied. 

"What are your boundaries?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I'll have to tell you as we go along."

His eyes widened even as his full lips curved into a smile. "Well," he drawled huskily. "That's certainly something to look forward to."

Tentatively he leaned in to kiss her. Holly let his mouth capture hers, then opened to him. He groaned and dragged her against him. His hands swept up into her hair and held her while his mouth ravaged hers. His kiss had never before been so passionate and sincere, so full of longing and vulnerability. He pulled away abruptly, struggling to catch his breath as he laid his forehead against hers. 

"I love your openness and honesty," he said, his eyes closed as he held her. He drew in a quivering breath and sighed. "I love you, Holly. I love you in a way that scares me."

His eyelids lifted and he looked at her, gauging her reaction. She had heard him. She simply found his words hard to accept. 

"I'm in love with you, David," she admitted. "But I'm afraid. You have the power to hurt me in a terrible way."

He shook his head. "I'll do everything in my power to keep that from happening."

She wanted to believe him, and yet experience had taught her otherwise. Whatever promises David made, he seemed powerless to control his natural urges. Handling him was like trying to handle a wildfire: sooner or later, she was bound to get burned.



Blaze of Glory



Kat sipped her warm wine and sighed softly. This party was a bloody bore. Her boss had suggested that she come because it was good for PR. She didn’t like any of these people. The men were all lecherous know-it-alls, and the women were up-themselves bitches.

A penguin-clad waiter walked passed and Kat picked a chilled glass of champagne, raised it to her fuchsia colored lips and took a long refreshing gulp. Her mind buzzing from alcohol excess, her eyes darted around the room searching for someone she could have even a mildly interesting conversation with.

She spotted him in the far corner, and like herself, his attire was totally wrong. Just like her own entirely inappropriate casual get-up of a black leather mini and hot pink low cut top, she noted his faded blue tee-shirt taut over his well-toned muscles and his jeans, which incidentally covered a very pert bum.

“This party might just have something for it,” she muttered to herself as she sauntered casually over. Her green eyes glinted with desire as she made direct eye contact with his azure eyes. His sandy hair flopped messily into his face giving him a mischievous air.

Kat leaned against the wall and flicked her hair away from her face hoping to get a reaction, but nothing, no comment, no smile, not even a sidelong glance. She sipped at her now warm drink and decided to take matters into her own hands.

“You like you’re having just as much fun as I am,” she said with a flirtatious smile.

“I’m working,” the sexy loner took a gulp of his orange juice.

“Working?” Kat asked, with a hint of disappointment.

Great, another pretentious hot-shot touting for new ‘clients’. Why do I always pick ‘em?

“Yep,” his manner was abrupt.

“Officially I am working too, I am supposed to be friendly to all these geezers with posh suits,” Kat laughed, slightly embarrassed by own her dim-witted humour.

The stranger finally turned to look at her, and raised a single eyebrow appreciatively at what he saw. “Well, I am a fireman, and tonight, this hotshot wanted a fire officer at his snobby party in case of emergency.”

“Well, this snobby hotshot happens to be my employer and I am inclined to agree with your opinion of him,” Kat’s demeanor brightened and her eyes wondered lustfully over his muscles and firm body as she spoke.

“I’m Jed,” he offered.

“Kat,” she whispered back, giving off a vague message of sensuality.

“So you can’t join me with a glass of champers then, being on duty and all?”

“Public service, no such luxuries as drinking and laying in on weekends.” Jed grinned

“Public service hm,” Kat moved in so close she could feel his breath on her neck.

Just them Jed’s beeper went off, he gulped down the remains of his orange juice and hurried off.

You can work on me at the weekends or any time for that matter, she thought to herself as she watched his strong legs carrying his firm butt away, her long red-nailed finger circled the rim of her glass and her mouth forming a little o in sexual excitement.

Kat left the party; any hopes of an exciting evening lay shattered before her. She curled up under her duvet and thought of Jed. Images of his rugged features danced before her eyes. She could almost feel his strong fireman hands stroking her skin causing a tingling sensation. Her nipples hardened against her cotton nightshirt as the fires of her passion blazed inside her.

“Oh Jed,” she moaned, the sound of her own voice waking her from her erotic slumber. Kat sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes and cast her duvet aside. She sleepily made her way over to the bathroom, rinsed her face with cold water and gazed blankly into the mirror, but all she could see was Jed’s reflection staring back at her.

Jed. A sudden realization hit her she didn’t have his number. She didn’t even know his last name, and worse still he didn’t have her name or number either. A playful smile formed on her lips as she hit upon a naughty idea.

“Oi Jed,” one of his mates called out to him, “we got a cat in distress.”

“Stupid cats,” Jed grimaced, “why can’t their owners…”

“Hey Jed,” his mate sidled up closer to him “the female caller of this catastrophe asked specifically for you,” he winked knowingly.

“Did she leave a name?” Jed was puzzled.

“No she just babbled about her feline friend.”

Jed was baffled. His mind was in a haze. He couldn’t get the women of last night out of his head. He felt a stirring sensation in his crotch as he recalled her voluptuous figure, her auburn hair and those sparkling green eyes. He recollected, with burning desire, how her figure hugging micro skirt gave a strong suggestion of what was underneath it. How he yearned to run his fingers along those sensuous thighs.

“Just gimme the address.”

Kat opened the door with a jaunty smile. Jed looked so much sexier in his uniform. She pulled him in and slammed the door with her heels. She smirked as she noticed his gaze fixated on her breasts. It was time to turn up the heat. Without any warning she pushed him against the wall and kissed him firmly on the mouth, their tongues exploring with a burning intensity of passion.

Jed was taken by complete surprise, but he chucked his inhibitions aside and returned the favour. One of his hands crept inside her bra and the other travelled up her inner thigh and played teasingly with her knickers. Kat moaned as she felt Jed harden against her hip and ripped his shirt open. In response he lifted her top and began nibbling on the tender flesh of her shoulders than ran a tantalising tongue over the curves of her breasts. He took one of his nipples in her mouth and sucked with a gentle insistence that Kat fell against the wall moaning in ecstasy. She slid downwards until she was almost crouching on the floor, her legs open just enough to make Jed whimper silently. She fumbled with his fly and opened the zip with her teeth. Jed felt helpless as Kat brought him closer and closer to climax. When he could hold himself no longer, he took Kat with an orgasmic passion.

As they lay panting in an exhilarated heap, the smell of eroticism still in the air, Jed reached for his uniform, got up and put on his helmet. Kat put her arms around his neck and moved her hands down towards his lower back. Jed placed his hands on his still moist thigh and tremored as his imagination turned to what they were doing not ten minutes ago.

“I’m supposed to put out fires not start them,” he grinned, “perhaps now I should attend to that distressed cat.”

“You just did,” Kat purred, her bright green eyes twinkling.