The Uniformed and Smoking Hot Collection, Volume 1 (MFM)

Uniformed and Smoking Hot 1

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 141,190
0 Ratings (0.0)

In Under Their Covers, Sydney Owen is looking to simplify her life. But her first day in Cherish puts her face-to-face with firefighters Carter Devereaux and Rhett Cox. Keeping both men isn’t an option. But when dating them separately gets complicated, the simplified life she’s after bursts into flames.

In Forever Strings, Ripley Paxton meets Xander Wayland and makes it clear she’s looking for a good time and no strings. Then she meets Flynn Martelli and finds herself having that good-time-no-strings fun with both men…until strings start to form, a threat looms, and the only place she can turn is into Xander and Flynn’s loving, protective arms.

In Explosive Hearts, trauma surgeon Paris Rainer knows how to repair wounds, but mending two broken hearts is something she didn’t learn in medical school. When tragedy strikes Cherish F.D. Station 2’s B-shift, her skills as a doctor are tested, but fixing firefighters Tate Shaw and Ethan Crawford is going to take womanly skills she’s not sure she has.  


A Siren Erotic Romance
Tonya Ramagos is a Siren-exclusive author
The Uniformed and Smoking Hot Collection, Volume 1 (MFM)
0 Ratings (0.0)

The Uniformed and Smoking Hot Collection, Volume 1 (MFM)

Uniformed and Smoking Hot 1

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 141,190
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Siren Publishing




“Thank you, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

The woman gave her a haughty, curt nod. “You’re welcome, child. Now, let the nice men of the fire department do their job and get your girl down so you can take her inside where she’ll be safe. We have some fine men protecting our city.”

Sydney just bet they did. There was one fine man in particular she had never been able to get out of her head or her fantasies.

Pushing all thoughts of Carter Devereaux and the few shorts weeks she’d spend in the man’s arms eight years ago from her mind, Sydney gave Mrs. Witherspoon another smile. “Yes ma’am.”

She turned her attention up and shot a scathing look to the branch a good ten feet off the ground where Ember sat terrified and meowing her furry ass off. She planted her hips, her gaze narrowing on the cat as she heard the fire truck pull to a stop in the street in front of the house. “If you think you’re getting snacks tonight after this stunt, you better think again.”

Ember gave her most pitiful sounding meow yet and dug her claws deeper into the tree branch.

Sydney pushed a hard breath from her lungs, squared her shoulders, and prepared to start rattling off apologies as she turned to face the firefighters. Her gaze sliced over the ambulance that pulled to a stop behind the fire truck first and her mortification deepened. She slid her attention to the fire truck, read the words Cherish Fire Department in bold letters along the back upper part of the rig, and then the Squad 14 printed on the passenger door. The door opened and a set of fire boots hit the pavement. Her heartrate rose with her gaze as her attention skimmed up a pair of long, strong legs even the baggy bunker pants hanging on narrow hips and held up by red suspenders failed to hide. A navy blue T-shirt stretched tight over a torso ripped and toned enough to make any woman around want to bite him.

Sydney clamped her teeth tightly together and dragged her gaze up his thick neck, over the strong line of his jaw, skipped across a truly too-kissable set of lips, and focused on pale green eyes. Those eyes were locked on her and damn if the intensity she saw in them with each step he took that brought him closer didn’t bring a little zing to her girly parts. Girly parts she’d nearly let rust. Holy smokes! The man was supposed to fight fires, not start them.

“Miss.” Firefighter Hottie greeted her with a nod, never once moving his eyes from her. He stopped close enough for her to see flecks of dark jade accenting the pale green and something that looked suspiciously like heat in their depths. “We received a call about a trapped victim.”

He had a voice to go with the rest of him—sexy, deeply hot, and melodic. Sydney felt a stirring in her belly along with an instantaneous heat that sparked between her legs. What the hell? She’d lived in Hollywood for most of her adult life, a place where gorgeous men were a dime a dozen, a place where she’d learned to calm the lusty effects looking at them could have on her, and a place where she had learned to never judge a book by its cover. She’d even gotten to a point where she often ignored the covers of the men she encountered.

There was no ignoring Firefighter Hottie’s cover. No, this man and his impressive blessings from the gene-pool Gods demanded and claimed a woman’s full-blown attention.

“Yeah, um, about that. I’m sorry Mr….firefighter…”

“Lieutenant,” he supplied. “Rhett Cox.”

“Lieutenant Cox,” Sydney said quickly, even as her mind tripped and stumbled over what to say next. It was amazing. Usually she was a master at opening lines, but for the life of her, getting a conversation going with this guy was taking every bit of her effort. “I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.” The calm, cool arrogance that resonated from him had the butterflies in her belly dancing a different jig. Her bodily reaction to this man was astonishing and a bit unnerving.

“Right. My neighbor, Mrs. Witherspoon…” She shot a glance at the yard next door to see the elderly woman had conveniently gone back into her house. Great. She was left out here to handle this alone.

The idea of handling Firefighter—no, Lieutenant Hottie—had the heat between her legs spreading to every erogenous zone in her body. She doubted there was a woman on the planet that could handle this man, but she didn’t doubt he could sure as hell handle a woman.

Her traitorous gaze decided to find more proof of that as it dropped from his eyes to one broad shoulder and down a strong arm. A sizzle erupted in her waist, desire to feel that arm locked around her.

Christ, Sydney. Get a fucking grip!

She ruthlessly pushed aside the realization that what she wanted to grip were his broad shoulders and somehow managed to get a grip on her senses instead. “It’s a false alarm, Lieutenant. I’m really sorry to have wasted your time.”

One dark brown brow lifted high enough to nearly touch the matching strands of hair falling over his forehead. “There isn’t anyone trapped anywhere?”

Sydney hadn’t heard a peep out of Ember since the fire truck pulled up, but the cat chose that moment to let out her most pitiful meow yet. She watched as a slow realization moved through Lieutenant Hottie’s eyes. His chin lifted as he tipped his head back and a low chuckle escaped his too-kissable lips.

“It’s been a long time since Squad’s been called out to rescue a cat from a tree,” he commented as he righted his head and met her gaze again.




“Devereaux, keep her worked up,” Rhett told him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Startled, Sydney shot a look over her shoulder in time to see Rhett disappearing into the master bathroom. She saw the door close, heard the water come on in the sink, and the forgot all about wondering what Rhett was doing when Carter lifted his head in front of her and licked one beaded nipple into his mouth. Her head rolled on her shoulders, her eyes closing as sheer erotic bliss traveled a flaming path straight to her clit, pussy, and ass. She sucked a breath through clenched teeth when his closed around that nipple, bit, and sent darts of pleasured-pain shooting down that same path. He worked the other nipple the same way, then alternated the attention until both were throbbing with a dark erotic pain that had her whimpering, panting, and on the verge of begging. Behind her, she heard the bathroom door open, felt the mattress dip, and shivered when Rhett’s large hands gently came to rest on her shoulders.

The minty scent of toothpaste drifted to her when he spoke. “Are you still on the edge for me, baby?” His low, melodic voice was huskier with his own needs as he dragged his callused palms down her back.

Sydney writhed, her body bucking against Carter’s hold on her waist, trying desperately to lower onto his cock. “Please. God, you’re killing me.”

Rhett chuckled as his hands turned to glide over her ass. “Can you lean forward for me?”

Sydney flattened her good hand on the front of Carter’s shoulder as Carter’s hands adjusted their hold on her to keep her steady.

“That’s it, Syd. Lift your sexy ass so Rhett can pleasure it.”

She opened her eyes and stared into Carter’s, heard the soft snap as Rhett popped open the cap on the lube Carter had given him, and shivered when the cool gel met with the flaming flesh of her ass.

“You’re going to tell us how it feels.” The calm authority in Carter’s voice left no room for argument. “We want to know how much you like having that sexy ass of yours fucked.”

She did like it. She knew that. At least, she’d enjoyed it when Carter had taken her there. He’d started off surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the way he usually made love to her. That gentleness hadn’t lasted long. He’d well and truly fucked her ass, making her scream, and causing her pussy to plead for a cock. That had been one of the times she’d allowed herself to fantasize about having Carter and Rhett inside her together.

Rhett worked a well-lubed thick finger into her ass, spreading the cool gel deep, and wiggling the digit to coax her inner muscles to relax.

Her pussy flamed, her hips attempted to push back on that finger in a quest to draw it even deeper. Carter’s hold remained firm.

“Please,” she panted, barely able to breathe around the bittersweet pain exploding through her system. “It feels too good. I want more.”

Rhett gave it to her, though not as much as her body craved. He added a second and then a third finger, twisting and pushing them into her most sensitive entrance until she was crying out, begging, and ready to scream.

“Christ!” Rhett growled as he continued to work her ass to a frenzy of crazed need. “You’ve never made those sounds for me before.”

“You…never…teased…me so much…before.” Every word was labored. She had push them out of her mouth as her very soul filled with so much ecstasy she was almost certain it might kill her.

“I’m not teasing you now, baby. I’m just getting you ready.”

“I’m ready!” The words gushed from her lips as he pumped his fingers in her ass in a slow rhythm she had come to know so well with him. “Please, Rhett! Carter! My pussy. I need your cock inside me.”

“Ask correctly and I might give it to you.”

Right. She was talking to Carter now. God, she loved their little games, but it was hard to keep things straight when they were scrambling her mind and tormenting her body.

“Please, sir. Will you fuck me now?”

Carter chuckled. “That’s not exactly how I expected you to ask, but it works.”

“Oh, yesss.” It did work. He used his hold on her waist to draw her body down, sheathing his cock into her flaming pussy in a single, vicious thrust that drove him balls deep inside her. He stopped there, his hands still controlling her movement, and she felt tears of sheer frustration burn the backs of her eyes. “Please, sir. I can’t take much more of this.”

“You want Rhett inside you, too, don’t you?”

Unable to speak, she rapidly nodded.

“He needs to hear you say it, Syd.” That calm authority was back in Carter’s voice.

Sydney opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed and managed to find the strength to look over her shoulder and meet Rhett’s gaze. “I want you inside me, Rhett. I’m ready for you now.”





Ripley took more than the minute she’d told him. She took more than the three required to run his license and plate through dispatch. She needed that time to get herself together. Holy mackerel! A speeder, or any other violator of the law, had never sent her body rocking or her mind on a fast train to get-it-on-ville the way Flynn Martelli did.

She consulted the information on his license. The birthday listed told her he was turning forty in two days. It told her he lived at 4628 Winding Mountain Lane. The plate on the back of his bike had told her he was a firefighter even before she’d run it through dispatch.

She toyed with the idea of not giving him a ticket. Both because he was simply too damn cute and because he was a firefighter. Winding Mountain Lane was in a fairly high-class neighborhood. The hundred and fifty the citation would cost him likely wouldn’t hurt his finances too badly. But the speed he’d been traveling on that motorcycle as he’d woven his way through the slower traffic keeping to the posted limit held the potential to hurt far more than his wallet.

Ripley scribbled the citation, gathered his paperwork, and headed back to his bike. His large hands were back on the handlebars, his forearms, biceps, and posture relaxed. His hair was jet black, his face handsome and chiseled, and she knew, even before he turned his gaze to hers, the effect those bright green eyes would have on her system.

“Here you go.” He straightened and took the items she held out for him. “I hope you aren’t late for your shift, firefighter.”

“It’s captain,” he corrected her as he shifted the items to one hand and opened his wallet with the other. His gaze dropped from hers as he replaced his license, registration, and proof of insurance in his wallet. He paused briefly when he got to the citation. Surprise followed by acceptance and a hint of amusement moved through his expression. “Thank you, officer…”

“Paxton,” Ripley supplied as she watched his attention drop to the bottom of the citation where she’d signed her name.

His gaze met hers and, wow, merely being the object of this man’s attention made her imagination soar. Ecstasy, hot and intoxicating, pumped off him in waves. She wondered if he realized it, if he somehow did it on purpose.


Her name rolled from his lips in a voice that was as hot and intoxicating as the rest of him. Everything about the man put her in mind of rumpled sheets and hot, sweaty sex.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, and stay safe out there, Captain Flynn Martelli,” she told him as she slowly started backing away.

The grin that unfolded on his lips as he turned his head to watch her over his broad shoulder made her step falter. It was a slow curve of a set of truly kissable lips that had arousal shooting through her like a harpoon. Her nipples beaded, cream soaked her panties, and she couldn’t look away.

“You, too, Officer Ripley Paxton.” He held her gaze for a long moment before he turned and started his bike.

Ripley whirled around and headed for her cruiser before she did something stupid like run after him, hop on the back of his bike, and demand he take them someplace they could fuck. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d just had sex, truly marvelous, rock-her-world sex, with an off the charts good-looking guy mere hours ago. She’d been doing her best not to fall asleep after a full night of mattress gymnastics with Xander Wayland last night when Flynn Martelli’s speeding motorcycle had set her radar beeping on the dash of her squad car.

She slid behind the wheel of her cruiser, alerted dispatch that she was back in service, and buried her face in her hands. “I am turning into a slut.”

She was turning into the worst kind of slut. A badge-bunny kind of slut. Flynn Martelli was a fire shift captain and, despite what she’d told Xander last night about his incapability to be a firefighter, she’d known that was exactly what he was. What were the chances Flynn and Xander worked the same shift at the same firehouse?

She consoled herself with the understanding that it didn’t matter. She would likely never see Flynn Martelli again, and, though she had agreed to see Xander tomorrow, what they had going was nothing but sex.

Sex you can’t wait to have again with a man you haven’t been able to get out of your head for more than a few minutes since he left your house this morning.

Damn it. The worse part of that whole thought was the realization that those few minutes she had managed to not think about Xander had been the time she’d just spent practically drooling over Flynn Martelli.




Ripley’s heart skipped a beat. Just like that, Xander had gone from playful to serious. She supposed he’d had to, especially given the handcuffs in his hand and the obvious intent in his eyes to use them.

“That’s an interesting question coming from a man I’ve known for barely more than two hours.”

He shot a pointed glance around the room before meeting her gaze again. “I’m in your house.”

Ripley gave him a half laugh. “You’re in my bedroom.”

Xander didn’t crack a smile. “But do you trust me enough to have my way with you and know that I won’t hurt you in any way that doesn’t give you absolute and total pleasure?”

Ripley’s heart didn’t just skip a beat this time. It stilled. Holy smokes, the intensity on his handsome face coupled with the mixture of hope and confidence in his tone had juices leaking from between her feminine lips. She wanted this man. She wanted him to have his way with her, and, mother of hormones, she wanted him to do anything and everything to her that would give her that absolute and total pleasure he was talking about.

She shifted, putting the weight of her upper body on one elbow so she could reach for him with her other hand. “Yes, Xander. Call me crazy, but I trust you.”

“I would never call you crazy or give you a reason not to trust me,” he said, still so serious, so confident, and, oh, wow, those words shouldn’t have made her insides go all warm and fuzzy, but they did.

Wanting to put them back in their playful mood from moments ago, needing to, Ripley asked, “Do you need me to show you what to do with those handcuffs?”

He snorted. “Baby, I’m going to show you how these handcuffs can be fun.” He waited a beat and added, “Lay down and stretch your arms over your head.”

Ripley obeyed even as an excited whip of trepidation slashed over every erogenous zone in her body.

He leaned over her, glanced down, and asked, “You’re right handed, aren’t you?”

There was only one set of cuffs. He couldn’t bind both of her wrists to the headboard like he obviously wanted. Knowing it would throw him off, she told him, “I’m ambidextrous.”

He gave her a withering look that had her struggling not to laugh. “Work with me, Ripley, unless you’ve got another pair of these laying around.”

She let a half giggle escape. “I don’t, and I shoot my gun with my right hand, if that helps.”

“So, just in case that’s lying around the room and I didn’t see it…” He muttered the words, but she heard the humor in his tone as he stretched her right arm toward the headboard and secured it to one of the wrought iron bars.

Still laughing, Ripley waved her left hand in the air in front of his face. “I still have a free hand.”

“Not for long.” He grabbed that wrist as he sat up and guided her left hand between her legs. “You’re going to play with your pussy until I get down there to take over.”

“Wh—” A sudden rush of uncertainty had Ripley needing to swallow before she could make the question come out. “Where are you going to be?”

He shifted next to her, threw one powerful leg over her thighs, braced the weight of his upper body on his hands at her sides, and dipped his head. “Right here for starters.” The tip of his tongue touched the side of her neck and danced its way down.

Ripley shuddered, every sensory nerve in her body anticipating the next lick, the next touch of his mouth, and the bites he’d given to her breasts in the living room.

“Are you playing with your pussy like I told you to do?” The warmth of his breath fanned her flesh as his face hovered over her collarbone.

She wasn’t. All of her attention had been fixated on him, every particle of her being waiting for him to touch her, to taste her, and to fuck her. She pushed a finger between her sodden folds and couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her lips.

His lips unfolded in a smile against her flesh as he lowered his mouth to her collarbone and gave it a tender nip. “Now you are. Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

“You should be doing it for me.” Ripley could finger herself any time the mood struck. Right now, she wanted his large, callused fingers between her pussy lips, fondling her clit, and pumping inside her channel.

“You have to beg me to first.”

Ripley let out a quick burst of disbelieving laughter, but the moan that broke through it when his tongue touched her flesh again ruined the effect. “I don’t beg, Slick.”

His head lifted, his gaze slammed into hers, and the calm authority shining among the flames in her eyes brought her inching toward the edge. “You will.”





“Hell of a job today, Dr. Rainer.”

Paris smiled even before she turned to see who had spoken to her. Korbin Malone fell into step beside her as she made her way down the ER hallway from the operating rooms. “Thank you, doctor. Since I can say the same to you, I will.”

Korbin had been her backup during the firefighter’s surgery as well as a few others since her shift had begun the day before. He shot her a grin that had probably wooed half of the women in Cherish into his bed at one time or another and turned her words around on her with a little added alteration of his own.

“Thank you, doctor. How about we celebrate the shift’s success over a late lunch?”

Paris’s step faltered on its own accord. She recovered quickly, but she doubted she managed it fast enough that he didn’t notice. The way his grin dimmed in its seductive wattage gave her the first clue that he’d seen it.

“Thanks, but I have bowl of tuna salad and a bottle of wine waiting for me in my fridge. After that, I’m thinking about the nice, warm, empty bed that’s calling my name.” Maybe she shouldn’t have added the “empty” part to the bed, but she saw he got her point easily enough.

He nodded once and gave her a friendly pat on the back of her shoulder. “Enjoy your tuna salad. See you next shift.”

“See you next shift,” Paris echoed as his steps picked up pace and he disappeared down the hall.

Paris followed, but at a much slower speed, her steps faltering again when she passed the ER waiting room. Movement had caught her attention out of the corner of her eye and she back-stepped. She stopped in the doorway, poked her head inside, and then leaned a shoulder against the frame when she was the room was occupied by only one man.

“You keep pacing like that and I’m going to have to call maintenance to replace the tiles.”

Tate Shaw stopped in his tracks, turned on a booted heel, and locked his chocolate brown gaze on her.

Holy hormones! She’d noticed it hours ago when she’d come to the waiting room to give the firefighters a report on Ethan Crawford. It had been all she could do not to let show the intense reaction that had ping-ponged off every erogenous zone in her body. Being the object of this man’s attention made her imagination soar. Ecstasy, hot and intoxicating, pumped off him in waves. She wondered if he realized it, if he somehow did it on purpose.

No, she decided as he stared at her for a long moment without speaking. He didn’t realize it or do it on purpose. He didn’t have a clue. It was the haunted look deep in his chocolate brown eyes that told her that. The man was damaged. He’d been through some kind of hell.

And he’s going through another kind of hell now.

“I thought I told you to go home, Mr. Shaw.”

He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. From the disarray of the short strands, it was obviously a move he’d been making regularly in the last few hours. “Yeah, see, I’ve never been good at following a doctor’s orders.”

Paris wasn’t surprised. Something about this man told her he wasn’t good at following anyone’s orders aside from his captain and lieutenant. “And Mr. Crawford? Is he better at it or should I take this as a warning that he will have to be more carefully observed?”

“He’ll do whatever you tell him to do if it means you’ll clear him to return to the firehouse.”

“Doing what I, and his primary care physician, tell him to do is the only chance he’ll have of making that happen.”

“But it will happen?”

The mix of hope and fear etched all over Tate Shaw’s handsome face tore at her heart.

God, she hated answering questions like that, especially so soon after a surgery. Every bit of her training, experience, and instincts told her that, yes, Ethan Crawford would return to his job in due time. But a punctured lung could be a tricky thing. Ethan was fortunate the lung hadn’t collapsed and, so far, the lung appeared to be functioning properly, but what if that changed?

“As I told you and the others this morning, your friend will have a long recovery period.” Six weeks really wasn’t all that long, but Paris knew to a firefighter out of the action, it would seem like a lifetime. Thankfully, Tate didn’t push her for a more direct answer to his question. Instead, he asked another one that was far easier to answer.

“Has there been any change in his condition since your last update?”

Paris shook her head. “His vitals are still good and he’s still sleeping soundly. It really would be okay for you to go home, grab a shower, and get some rest.”

As cream-inspiringly handsome as the man was still dressed in his fire boots, bunker pants, suspenders, and Cherish F.D.T-shirt with smudges of soot and grime on his hands and face, it was clear that he was worn out, exhausted, and in need of some serious downtime.

Tate looked at his hands before raking them down his face. “I’ll clean up a little in the restroom. When can I see him?”

“He’ll be moved to a private room once the anesthesia wears off. You’ll be able to see him then.”

Tate slowly nodded. “Thanks.”

Paris watched as he pivoted on his heel once again and went back to pacing the waiting room floor. She narrowed her gaze on his back, taking in the way his T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and the tension set in the corded muscles in his back as his long strides put distance between them. That, “Thanks,” had been a dismissal. She knew she should take it and leave. So why did her feet seem to be planted in their spot in the doorway as if they’d grown roots there?

“When is the last time you had something to eat?”

His step faltered, but the only part of him that turned to face her was his head. One brow cocked up as he met her gaze over his shoulder. A dart of shock shot through his eyes. “Hell, I don’t know. Dinner at the firehouse last night. Why?”

Why? Wasn’t that the million dollar question of the hour?

Paris couldn’t say what had possessed her to ask him that any more than she could explain why she couldn’t seem to make herself leave him be. The man had visible wounds she suspected ran really deep, but they weren’t injuries her surgical skills could fix.

She considered saying, “I was just wondering,” or “The hospital cafeteria is up one floor and down the hall to the right.” Neither of those things were what came out of her mouth.

“You should eat. You need to keep up your strength.”

His second brow rose to join the first as he turned fully to face her again. “Is that an order, doctor?”

“Why would I waste my breath giving you another order I know you won’t follow?” Paris swore the corner of his too-kissable lips twitched at that. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

She would? What was she thinking?

He seemed to be wondering the same thing because his gaze dropped from hers and he gave her a slow once-over that had her blood warming to the temperature of molten lava. “I don’t need a doctor, Paris.”

Christ! The way her name rolled from his lips in that low, sexy voice had those wicked needs spreading to parts she’d thought had gone dormant long ago. “No, but you do need a break. One hour, Tate.” Since he’d dared to use her first name, she figured it safe to do the same. “By the time you get back, your friend should be in a private room where you can join him.”

His gaze met hers again, held for a long moment, and she could all but see the wheels turning in his mind. She fully expected him to refuse. He didn’t.

“Point me in the direction of the nearest men’s room.”

Paris pushed herself off the doorframe and, what do you know, her feet could suddenly move again. “There’s one on our way out. You can wash up in there and meet me out front.”




He closed that step of distance he’d put between them in a single stride that brought the hard wall of his body pressed against her front. “You’re babbling.”

Paris gasped, partly from the return of the electricity zinging through her system and partly because she knew she wasn’t doing anything of the sort. “I’m not babbling. You asked questions and I’m—”

“Babbling,” he cut her off again, his voice low and rusty as he gazed down at her. “Apparently, I’m going to have to kiss you to make you stop.”

Paris blinked at him. No, he wasn’t because, oh, holy shit, whatever else she had been about to say evaporated from her mind at that. Somewhere in her scrambled brain, one question managed to form and make it past her lips. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I want to.”

He said it so simply, in such a matter-of-fact tone that she blinked at him again. “Ethan, you don’t want me.”

Hadn’t he told Tate he was going solo? Hadn’t he just told her that Tate was a grown man and could do whoever he wanted? Both statements had made it clear to her that he wasn’t interested, despite the tricks her imagination kept playing on her every time they touched.

One ash brown brow lifted over a green eye that danced with intrigue. “Really? If the hard-on I had for you in the hospital didn’t tell you different, this one should.” He angled his lower body, pressing it more firmly against her, and yes, his cock was definitely hard as rock.

Paris didn’t know what to say. She licked her lips and tried to latch onto that part of her brain that knew she should tell him to back off. Instead, the words that left her mouth couldn’t have been any more different. “Then maybe you should kiss me.”

What was she doing? She had just given herself to Tate, more than once in fact, and was telling Ethan to kiss her now! She had left Tate sleeping in his bed. What would he do if he walked into the kitchen and found her kissing Ethan? What would he think? How would he react?

The questions sailed from her mind when Ethan kissed her. It was a soft kiss, slightly hesitant at first, as if he feared she might pull away or as if he was deciding if he should be the one to stop instead. She didn’t pull away and he didn’t stop. He licked his way into her mouth and coaxed her tongue into a hungry dance that had her mind reeling even as her clit started to throb. Her nipples beaded to hardened points. There was no way he couldn’t feel the darts of them pressing against his chest. Juices leaked from between her pussy lips to soak the cotton lining of her panties.

Was she really going to do this?

She had found one of Tate’s shirts draped over a chair in the corner of his bedroom this morning and had thrown it on in lieu of her own clothes when she had come to the kitchen to get more water. Ethan fisted the material of that shirt now, the backs of his fingers grazing her flesh as he pulled it up and broke the kiss only long enough to tug it over her head. Then her pulsing nipples were pressing into the bare flesh of his chest and, God, yes, she was really going to do this.

She moaned into his mouth, her lower body bucking on its own accord, and her hips swaying, grinding her center against the hard line of his cock still clad in his jogging pants. She already knew how enormously long and thick his cock was and her pussy convulsed to feel it inside her.

The sound he made was more animal than man as he licked his way out of her mouth, danced his tongue down her throat, and dipped his head to take one of her breasts between his lips.

Paris cupped his nape with one hand, fisted the strands of his hair with the other, and let her head fall back as the sweet sensation of his licking and sucking on her breast drove her straight to near madness.

“Ethan.” She wasn’t sure if she said his name aloud or only in her head. It didn’t matter. Either way, he didn’t stop the delicious things he was doing to her breast with his mouth. Instead, he shifted to her other breast, taking great care to give it the same attention as the first.

“Oh, God.” Lightning bolts of pleasure shot down her body, igniting the fire already building in her pussy to an inferno she knew only this firefighter taking control of her body could put out. Apparently, Tate had done a good job of teaching her how to beg last night because it came way too easily to her now. “Ethan, please.”

He lifted his head, met her gaze, and the look in his eyes only added more fuel to the fire inside her. “I do want you, Paris. I’ve tried to resist that. If you hadn’t still been here this morning, I would’ve been able to pull it off. But you’re here and I can’t. Let me have you.”

Unable to speak around the emotions clogging her throat, Paris nodded. There was no way she could’ve missed the party that exploded in his eyes at her answer. It was so shocking to see that excitement unfold that she nearly laughed, but he chose that moment to shove a hand between their lower bodies and cover her pussy through the thin lining of her panties.

“Damn, sweetheart, you’re wet. Tell me it’s because you really want me as badly as I want you.”

Her hand was still in his hair and she toyed with the strands as she gazed at him. “Yes, Ethan. I want you.”

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