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The Firehouse

The Firehouse

Erotic fiction by Michele London

Jenna brushed back the wisps of hair from her forehead and pushed a black headband over them to keep everything in place. She grabbed her sunglasses from their perch atop the television, tucked earbuds into her ears and her house key into the zipper pocket on her track shorts, and headed out the door.

Turning left, she headed down the deserted sidewalk away from the rising sun. The pavement smelled cool and damp beneath her running shoes, and the sun creeping through the buildings warmed her back. She jogged past the Chinese grocery, carts of vegetables she didn’t recognize already out for the day; the Laundromat, where a solitary man was staring at a rotating dryer; and rounded the corner finally to head into the park.

The refreshing scent of dew and moist earth rose to meet her as she cut through the grass at the second bench, and passed through the trees until she met up with the gravel path that wound around the park and out into the quiet streets of West Holly Glen.

The little neighborhood, tucked away just outside the bustling city center, was mostly populated by senior citizens and young families, and included its own small drug store and branch police station. There had been a fire station once, too, but in the wake of all the budget cuts and tightening of belts in the last several years, the small fire house had seen its personnel transferred away and its doors locked up to keep out bored kids and vandals. Jenna typically jogged up the exterior staircase as a way to add a burst of high intensity to the middle of her run.

This morning, however, there was an engine parked in front of the stairs. Jenna slowed her run to a walk, then stopped. The new morning sun glinted off the bright red side of the fire truck, and made the gold lettering shimmer. She peered at the truck, attempting to make out the figures of any firemen through the glare off the windows, but the truck seemed empty.
    “Hi there,” came a friendly baritone.

Jenna jumped and pressed her hand to her chest. In blue work pants, SBFD shirt, and black work boots, the fireman came walking out from behind the engine, wiping his hands on a rag already spotted with grease. His brown hair was cut short to his scalp, emphasizing the square lines of his face and jaw. His mouth was wide and full and soft, and he was using it to smile in her direction.

    “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
    “No, you didn’t, it’s fine. I just, sorry, I thought this station was closed?”
    “It is, technically. But we haven’t got the space for all our engines downtown, so we’re looking into using the garage here for storage. Temporarily, at least.”
    “Oh,” Jenna replied, less eloquently than she would have hoped. The t-shirt he was wearing did wonderful things for his shoulders; she had the urge, suddenly, to bite into one of them. “I um, I was just running.”
    “I can see that,” he said, still smiling.
    “I’ve run past here every day for ages. I didn’t expect to see anyone here. I didn’t mean to spy on you, haha!” She was nervous and laughing and it was ridiculous.
    “I’m Bran,” he said, extending a hand.

She took it. It was strong and warm and just a little bit rough.
    “The runner. I’d better let you get back to it. I’ve got to get back under this old girl’s hood,” he said, gesturing to the shining red engine behind them.

Jenna felt a blush heat up her cheeks, and she laughed again. Bran released her hand, and she stepped back out onto the sidewalk.
    “Okay, ah, have a good one then,” she said, making a show of putting her earbuds back in and resuming her jog, suddenly aware of everything on her that bounced and jiggled and swayed.

The following morning, Jenna woke up with a twinge in her knee. She knew she’d been overtraining a bit lately, but had been keeping the aches at bay with ice and long stretches. This time, however, she knew a day off was in order. She cursed her weak joints.

Work the day before had been a pointless exercise; she hadn’t gotten a single thing done. From the time she had gotten home from her run, sweaty and high on endorphins and flushed from the unexpected contact with a man as charming and sexy as Bran, Jenna had been able to think about very little other than his strong hands and firm, rounded shoulders, and how amazing he must look with his shirt off.

She had skipped taking the time to shave her legs in favor of using the massaging shower head to satisfy her sudden restless need, but even that couldn’t keep her from drifting off into fantasies about Bran and his fireman’s suspenders during all three of her long meetings that day.

All that had kept her going was the thought of possibly running into him again the following morning, being prepared with some sort of witty banter, and getting him to touch her again.

Now, of course, a run was out of the question. Even horny irrationality wasn’t enough to make her forget her training goals, and she would never forgive herself if she sabotaged the marathon for the possibility of eyeballing some man candy at 6am. So she worked her way through some sun salutations, had a shower, and went in to work, wondering all the while whether Bran was at the fire station that morning, washing the big red engine with hot soapy water, or getting his hands greasy again tinkering with its parts.

She iced her knee in the afternoon and tried to stretch it out. It wasn’t the first time her knee had given her trouble, but she had never been this annoyed by it before. Thankfully, by bedtime the pain had reduced itself to a dull ache, and when her alarm went off the next morning, only a little stiffness remained. Jenna laced up her running shoes.

It had rained overnight, and the sidewalks in the city glistened and smelled of wet cement. The Chinese grocer was sweeping debris from the entrance to his store, and Jenna swerved around his broom as she passed. She pushed her pace a bit, working through the twinge of protest from her joints, not letting herself admit why she was so eager to get across the park and into the quiet neighborhood streets. She splashed through muddy patches of grass as she cut through the field, not caring that it made her shoes dirty; she hoped it made her look a little more hardcore.

She spotted the fire engine from a block away, its red, gold, and bronze angles a bright spot in the otherwise gray morning. As she drew nearer, however, she noticed with a frown that there wasn’t any sign of life at the station, not out front at least, where she would be passing by. She squinted at the windows as she approached, trying to make out if there were any feet visible from underneath the great red truck, but all seemed quiet.
    "Damn", she thought. "And my shoes are all muddy."

The driveway, which she always made a game of jumping over, this time fell away from her feet without warning. She stumbled, her leg twisted under her, and Jenna found herself on her butt in a puddle of gritty rainwater, her knee throbbing and her shin covered in road rash.

    “Dammit!” she cried, clutching at her knee. While the rest of her was simply sore and embarrassed, her knee was shooting sparks down her leg, and she dropped her forehead to her leg and tried to keep from tearing up. She felt like an idiot. Too busy pining over a stranger to even watch where you’re going, Jenna, and you end up on your ass in a mud puddle, with a knee that feels like it’s broken.

Looking around, she realized she was alone on the quiet street. She took a deep breath and tried to be reasonable. She could just walk, walk slow, and get back home, she wasn’t that far out. But when Jenna gave her leg a tentative stretch, the instant protestation from her joint told her that her plan was just a little flawed.

When she heard the heavy metal garage door opening, Jenna wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or mortified. She kept her head down for as long as she could, pretending not to hear him approaching.

    “Are you okay?” Bran murmured when he got close, crouching down to take a closer look at her rapidly swelling knee.
    “Oh, I’m just lovely,” Jenna sighed. “My knee does this, it twinges sometimes…”
    “And trips you into mud puddles? That was a nasty fall, and this is getting pretty puffy. We should put some ice on it. Can you walk? Lean on me.”

His chest was warm and solid, as was the arm supporting her, and he smelled of fresh coffee and a woodsy cologne. A wave of heat rushed between her legs, and she struggled to concentrate on not falling again and making a fool of herself.

But when she tried to put weight on the afflicted leg the injury flared up in protest, and Jenna pulled back again, hanging onto Bran’s shoulder and whimpering.
    “Ow, ow, ow, okay, no, maybe not,” she said.
    “No, no walking for you. Alright, hang on.”

Without any other warning Bran lifted her legs off the ground and began carrying her lightly up the driveway and into the firehouse while she held onto his neck. Her breath caught at being thrust so suddenly into such close contact; the muscles of his neck and shoulders beneath the blue SBFD t-shirt were enough to distract anyone from a bum knee.

Inside the firehouse it was cool and dark. There was a light on in the kitchen and living area, but the rest of the building remained unlit. Bran carried her into the living area, where an L-shaped couch and two arm chairs all faced the empty mounting hardware for a large tv. A coffee mug and an opened newspaper were on the low table.

He sat her gingerly on one of the couches, stacked several cushions on the coffee table in front of her, and lifted her leg to rest atop them.
    “Wait here, I’m going to get my kit.”

His face was just a few inches from hers, and he smiled before turning to walk back into the kitchen. When he returned he brought with him an ice pack wrapped in a blue kitchen towel and a red and white first aid kit, though a larger one than she’d ever seen before. He set them both on the coffee table and sat beside her on the couch.
    “That’s a pretty big kit,” she said, before suddenly blushing.
Bran smiled.
    “I’m trained as an EMT, too. A big kit comes with the job. Here, hold this on your knee, it will help with the swelling.”

She did as he said. Her heart was thumping. She couldn’t quite believe that she was sitting in an otherwise empty fire station with a gorgeous fireman as he patched up her injury and gave instructions with such subtle confidence. She swallowed nervously. She couldn’t help noticing his hands as he worked to prepare the ace bandage for her leg, how strong they were, how nimble and deft. She had a flash suddenly of those hands doing other things, of his palms running up her chest, pushing her shorts, easing open her thighs.

She didn’t know her eyes had been closed until she opened them again, and found Bran staring at her, a slight smile on his lips and in his eyes.
    “All right, there?” he said.
    “Uh huh,” Jenna replied.

He had the ace bandage at the ready, one hand poised to lift her calf and begin wrapping the long strip of fabric around both her knee and the ice pack. His gray-blue eyes did a sweep of her body, from the sweaty and windblown ponytail, the white tank over a pink sports bra, and the black and white Adidas running shorts.
    “You know,” he said, “there’s a little fireman’s trick they teach us at the academy for twists and sprains like this. Of course, I can’t teach it to you unless I know you'll keep it a secret.”
His hand came down to rest on her leg just above the knee.
    “I promise,” she said.
    “It’s a sort of, homeopathic remedy, I guess,” he said. He was closer to her suddenly, and Jenna wasn’t sure if she could still breathe. “When something really hurts, you just have to give it a kiss to make it feel better.”
    "Oh, is that all? Well that’s a clever trick.", Jenna heard herself saying, coy and witty. Instead, when she opened her mouth to reply, Bran closed the distance between them and kissed her, leaning into her and taking her lips with such enthusiasm that she could only follow his lead and let herself be kissed. He pulled her closer, tugging her hips towards him on the couch until she was practically sitting in his lap.

Jenna leaned into him, deepening the kiss, shocked at her own brazenness. All she could think was of how amazing he smelled, how sweet his lips tasted, and how unbelievable it was that this was happening. He took her arms and wrapped them around his neck, and then she was tugging him to her as well, and the hard, unyielding warmth of his chest was pressed against her breasts. She felt her nipples harden at the friction, and another surge of heat warmed her belly.

Bran turned her head and began kissing down the side of her neck, pushing the collar of her shirt and the elastic of her sports bra aside to nip at her shoulder. Jenna let her head fall back, trying to give him better access to the most sensitive skin. But the exercise clothes were too constricting, he could only push and pull them so far, and after a moment, Jenna huffed in frustration.

    “Is something wrong?” he murmured into her shoulder.
    “Nothing,” she replied, pulling away from him just far enough to lift the still slightly sweaty top and bra up and over her head and toss them onto the floor. Bran paused long enough to take in the sight of her full, soft breasts still gleaming a bit from her run, and her nipples, tight little beads of dusky pink flesh. He smiled at her, and all the calm precision of the EMT was gone in an instant, replaced by an urging, insistent want.

He took her breasts in both hands, easing her backwards to lie on the couch as he did, teasing the nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He nipped at them until Jenna moaned, then tugged on them instead. He covered them with his mouth, soothing away the pain with his tongue, flicking and nibbling until she thought she’d come without even making it to the main event.

But Bran was taking care of that too, easing her running shorts over her hips and thighs, taking care with her wounded knee. She was naked now except for the pink underwear she’d put on that morning, and the exposure made her feel, suddenly and incredibly, like the star in her own private movie. She lunged forward and kissed him again, pushing his shirt up and off and having her way with the button of his jeans. Her aggression encouraged him, and with a grunt he helped her with the rest of his clothes before taking her face in his hands and kissing her again.

His kisses moved down her chest, paused at her breasts to taste her nipples again, and then continued down her stomach and stopped at the elastic of her panties. His finger dipped below the band, running along the inside of the delicate fabric, and pulling it back here and there to kiss the skin beneath. Her breath hitched as he shimmied the scrap of material down past her thighs to whisper over her calves before he dropped it on the floor. He took her good leg and lifted it up and over his shoulder as he crouched in front of her, and parted her legs with firm, gentle hands.

Jenna laid back on the couch cushions and tried to control her rising tension at the nearness of his mouth to her sex. But then his tongue was circling her clit, sucking on the little bead and lapping long, soft, wet strokes along the sensitive skin that surrounded it, and Jenna let out sighing moan and collapsed all the way back onto the couch. He held her open and probed every hidden part of her with his tongue, lavishing special attention on the center of her, flicking back and forth even as he worked two of his fingers inside her and pushed her higher and closer to the edge.

She moaned with each new twist of his tongue, clutching the cushions behind her head and wrapping her bendable leg around his neck to pull him closer. She could swear she felt him smile at that. Her breathing came in shorter and shorter gasps, the tension in her muscles growing until she could hardly move, and there was nothing but the pressure of his fingers inside her and his tongue and mouth hot and wet on her pulsing, trembling clit. Then, the tension broke, and Jenna arched upright, her hands on Bran’s head as he refused to show her any mercy, laving still at her clit as the waves of her orgasm shook through her.
    “Oh my god…oh my god…” she screamed, her head swimming as all the blood in her body rushed elsewhere.

Bran looked up at her, grinning at his good work, as Jenna pressed her hand to her forehead and tried to catch her breath. He brought himself up to straddle her hips, his cock bouncing against her pelvis as he moved. Though the last of her orgasm was still fading, a jolt of anticipation hit her at the sight of his straining erection, the way his beautiful hand stroked it and worked the head with his thumb, and the way he was looking down at her. He passed his free hand over her breasts, plucking at the nipples just to hear her moans.
    “Feel better, now?” he asked. She could only smile and nod.
    “Good. It’s a very old trick, that one. I’m glad it worked.”

He reached over and dug into the first aid kit, finally pulling out a little square of plastic. Jenna watched, mesmerized, as he rolled the thin sheath onto himself, his cock seeming so much bigger now that it was encased in that tight new skin. “Don’t worry,” he said, rubbing his head against her swollen clit,
    “I’ll be gentle. I’m a medic, you know.”

He slid into her, slowly, until he had filled her completely, and Jenna wrapped her hands around his shoulders and exhaled. His thrusts continued slow at first, pulling out of her by inches until only the head remained, then sinking back into her warmth and letting out muted groans of pleasure before repeating the process.

As she relaxed around him, Bran picked up speed, bracing his hands on either side of her head as he pumped his hips against hers. He lifted her leg and hooked her ankle around his head and pushed into her again, another groan escaping his throat at the change.
    “God, Jenna…you’re so wet! You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? About me fucking you.”
    “Yes,” she admitted, the heat starting to rise in her for the second time.

Bran bent to lay on top of her, the warmth and weight of his chest overwhelming her with its masculinity, its possession of her.
    “What did you think about?” he asked. “Tell me.”
He was thrusting into her faster now, his face buried in her neck, and it was difficult for Jenna to concentrate on speech.
    “I…I thought of your arms, holding me down. Of you, kissing me.”
    “Mmm,” he rumbled into her ear, encouraging her.
    “In the shower,” she continued. “I made myself come, thinking of your cock.”

His breathing grew heavier, his muscles tightened around her, and Bran snaked one of his arms around her back and pressed her into him as he snapped his hips hard, harder, and then suddenly he let out all his breath in a rush.
    “Oh fuck, Jenna…oh, god. God…”

He rested his forehead on her chest, panting hot breaths onto her naked skin. Jenna trailed her hands absently along his back, loving the feel of him inside her, on top of her, undone by her.

They lay in silence for long moments as breathing returned to something like normal.
    “How’s your knee?” he said, breaking the silence finally. They both laughed, a little nervously.
    “You’re the medic,” Jenna said. “You tell me.”

Slowly, he righted himself, and separated from her. He went around the corner, and a moment later emerged, his cock naked again and still a bit hard. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of his full, unclothed body striding across the room. He sat down on the couch beside her as though neither of them were naked and post-coital, and touched her knee gently. His brow creased in concentration as he looked at either side of her leg. Finally, he looked up.

    “Still swollen. You need to keep it elevated and rest, no running for at least a week.”
    “A week? But I have a training schedule! I’m running a marathon in less than –“
    “Jenna,” he said, a stern note of command lacing his words. “You’re to rest it. Understand?” A grin crept into the corners of his mouth. “You’ll have to stay on my couch for at least the next several hours. Medical necessity.”
    “Oh,” she said, trying not to smile. “Well, if it’s medically necessary…”
Bran bent and kissed her, warm hands cupping her face.
    “Yes,” he said. “It’s absolutely necessary.”

Copyright ScarletGirl.com

Michele London is an author, editor, and romance consultant with Scarlet Girl. She is a regular contributor to Scarlet’s Letter and the archive of articles at ScarletGirl.com. She writes dark fiction and erotic fantasy, and dips into real-life tales of sexy for the lovely ladies as a Scarlet Girl pleasure party consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area.

If you like this bit of erotica, and would like to see more, please let us know.
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This article was added to our catalog on Wednesday 02 January, 2013.

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