Sizzle (St. Martin Family Saga): Emergency Responders (10 page)

Jack took a large bite. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Mmm. I’m so damned tired, but I couldn’t go to the station without stopping for a slice. I thought about it all day. It’s kind of what got me through.”

His eyes were haunted. She could only imagine what he’d seen as a paramedic.

“Is it bad out there?”

“It’s torment. Hell beyond measure.”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Where’s Clay?”

Jack’s intense gaze landed on her. “Clay won’t stop until he can no longer walk.”

She gasped. “What?”

“Once the rescues start, he goes without a break. He started just before midnight. Be ready; I’ll send him here. He’ll be falling down when he comes to you. Bathe him, feed him, put him to bed.”

Her worry before was magnified times a hundred and she wished he were here now, eating with them. Firemen died all the time in the line of duty. Didn’t they? Could he, would he be injured from storm cleanup?

When he finished his pie, Eve followed a very weary Jack to the front door. “Hey, he said you could use the computer. You may have to use the portable wireless if you can’t connect. The password is
Clara
.”

Her heart sank at hearing the name again. “Okay. Thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She ate another small slice of pie and then attacked her chores one more time, finishing even the application of all the patches. In addition, she mended several uniforms that had large rips in the pants, wondering what he did that got them so beat up.

She stood back and admired her work. Her stitching had turned out okay, and she thought he’d be able to continue using the repaired uniforms. She’d managed to finish the mountain of laundry, but wasn’t going to iron the curtains until tomorrow—she was tired and her fingers were calloused from sewing on the badges. She left them resting across the ironing board, which she moved to the kitchen. It was close to ten. She’d have a bath and use the computer before going to bed.

The computer with the password
Clara
.

She logged in with no problem. She went directly to her email and saw that Clay was still logged in. She was about to log him out when she saw the name Clara St. Martin. Her hand instinctively rose to her mouth.
Oh God, he’s married. I had sex with a married man
. But then she saw that the subject line of the email read,
Hey Big Brother.
Brother? Not wife, not girlfriend, but sister. Relief washed over her. She stared at the email, not reading it, just enjoying the relief, until she realized she was invading his private space. She logged him out and signed on to her account.

Once she’d caught up on email, she took a long hot soak in the tub and then climbed into Clay’s bed.

A knock woke Eve. It was well past midnight when she padded barefoot to the front of the house. She looked through the peephole. Clay stood on the porch, head bowed. She opened the door, and he stepped, almost stumbled, inside. He was covered in mud from the waist down. His shirt was torn and bloodied; dirt and mud matted his hair. He blinked at her with hooded eyes. His big body was out of steam. He’d given everything he had.

“I have to lie down.”

He started lowering himself to the couch, but Eve’s tug on his arm slowed his descent.

“Let me help you.”

He hung his head low and closed his eyes. Eve bent and tapped his leg. He lifted it, and she removed the rubber boot. She did the same for the other foot. She removed his shoes and socks in the same manner. She peeled off his shirt next. Then she started on his cargo pants and boxers. Once she had him naked in the entryway, she put his clothes in a pile and led him to the bathroom.

Eve lowered Clay to the toilet lid while she readied the tub. There was no way he’d be able to stand through a shower, and he was too tall for her to help him if he stood, especially if he continued to sway as he had in the front hallway.

The tub was large and to close the drain, she had to climb in. She plugged the drain and turned the faucets on, letting it fill with hot water. She went back to Clay. His eyes were still closed. She removed a washcloth from under the sink and ran it under the hot tap. She wrung it out and laid it on his face. He moaned as she gingerly wiped the grime from his skin and hair and neck. She grabbed his toothbrush and applied paste. She tried to put it in his hand, but he was too groggy, so she lifted his head in her hands and brushed his teeth. When she finished, she pulled on his hands to help him up, but nothing happened.

“Clay?” She lifted his head again. He had toothpaste in his mouth, and he needed to rinse and spit. She put her cheek next to his and whispered, “Clay, stand up. Help me please.”

He groaned and whispered around the paste, “Eve Ivey.” He smiled. “You smell like heaven.”

She pulled his hands again and he stood. She motioned to the sink and said, “Spit.”

He rinsed his mouth, and then she helped him lower his big body into the tub. She fished out a clean washcloth and knelt to apply soap and lather up the cloth. He appeared to be sleeping.

“Clay?”

He said nothing.

Eve started to wash his body, but she couldn’t reach it very well, so she put her legs into the tub, but immediately stepped back out. She was just going to get soaked, so she stepped out of her shorts and pulled off her top as well. He certainly wouldn’t notice, and she would be much more comfortable. She got back in, trying to kneel on one side of him, but he was enormous, and there was no other position for her than to straddle him.

Eve washed his strong bear-trap neck muscles and large shoulders. Blood and mud sluiced down his bronzed chest and into the water. She soaped each arm pit and gave attention to each arm and hand, turning the wash into a massage as she imagined just what he’d spent the day doing with those arms—saving people. Giving them their lives back.

He moaned and halfway opened his eyes. They slowly focused as he watched her wash him and knead his tense hands. Then he angled his head and looked at her straddling him.

“Mmm. Have I died? Is this heaven?” He lowered his lids again and sighed.

She giggled and reached for the cup on the side of the tub. She filled it with clean water from the faucet and pulled up straighter on his lap so she could reach his hair. She poured warm water over his head again and again. Then she lathered shampoo in her hands and slid her soapy fingers through his scalp, massaging his head and washing out the dirt and grime.

As her arms worked his scalp, her body rubbed against his, and she was aware of her arousal. He moaned her name and opened his eyes.

“I want to be awakened like this every day, with you moving your body in an erotic rhythm as you straddle my lap.” He sighed. “Mmm… And with your plump wet breasts and hard nipples rocking against my face.”

His mouth latched on to a nipple, and she yelped.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” She held out the washcloth. “Here, scrub yourself.”

He released her nipple. “Not a chance in hell. You’re going to wash me.” He grabbed his cock. “All of me. And that’s the end of it.” He sucked her other nipple into his mouth, drawing hard.

She continued to wash his hair while he suckled her in his warm mouth. “I need to rinse your hair—lean forward.”

He smiled, loosening his hold on her nipple. “Gladly.”

Eve was a doer, always had been and she enjoyed offering the gentle care he required. She’d wished for someone to take care of and for someone to take care of her. In this moment, he needed her. He’d given so much of himself to others and now she’d given herself to him. He needed to recuperate and replenish his strength. She’d be there every step of the way, as long as he’d let her.

As she rinsed his hair, he used her hips to slide her core across his engorged, wet penis. He whispered in her ear, “Eve, ride me.”

She wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her again.

She positioned herself and grasped his penis. He was huge, but he felt good inside her, so very good. She pressed him to her entrance and used her hand to guide him in. When she’d taken maybe a quarter of his length, she rolled her hips to accommodate more. He put his hands on her hips and helped her, pulling her forward until her body arched, fully sheathing him deep inside. She rocked her hips, slowly at first, but gained speed until she started to bounce, sliding easily along the length of his cock.

He let her lead, and she took advantage of his lethargy. She alternated the pace, sitting and sliding slowly from back to front and using her thighs to pull up and slam back down. She arched her back and placed her hands on his thighs, resting most of her weight there. She thrust her hips and used her abdominal muscles like never before. He was relaxed and content to let her do what she wanted to do, groaning deep in his throat each time she took him deep. His acceptance fueled her daring and fired her confidence. It was the first time during sex that she’d felt so free and open, as if she could enjoy it without being criticized or without having to worry about a man’s pleasure, and she let her passion drive them to climax.

She rested her head on his wet chest and inhaled the delicious scent of sex and soap, listening to his heart beat slow and allowing hers to settle as well. Yet if she wasn’t careful, they’d both fall asleep in the tub. While she was still seated with him inside her, Eve lifted the plunger to let the water drain, ran some fresh water at the same time, and finished washing the parts of him she could reach.

She pulled free of his body and cleaned herself too, then she wiped down his legs and lifted his penis, washing the underside, around his sac, and between his legs. When she was done, she tugged his hands, pulling his arms to get him moving. When he stood, she set one hand on his waist and ran the soapy cloth along his backside.

“Hey, what are you—”

She cut him off with a finger over his mouth. “Shhh. You don’t want to have a stinky ass, do you?” She dropped the wet cloth and stepped out to grab a towel.

When Eve wrapped him with the towel, he took over drying himself.

“Do you want some clothes?” she asked.

“No, I sleep nude and alone in my own bed.”

Her face stung as if he’d slapped her. She stepped back.

“Oh, right. Well, goodnight.” She left the bathroom without her clothes. She couldn’t bear to turn and have him see the tears in her eyes. She raced to the guest bedroom and planted her face in a pillow, smothering her cries.

She allowed herself an emotional jag, but eventually forced the tears to stop. She was being ridiculous. Why would she think she should share his bed? They’d only used it once together and that was just for sex. A man was entitled to sleep alone in his own home. In his own big bed.

Only he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

She giggled into the pillow at her daring for calling him names, said aloud, “He’s an ass too,” still giggling, and got up to borrow more clothes from his sister before going back to bed and easily falling sleep.

The next morning she awoke with a new resolve: she was grateful for Clay’s assistance, and she would put aside her emotions to take care of his needs, just as he had for her. That decided, she felt ready to face another day. And him.

A grumbling bit at her stomach and she realized she was hungry, so she could only imagine how hungry he would be. She checked on him before going to the kitchen, but he was sound asleep, so she left him that way. The man needed his rest.

She started ironing the curtains, wanting to get them out of their way. When it got close to seven and she thought he’d had enough sleep, she started breakfast. She fried bacon, scrambled eggs, and baked a can of biscuits she found in the freezer. She got coffee going and poured orange juice. She thought breakfast in bed might be a nice treat for him and wondered if he’d ever had it that way. She knew she hadn’t.

She went in search of a tray.

9

T
he smell of
bacon, coffee, and biscuits hit Clay’s nostrils and immediately made his mouth water and his stomach growl. Eve, he thought. Eve was cooking. He didn’t know why she bothered—he’d be eating at the firehouse. But God, it smelled good. He adjusted his standard morning hard-on, and flashes from last night—featuring a naked Eve—rolled like a film in his brain…

Eve undressing him at the door, Eve’s naked body riding him, Eve’s wet breast in his mouth, Eve washing his body and brushing his teeth.

He shook his head—what the hell? Had it been a dream? He’d never let a woman have that kind of control over his body.

Her
body had been wet and slick with soap as she slithered slow and then fast, soft and then hard over his cock, her breasts swaying tantalizingly. When she’d put her hands behind her and balanced on his legs, pulsing all of her soft moistness over him, he came so violently he thought he’d physically exploded. Because of their positions, he’d seen all of her assets and now he couldn’t get them out of his head. In fact, he’d become obsessed with her. When she’d started to climax, he’d felt her muscles contracting around his cock and he’d come a second time.

That was a first. Content, he reached down and fisted his huge erection.

Fuck
. It hit him like a grand slam—they hadn’t used protection. Where the hell had his brain been? If she became pregnant, he’d be trapped. They needed to talk before this… before it got out of hand.

No, they didn’t need to talk; she just needed to go. He never should have brought her into his home. But of course there was no place for her to go. Still
he
didn’t need to sleep there. Why was he in his house anyway?

Fuck, he was talking to himself.

And he didn’t like it.

He scratched his chest, trying to remember last night before the part where he’d exploded inside Eve’s hot pussy.

Jack had insisted on dropping him off, but when he was on duty, he always slept at the firehouse with the other guys. He surely would have just collapsed on the couch if not for Eve. She’d taken care of him and fuck, she’d ridden him like a goddess.

Coming hard inside her, with her taking the lead, definitely had not been a dream.

*

Clay—clean and remarkably loose after the hellish day he’d had yesterday—dressed and went to fill a travel mug with coffee.

When he walked into the kitchen, he saw Eve in one of Clara’s way-too-skimpy outfits. The radio was playing and her hips were swaying to the beat. She was singing softly too, some pop song. She was also stirring eggs at his stove.

Where’d she get eggs? He was sure he’d forgotten to buy any before the hurricane.

He saw a berry pie on the counter. A quarter of it was gone, so he guessed she had a sweet tooth. The crust looked flakey and the berries juicy, and his stomach panged for a slice. Clay filled his cup with coffee and left her dancing in the kitchen. He needed to rinse his boots off outside and let them dry, but when he went to retrieve his clothes from the entry where he’d left them, they weren’t there. He walked back into the kitchen and tapped Eve on the shoulder. She turned and greeted him with a big smile.

“Good morning. You look like you’re feeling better.”

Clay growled, “I wasn’t ill.”

One of her brows lifted, giving her the look of an impish pirate. Clay didn’t know if he should kiss her or surrender. He crossed his arms so he wouldn’t do either.

“Not ill, but you were exhausted. I just meant you look well rested this morning.” Her voice softened as she spoke, ending in a near whisper.

He harrumphed. “Where are my boots?”

“They’re draining at the back door. I cleaned the jacket too; it’s hanging in the laundry room.”

He walked out back to gather up his gear, stopping when he saw a makeshift chicken coop in his yard. So not only had she gone next door for the eggs, she’d rescued the damned chickens. Hadn’t he told her to stay inside the house? He thought he’d made that more than clear. He shook his head. Women brought nothing but trouble. And he hated chickens; they were messy and unsanitary.

When he went inside, she’d set plates on the table and was setting out silverware.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought you might like breakfast before work. I also wanted to thank you for letting me stay here and for saving my life.” She gave him a bright-eyed, shy smile.

“Save yourself the trouble; I’ll eat breakfast at the station.”

Her timid smile flattened out, and her eyes narrowed.

“I don’t need you to do anything for me. It’s my job to save you; I don’t need thanks for doing my job.”

She started slowly backing away from him, but he advanced. His voice louder now, he said, “Where did you even find the bacon? Been digging around?”

He knew she’d gotten it out of his freezer in the garage, so that meant she’d been out there poking around in his stuff. He liked his things to be just so and fuck it all, he was thirty-five years old and didn’t need a young twit of a thing organizing his shit. He was angry and standing over her and yelling, “And didn’t I tell you not to leave the house? I want those fucking chickens out of here. They’re going to ruin my yard.

“We need to talk about last night too. What the fuck happened, Eve? We didn’t use any protection. Do you know what a mistake that is? God forbid you become pregnant; we’d be stuck with each other forever because of your mistake.” He threw his hands in the air.

Eve cringed and flinched. Whimpering, she ran out of the room.

What the hell? Did the crazy woman think he was going to hit her?

He didn’t have time for this shit. He needed to get to work. He’d spoken to Jack on the two-way earlier. He’d said they’d sent several trucks to New Orleans and were on standby regarding the status.

Fuck it. He was going. He’d check on her later. She’d needed to be put in her place, or she’d turn his world upside down. He was turning, ready to storm out, when he saw the garment rack off in the corner. He stomped over to it, wondering what else she’d had her nose in, and stared at the tight row of clean and pressed shirts hanging one after another on the two rods. He pulled out several; shit, his stuff had never looked so good. And all the patches had been sewn onto his department attire. Dazed, he slowly walked to the laundry room and found his clothes, all of them, had been washed and folded. The woman had even ironed creases at the shoulders of his uniforms. They hung like perfect little soldiers. He ran a hand through his hair, looking from folded clothes to uniforms to the full rack. He couldn’t believe she’d sewn all the patches on; he struggled with that task since the material was extremely thick and tough. Hell, he’d put off the sewing for months.

He saw the ironing board set up. She’d washed his curtains and was working on ironing out the wrinkles.

Why was he such a huge dick? And why hadn’t she called him on it? He hadn’t expected her to just give up without a fight. Most women yelled back. But not Eve. She’d fled. He recalled the moment her expression had changed from genuinely happy to frightened and anxious. He’d caused that.

And his memory of last night wasn’t helping him feel any better about himself. He’d asked her to ride him, and she’d given herself willingly. He took what she gave with no remorse; even today he couldn’t feel regret for what they’d done, for the soul-deep satisfaction he’d had in taking her.

But why hadn’t she slept in his bed? There was plenty of room for the two of them, even if she’d wanted space to herself. But maybe that was why she’d left. Maybe she wanted space. Maybe…

No,
he’d
been the one to send her away. What had he told her?
I sleep naked and alone
. She’d all but run from the room at his declaration.

He exhaled slowly. He’d apologize and have breakfast with her.

He found her in the guest room. “Eve?”

She was in the corner with her knees pulled up, shielding her face. Her arms and hands covered her head.

“Eve?”

She was trembling and shuddering. He pulled her arms from her face to look at her. She cringed and gasped, and her shoulders rose as she twisted, turning her face to the wall. She
did
believe he was going to strike her. Fuck—she’d been abused. Her eyes were glassy, and she’d retreated somewhere inside herself, into her safe place. She was so pained, so scared, that she’d hidden herself away.

He’d seen something like it at the club with women who wanted to escape, who asked to be caned and whipped to help them get to that place where they could forget the world and their problems, where they could be alone and at peace. But Eve hadn’t sought oblivion willingly. She hadn’t craved that mental state for her pleasure. She’d run from him, from what she feared he would do to her, and retreated to the one place she knew he couldn’t reach her.

Sometime in her past she’d experienced abuse where her only escape had been in her mind.

Clay wanted to kill the fucker who’d hurt her.

He scrubbed his face and then scooped her limp body from the floor and took her to his bed. He held her, rocked her, and whispered sweet words, silly foolishness, into her ear. He thanked her for doing his laundry and tending to him last night. Tending to all of him, even the needs he didn’t know he’d had. He apologized for being an ass. He told her he appreciated her, that he was looking forward to eating the breakfast she’d made for him and looking forward to a slice of pie even more. About a quarter hour later, focus returned to her eyes.

“Eve.” Clay exhaled a sigh of relief. He gave her a few more minutes of peace while he stroked her hair and massaged her fingers, just as she’d done for him last night.

When she sighed, he asked, “Hey, where’d you go?”

She tried to pry herself free from his embrace.

“Stop struggling; I’m not letting you out of my arms.” He pulled her in close and tight to comfort her. “Eve, who hurt you?”

Her body started quivering.

“Shh, I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She turned her head until she was looking into his eyes.

On a ragged gasp she finally spoke. “I’m sorry about the breakfast and the chickens and the bacon. I’ll move the chickens. It was only meant to be temporary.”

“Eve.” He tried to stop her, but she was talking without pausing, without even inhaling, so he let her get out what she needed to say. He ran his hand down her silky river of hair.

“Their coop was destroyed in the storm and I was looking in the garage”—she gasped and inhaled an unbalanced breath—“looking for the washing machine because the curtains had gotten wet from the rain and I heard them and…” She took a deep, tense breath and froze. Her body pulled up tight, like a string. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t digging. I won’t do it again. I can leave. I can go back to the shelter.”

He tipped his forehead to hers and whispered, “No, Eve. You can’t leave.”

He realized his actions and his unfeeling words had catapulted her backward. She’d been confident in her efforts to belong in his home, had done what felt natural to her. It didn’t matter what he said here. If he told her he wanted her to keep the chickens and make breakfast every day for the rest of their lives, he knew she wouldn’t be doing any of those things for a while. Instead, Clay chose to focus on what he hadn’t fucked up yet.

“Eve, my uniforms have never looked nicer. The mayor himself will be envious. And you attached my badges. Thank you. You doing that for me means a lot.”

He’d been cradling her in his lap. At his words, she stretched out across his body, nearly radiant. Her beautiful teeth shone from between her luscious pink lips. She smiled sweetly up at him. He wanted her like this always, his Eve, shining and glowing in his arms.

His Eve
.

He shook his head; where had that come from? Hell, he didn’t care. God, he wished he could redo his reactions to her overtures, beginning with last night.

In her soft low voice she said, “You’re welcome. I was happy to do something for you.”

His heart ached about last night. She’d been a temptress as she rode him and slithered her body all over his. She hadn’t been insecure at all. He hoped he hadn’t messed that up with his hurtful words. He hadn’t thought he could be brought to climax like that, without being in control, but Eve had proved his thinking all wrong.

“About last night… I loved you riding me. It was the highlight of my life.”

She blushed deeply, so deeply that color crept across her chest. Damn, she was beautiful. And enticing.

“Last night when I said I sleep in my bed alone, I meant I’ve been alone for a long time. No woman has ever been in that bed. Until you.” It was true. The bed was fairly new and he was glad because it enabled him to tell her what she needed to hear.

With her head lowered, she shyly looked up at him through her lashes. And his cock went instantly hard.

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay here with me, sleep in my bed with me, if you still want to and if you can forgive me for being an asshole.”

She was smiling happily again. “Okay, and I’m sorry about the condom. You were right—I should have been on that. You were out of it and couldn’t have been expected to think about condoms. Rest assured, I won’t get pregnant. I take that once-per-month pill.”