Page 6 of Falling for the Bad Boy Firefighter (Fox Ridge: Fire Station #2)

The sharp knock at the door startles me despite expecting it. I freeze for a moment, then smooth my hands down my simple blue sundress once more before crossing to the door.

When I open it, the sight of him steals my breath.

Jax fills the doorframe, all six-foot-plus of him radiating a quiet intensity that makes my knees weak.

His dark hair is slightly tousled, like he's been running his fingers through it.

The black t-shirt he wears clings to the muscles of his chest and arms, revealing the edges of tattoos that disappear beneath the fabric.

"You wanted to talk?" His voice is low, rougher than I remember, but there's something softer in it today.

I swallow hard, suddenly unsure. "Yes, but I'm not sure I should have called you."

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he steps inside, his presence immediately filling the small space. "Too late now."

He's close—too close for my thoughts to remain coherent. His scent envelops me—smoke and leather and something purely male that makes my head spin. I take a small step back, trying to create space to think.

"We need to finish what we started," I say, gesturing vaguely toward the documents on the table, trying to sound professional despite the tremble in my voice.

Jax follows my gaze to the papers, then looks back at me, his expression knowing. "Are you sure? Because if we're being honest, you're not exactly focused on history right now."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I don't deny it. "I don't know what this is anymore, Jax."

Something shifts in his eyes—a softening, a vulnerability I've never seen before. "You've never been the kind of woman I thought you were."

"What kind did you think I was?" I ask, barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Uptight. Judgmental. A Clark through and through." His hand reaches up, fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "But you're not, are you? You're fighting just as hard as I am to be more than your last name."

"Is that why you kissed me?" I ask, bolder than I feel.

A corner of his mouth lifts. "I kissed you because I couldn't stop thinking about doing it since the moment I carried you out of that building."

My heart pounds so loudly I'm certain he can hear it. His hand moves to my cheek, a touch so gentle it nearly undoes me. The roughness of his callused palm against my skin is a delicious contrast that makes me lean into his touch.

"Penny," he murmurs, and my name has never sounded like that before—like a prayer, like a promise.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away. But I don't. I can't. Every cell in my body is drawing me toward him.

His lips brush against mine—tentative at first, a question rather than a demand. But the moment we connect, something breaks loose inside me. I press closer, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

Jax groans, deep in his throat, and suddenly the kiss deepens, becomes hungry, desperate. Heat pools low in my belly as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. I open to him, meeting his exploration with my own. The taste of him is intoxicating, making my head spin.

His hand slides lower, gripping the curve of my hip, pulling me firmly against him. I feel his hard bulge pressing against my stomach, and a small gasp escapes me.

Jax pulls back suddenly, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with want. "Penny... we shouldn't—"

I press my finger to his lips, stopping his words. "For once in my life, I'm choosing something just for me." My voice is steadier than I expected. "Not for my family. Not for the town. For me."

His jaw clenches, a war clearly raging behind his eyes. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"I do." I hold his gaze, refusing to look away.

A shudder runs through him. "I'm not good for you. I'm not—"

"Stop." I press my palm against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my touch. "I don't want the man the town thinks you are. I want the man who ran into a burning building for me. The man who listened when I showed him the truth. The man who looks at me like I'm something precious."

For a moment, he's perfectly still, searching my face. Then something breaks in his expression. His hands frame my face, and this time when he kisses me, there's no hesitation, only hunger and need.

With surprising gentleness, he lays me on the bed, his body hovering over mine, supporting his weight on his forearms. His eyes search mine, still asking permission.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispers.

I nod, unable to form words past the lump of emotion in my throat.

"Penny," he says, his voice rough with restraint, "I need to hear you say it."

"Yes," I breathe. "I'm sure."

Something shifts in his expression—relief, hunger, tenderness all mingled together. "Have you done this before?"

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "No," I admit quietly. "Never felt right before."

His eyes widen slightly, then darken with something primal. "Christ, Penny." His forehead drops to mine. "You're killing me."

"Is that... is that a problem?" I ask, suddenly uncertain.

His laugh is low and soft against my skin. "No, sweetheart." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "But it means we go slow. Very slow."

The promise in his words sends a shiver down my spine. His hand skims down my side, following the curve of my waist to my hip, then back up again, brushing the side of my breast through my dress.

Even that light touch makes me arch into his hand, seeking more. He smiles against my lips, then trails kisses down my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear. When his teeth graze the skin there, a small moan escapes me.

"Like that?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

"Yes," I gasp, my hands clutching at his shoulders.

His fingers find the zipper of my dress, pausing. "May I?"

I nod, helping him slide it down. I resist the urge to cover myself, to hide the fullness of my hips, the softness of my stomach.

But the way Jax looks at me—like I'm a revelation, like he's seeing something miraculous—banishes any insecurity.

His hands follow his gaze, tracing patterns on my skin that leave fire in their wake. When his palm cups my breast over my bra, I arch into his touch, desperate for more.

Jax lowers his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, then lower, nuzzling the swell of my breast. Through the thin fabric of my bra, I feel the heat of his mouth close over my nipple, and a cry escapes me at the sensation.

"Jax," I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He looks up at me, eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want, Penny."

"I want to see you, please" I whisper, tugging at his shirt.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he sits back on his heels, crossing his arms to grasp the hem of his shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head, revealing a torso sculpted by years of physical labor and training.

My breath catches at the sight. Tattoos I've only glimpsed before are fully revealed—intricate designs that flow across his chest and down his arms, telling stories I long to learn. But it's the scars that capture my attention—a puckered mark on his shoulder, a long, thin line across his ribs.

I reach out, tracing the scar on his shoulder with gentle fingers. "From the fire department?"

He nods, watching me carefully. "Roof collapse, three years ago."

My fingers continue their exploration, mapping the terrain of his body with wonder. When they reach the waistband of his jeans, his muscles tense visibly.

"Penny," he warns, voice strained.

I look up at him through my lashes. "Show me how," I whisper. "I want to make you feel good too."

A groan escapes him as he captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "You're already making me feel good. Too good."

He lowers himself over me again, his body a delicious weight. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that's deeper, hungrier, as his hand slides beneath me to unclasp my bra. The hunger in his eyes as he looks at me makes me feel desirable, powerful in a way I've never experienced.

The sensation of his mouth on my breast, his tongue circling my nipple, sends waves of pleasure radiating through me. I arch against him, seeking more, my body knowing what my mind can only guess at.

His hand slides lower, tracing the curve of my hip, then dipping between my thighs. Even through the cotton of my panties, his touch ignites me. A whimper escapes my lips as his fingers find the center of my pleasure, stroking gently.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice rough with restraint.

"Yes," I gasp. "Please don't stop."

The smile he gives me is almost predatory as he slides down my body, pressing kisses to my stomach, my hip bone, the inside of my thigh. His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, drawing them slowly down my legs.

And then I'm completely bare before him, more vulnerable than I've ever been. But there's no fear, only anticipation as he settles between my thighs, looking up at me with a question in his eyes.

"Trust me?" he asks.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. His jaw clenches as he reaches for his jeans, retrieving a small foil packet from his wallet. The sight of him dropping his jeans, revealing the full extent of his cock, sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

When he settles between my thighs again, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance, he pauses, searching my face. "This might hurt at first," he warns softly.

I nod, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "I know. I want you, Jax. All of you."

He kisses me then, deep and thorough, as he pushes forward slowly, letting my body adjust to the unfamiliar stretch. There's pressure, a brief sting that makes me tense, but his gentle kisses and murmured encouragements help me relax.

"You okay?" he asks when he's fully seated within me, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

I nod, feeling strangely full but also complete in a way I never have before. "Yes," I whisper. "Don't stop."

His first movements are gentle, careful, his eyes never leaving my face as he watches for any sign of discomfort. But as my body adjusts, pleasure begins to build again, and I find myself moving with him, seeking more.

"Penny," he groans, his pace increasing. "You feel so good. So perfect."

His words, raw and honest, inflame me further. I wrap my legs around his hips, drawing him deeper, and the change in angle tears a cry from my throat as he hits a spot inside me that sends sparks shooting through my veins.

"There," I gasp. "Right there."

Jax growls, his movements becoming more urgent.

One hand slides between us, finding where we're joined, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs.

The stimulation is overwhelming. I cling to him, my nails digging into the muscles of his back as the pressure builds again, higher and sharper than before.

"Come for me," he urges, his voice rough with exertion. "Let me feel you."

His words push me over the edge. I shatter around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes over me in waves. Jax follows moments later, his body tensing above me, a groan torn from his throat as he finds his own release.

For long moments afterward, we remain joined, our breathing gradually slowing. Jax's weight is a comforting pressure, his face buried in the curve of my neck. I run my fingers through his hair, marveling at the intimacy of the moment.

When he finally lifts his head, the tenderness in his eyes nearly undoes me all over again.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly.

I smile, feeling a strange new confidence blooming inside me. "I'm perfect."

The smile he gives me then—warm and genuine, without a trace of his usual guardedness—makes my heart skip.

"Yes," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. "You are."

And for the first time in my life, I believe it.