Page 7 of Falling for the Single Dad Firefighter (Fox Ridge: Fire Station #1)

"Samuel," I breathe, tilting my head to give him better access.

His hands remain careful but more confident now, one sliding down my back to rest at the curve where it meets my hip, the other still tangled in my hair. Even as desire builds between us, there's a restraint to him—a careful control that both frustrates and touches me.

I pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Is there... somewhere more comfortable we could go?"

Understanding dawns in his expression, followed by a flash of heat that makes my pulse quicken. He stands, offering me his hand. "Are you sure about this?"

I take his hand, rising to meet him. "I'm very sure."

He leads me down a short hallway, past a room I glimpse is clearly Mia's—walls painted a soft green, a small bed with a colorful quilt—to the door at the end.

His bedroom is simple and masculine—a large bed with navy blue covers, a dresser, a bedside table with a lamp casting a warm glow over the space.

We stand by the edge of the bed, suddenly shy despite the heat between us moments before. Samuel's hands find my waist, steadying rather than pulling.

"We can take this slow," he says quietly. "There's no rush."

My answer is to reach for the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upward. He helps me, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor.

The sight of him takes my breath away—broad shoulders, defined chest, a scattering of dark hair that narrows as it trails down his abdomen and disappears beneath his jeans. A few scars mark his skin—one near his collarbone, another along his right side.

I reach out, tracing the larger scar with my fingertips. "What happened?"

"Fire in an old factory," he explains, his voice rougher now. "Four years ago."

I lean in to press my lips to the mark, a gesture that makes him inhale sharply. His hands come to my shoulders, steadying himself as much as me.

"Your turn," he murmurs, fingers finding the hem of my sweater.

I lift my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head. Cool air hits my skin as I stand before him in my simple white bra. For a moment, I feel self-conscious—I'm soft where he's hard, curved where he's flat.

But the way he looks at me, his eyes traveling slowly over my exposed skin with undisguised appreciation, banishes any insecurity.

His hands find my waist, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my jeans. I step closer, wanting to feel his skin against mine. When our bodies meet, the contact draws sounds from both of us—my soft gasp mingling with his deeper groan.

We move to the bed, Samuel guiding me down gently, coming to rest beside me. His hand traces a path from my shoulder to my hip, learning the contours of my body with patient thoroughness. When his fingers brush the underside of my breast, I arch into the touch, silently asking for more.

"Can I?" he asks, his hand sliding to the clasp of my bra.

I nod, lifting slightly to make it easier. With deft fingers, he undoes the clasp, drawing the straps down my arms and setting the garment aside. His sharp intake of breath as he looks at me sends a thrill of feminine power through me.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, before lowering his head to press a kiss to the curve of my breast.

His mouth is warm and gentle at first, exploring with careful attention.

But when his lips close around my nipple, all gentleness gives way to a more urgent need.

I arch against him, my hands finding his hair, holding him to me as his tongue and teeth work in tandem to draw sensations I've never felt so intensely.

"Samuel," I gasp, my hips lifting instinctively, seeking friction, seeking him.

He raises his head, his eyes meeting mine. The raw need I see there matches the ache building between my thighs. His hand travels down my stomach, pausing at the button of my jeans.

"Is this okay?" he asks, always checking, always making sure.

"Yes," I breathe. "Please."

He undoes the button, then the zipper, his movements deliberate but unhurried. When his fingers dip beneath the waistband, brushing against the sensitive skin of my lower abdomen, I shiver with anticipation.

"Lift up," he instructs softly, and I do, allowing him to pull my jeans down and off, leaving me in only my underwear.

He kisses me again, deeper now, more urgent. His hand slides down my side, over my hip, to the outside of my thigh, then slowly inward. When his fingers brush against me through the thin cotton of my underwear, I gasp against his mouth, the touch electric even through the fabric.

"You're so wet," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and masculine satisfaction.

His fingers begin to move in slow circles, finding the bundle of nerves that makes my hips buck against his hand. The pressure builds exquisitely, but it's not enough—I want more, want him.

"Please," I breathe, not even sure what I'm asking for, only that I need it desperately.

Samuel seems to understand. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear, drawing it down my legs and off, leaving me completely exposed to his gaze. I should feel vulnerable, but all I feel is desired, wanted in a way I've never experienced before.

His hand returns to me, but this time there's no barrier between his skin and mine. His fingers slide through my folds, gathering moisture, exploring with careful attention to my reactions. When one finger circles my entrance, I lift my hips in silent invitation.

He enters me slowly, a single digit that has me clutching at his shoulders.

When he adds a second, stretching me gently, I moan his name, my head falling back against the pillows.

His thumb finds my clit, circling in time with the movement of his fingers inside me, and the dual sensation has me spiraling quickly toward the edge.

"Samuel," I gasp, my nails digging into his skin. "I'm close—"

"Let go," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see you."

His words, combined with the skilled movement of his hand, push me over. My back arches as pleasure crashes through me in waves, my inner muscles clenching around his fingers. He works me through it, gentling his touch as I come down, trembling and sensitive.

Before I fully recover, Samuel moves to kneel between my legs. His jeans are still on, the fabric rough against my over-sensitized skin. I reach for his belt, suddenly desperate to feel all of him.

"Off," I manage, tugging at the leather strap. "I want to feel you."

He helps me, undoing the belt and button before standing to remove his jeans and boxers in one fluid motion. When he straightens, I get my first full view of him—all hard muscle and defined lines, his arousal prominent and intimidating in its size.

I reach for him, but he catches my hand, bringing it to his lips instead. "If you touch me right now, this will be over too quickly," he explains, pressing a kiss to my palm.

He settles between my thighs, his weight supported on his forearms. I can feel him, hot and hard against my entrance, but he doesn't push forward.

"Are you sure?" he asks one more time, his eyes searching mine.

I reach up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw. "I'm sure. I want this. I want you."

That's all the permission he needs. He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is intense, bordering on discomfort, but then he pauses, allowing my body to relax around him.

"You feel incredible," he groans, his control evident in the tension of his arms, the careful restraint of his movements.

When he's fully seated within me, we both take a moment to adjust to the sensation. I've never felt so full, so completely joined with another person. It's overwhelming in the best possible way.

Samuel begins to move, slow, deep thrusts that have me gasping with each roll of his hips. He watches my face intently, learning what brings me pleasure, adjusting his angle when something makes me moan particularly loudly.

"More," I urge, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper.

He complies, his pace increasing, the force of his thrusts growing more insistent. The headboard begins to knock gently against the wall, a rhythmic counterpoint to our ragged breathing and soft sounds of pleasure.

I lift my hips to meet each thrust, feeling another climax building deep inside. Samuel must sense it too, because he slips a hand between us, his fingers finding my clit and circling it in time with his movements.

"Come for me again," he urges, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "I want to feel you come around me."

His words combined with the dual sensation of his cock stretching me and his fingers working against my most sensitive spot push me over the edge for a second time. This orgasm is even more intense than the first, radiating outward from my core in waves that have me crying out his name.

As I clench around him, Samuel's rhythm falters, his thrusts becoming more erratic. With a deep groan, he follows me over, his body shuddering against mine as he finds his release. The feeling of him pulsing inside me prolongs my own pleasure.

For long moments afterward, we remain connected, both breathing heavily. Samuel's weight is a comfortable pressure above me, his forehead resting against mine.

When he finally moves to slip out of me, I make a small sound of protest that makes him chuckle softly.

His arm wraps around my waist, drawing me against the solid warmth of his chest. I curl into him instinctively, my head finding the perfect spot in the crook of his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare hip.

I tilt my head to look up at him, finding his expression serious but tender. "More than okay."

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes my heart skip. "Me too."

We lie in comfortable silence, our breathing gradually syncing.

Outside, a car passes by, its headlights briefly illuminating the room before returning us to the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

Reality begins to creep back in—the awareness of who we are, what this means, what complications might follow.

But for now, in the warmth of Samuel's bed, with his heartbeat steady under my palm, I choose to set those concerns aside. Tomorrow will bring what it will. Tonight, I am exactly where I want to be.

Samuel pulls the covers over us, tucks me against his side as if we've done this a hundred times before, and presses a kiss to my forehead. The simple gesture holds more tenderness than I expected, and I feel myself softening further into his embrace.

"Stay," he murmurs against my hair. It's not quite a question, not quite a command.

"For a while," I agree, knowing I should return to my own apartment before morning. Before Mia returns. Before we have to face the reality of what we've begun.