Page 12 of Knotting the Firefighters

My free hand clenches into a fist at my side, fighting the urge to storm back in and finish what we started on that counter, morals be damned. But I stay rooted here, hidden in the lengthening shadows as the sun creeps higher on the opposite horizon, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold that make her red hair glow like embers.

Madly in love but too much of a chicken to make a solid move…

Love crashes through me then, fierce and unyielding, the kind that steals your air and leaves you gasping.

I can't deny it anymore, not to myself—I'm madly, hopelessly in love with this Omega who once commanded me as chief back in LA's chaos.

She was fire incarnate then, barking orders in the midst of blazes that would terrify lesser souls, her presence a beacon that drew us all forward.And me?I was just the rookie hanging on her every word, my admiration twisting into something deeper with each shared shift, each debrief where her green glimmering eyes would meet mine and spark.

Now, seeing her here in this quiet exile, masking her wounds with humor and that quiet resilience, it guts me.

She's my everything, this warm-hearted Omega who's built walls higher than any inferno, and I'd burn the world to keep her safe.

The memory hits hard, unbidden, of that day I learned she was taking "leave."

Word spread through the station like flames through dry brush—she was packing up, heading to some speck on the map in the middle of nowhere, no cell service, no ties to the life we'd known. My world tilted, spun out like a truck hydroplaning onrain-slicked roads. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think beyond the void her absence would carve.

The tension between us had been electric even then, palpable in every glance, every accidental brush of hands during training drills.

How could I stay at the department without her leading the charge?

It would have been torture, pretending normalcy while my chest ached with her ghost. So I followed, like a damn puppy desperate for scraps of her attention, leaving behind the sirens and soot for this dusty paradise where I could be near her, even if it meant watching from the edges.

Anything for her…

Now we're tangled in this situationship, a web of high-tension lust that crackles like live wires, addictive and perilous. Every teasing touch, every heated kiss pulls me deeper, but I know the clock ticks.

She's an Omega, fierce and independent, but the pull toward a pack is woven into her nature, just as my Alpha instincts scream to claim her fully. The moment she finds one—some group of strapping types who can offer her the stability she craves—it all crumbles. I'll be left in the dust, heart shattered beyond repair, watching her build a life that doesn't include me. I try not to dwell on it, shoving the thought down like embers under boot, but it festers, a constant throb matching the one in my pants. Leaning heavier against the house, the wood cool against my back, I reach down slowly, my hand grazing the rigid outline of my arousal, seeking relief from the storm she's stirred.

The fantasy grips me before I can stop it, vivid and ruthless.

I imagine her pinned against that kitchen counter, her skirt hiked up, my hands gripping her hips as I drive into her from behind, deep and deliberate. She'd whimper, that powerful chiefreduced to pleas, begging for faster, harder, her submission a thrill that ignites every nerve.

God, the contrast undoes me—Wendy, who bows to no man in a field of cocky Alphas, yielding only to me, her body arching in surrender.

It's enough to make my strokes turn urgent, but I force myself to pause, breath ragged and low, knowing I can't let this consume me here, not just yet…

I stroke slowly at first, eyes fixed on Wendolyn through the glass, her form a siren call that drowns out reason.

The fantasy sharpens, pulling me under:I envision her bent over that counter, her skirt flipped up to expose the lush curves of her ass, my hands spreading her thighs as I position myself behind her.

In this vivid reverie, I slide into her slick heat, deep and unhurried, each inch claiming her with deliberate control. She gasps, her body clenching around me, and I hold there, savoring the way she trembles, her powerful frame yielding to my rhythm. I pull back slowly, then thrust again, building a torturous pace that has her nails scraping the countertop, her whimpers rising like pleas for mercy I won't grant yet.

God, the way she'd arch into me, demanding more even as she submits, fuels the fire in my blood.

I pump my hand faster, matching the imagined tempo, my breath coming in controlled huffs to avoid alerting her. She's a force in the world, this woman who commanded respect from rooms full of hardened Alphas, her voice cutting through chaos like a blade.

Yet in my arms, she melts, becomes pliant and eager, begging for me to unravel her completely.

That contrast ignites me—the chief who stares down danger without flinching, reduced to breathy entreaties for harder, faster, please Calder, fuck me senseless. It's a power thathumbles me even as it arouses, knowing I'm the one she trusts to see her vulnerable, to take control and deliver the ecstasy she craves.

My strokes turn firmer, the friction building pressure that coils tight in my core, the mere thought pushing me toward the brink without mercy.

Through the window, she shifts from the stove, bending low to peer into the oven, and the sight nearly undoes me entirely.

Her skirt rides up just enough, revealing the delicate lace of her see-through thong, the fabric sheer against her skin.

And there, framed perfectly, her pussy glistens with arousal, the folds slick and inviting, evidence of our earlier teasing that she hasn't fully shaken.