Page 138 of Knotting the Firefighters

She watches me, eyes dark with residual heat, and asks in a voice husky from pleasure.

"Was that taste satisfying enough?"

I smirk, the expression feral with unquenched desire, and close the distance.

"Fuck yeah," I rumble, before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, sharing the essence of her own sweetness. "But you should sample your own addictiveness…see why I can't get enough."

She groans into the kiss, deep and fervent, our tongues tangling in a dance that reignites the fire we'd barely banked.

When we part, breathless, she glances down at the insistent bulge straining my jeans and teases, "You planning to walk around with that hard-on the whole time?"

I grunt, grumbling against her lips as I steal another quick press.

"What're you gonna do about it, Firefly?"

Her smile spreads wide, radiant and mischievous, before she sinks to her knees with graceful intent, her fingers already working at my belt.

"Just a little taste, right?" she taunts, echoing my earlier words, her eyes gleaming with wicked promise.

Her words hang in the air like a dare, that playful taunt laced with heat, and I watch her descend, graceful despite the cramped confines of this dressing room.

Wendolyn's knees hit the floor with a soft thud, her vivid green eyes locking onto mine, sparkling with mischief and something fiercer, a hunger that mirrors the blaze roaring through my veins.

My pulse thunders, blood surging south as she positions herself before me, fingers already grazing the zipper of my jeans, teasing the metal tab with deliberate slowness. The mirror behind her multiplies the scene, reflecting endless versions of us tangled in this forbidden interlude, each one more intoxicating than the last.

I draw a ragged breath, my chest heaving as her touch sends jolts of electricity racing up my spine.

"Wendolyn," I growl, voice roughened by restraint, "you're playing with fire here." But hell, who am I kidding? I'm the one engulfed, my cock straining against the fabric, aching for release from the prison of denim. Her smile widens, all wicked delight, as she tugs the zipper down, the sound obscenely loud in this confined space.

Cool air hits my skin, but it's her gaze that scorches, devouring me as she frees me from the confines of my boxers.

Her hand wraps around my length, firm and confident, stroking once, twice, with a rhythm that has my hips bucking involuntarily.

Slick from her earlier arousal still lingers on my lips, a sweet reminder of how I devoured her moments ago, but now the tables turn, and the power shift ignites something primal in my core. I thread my fingers through her fiery hair, not guiding, not yet—just anchoring myself as she leans in, her breath ghosting over my tip.

The anticipation becomes a living thing, a feral animal pacing the cage of my ribs, thrashing and snarling to be let loose, and when her tongue finally flicks out—delicate and devilish—the contact is so direct, so molten hot, I nearly see stars behind my eyelids. In an instant, the pressure ratchets from aching to unbearable. My hands, which only moments ago gripped the edge of the bench behind me, clench white-knuckled, and I have to fight the reflex not to thrust forward, not to seize her head and drive deeper into the plush heat of her mouth.

She starts with a featherlight tease, the tip of her tongue swirling around the crown, gathering that first bead of precum with a greedy, kittenish lap. The way she sighs, savoring the taste, her lashes fluttering, makes me want to drag her up and kiss her senseless, but then she does it again—slow, deliberate,watching me the whole time. My mouth goes dry. My chest tightens. Every nerve in my body narrows to that single point of contact, the world outside this dressing room falling away until we're the last two souls on earth, bound by the voltage running between her lips and my cock.

I grit my teeth, jaw ticking with the effort to stay in control. "Wendy," I warn, but my voice is ragged, not nearly as stern as I intend. It comes out as a plea. She grins up at me, wicked and loving, and then flattens her tongue along the underbelly of my shaft, dragging upward from base to tip in one long, wet stroke. Fuck. I have to squeeze my eyes shut, just for a second—if I don’t, I’ll come before she even takes me in.

Beneath me, her hair is a firestorm in my fists, and I let my hands rest gently there, not guiding so much as grounding myself in the reality of this: her kneeling, me standing over her, every part of me trembling with the need to claim and be claimed. When she opens her mouth and takes me in, it's a slow, savoring slide, each inch disappearing between her lips as she maintains eye contact, eyes sparkling with mischief and devotion. She swallows me to the hilt, the pressure and heat like nothing I've ever felt—so much better, so much more than I ever imagined. The back of her throat flutters around me, and I have to stifle a shout, my body jerking with the force of restraint as she begins a gentle, torturous rhythm.

Her hands don't stay idle. One cradles my balls, massaging with expert tenderness, while the other wraps around the base of my cock, guiding the movement with a steady, hypnotic cadence. Her lips seal tight, creating a sweet vacuum, and on each upstroke she twists her wrist just so, pulling a groan from deep in my chest. I watch, awestruck, as slick glistens at the corners of her mouth, her freckles blooming with color, her cheeks hollowing as she takes me deeper, again and again. The mirror behind her multiplies the image—a dozen Wendy's, each morebeautiful and ruthless than the last, all of them working together to undo me.

The pleasure is blinding, a white-hot current that arcs up my spine and makes my knees buckle. I brace myself on the wall, palm flat against the cool plaster, desperate to stay upright as she picks up speed. She moans around me, a sound that vibrates down my length and turns my bones to jelly. I can’t look away—I don’t want to miss a second, don’t want to ever forget the sight of her worshiping me like this, with hunger and laughter and love all tangled together.

"Fuck, Firefly," I rasp, watching her through hooded eyes. She takes me into her mouth slowly, inch by agonizing inch, her warmth enveloping me in a velvet grip that steals the air from my lungs.

The sensation is exquisite torment—her tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as she sucks, drawing me deeper with expert precision. I groan, low and guttural, my free hand bracing against the mirror for support as waves of ecstasy crash over me. Her pace builds, deliberate at first, then accelerating, bobbing with a fervor that has my knees weakening.

Slick sounds fill the room, mingling with my labored breaths, and I fight the urge to thrust, letting her control this, letting her wield the dominance she's claiming.

But damn, it's hard to hold back.

My knot throbs at the base, swelling with need, the biological imperative screaming for more, for connection, for claiming.

I grit my teeth, savoring every flick of her tongue, every hum of satisfaction vibrating through me. She's a vision on her knees, red hair cascading like flames, freckled skin flushed with exertion and desire. The mirrors capture it all—her lips stretched around me, my fingers tangled in her locks, the raw intensity of our shared gaze.Pressure builds, coiling low inmy gut, racing toward release, and I warn her with a strained whisper, "Close... so fucking close."