Page 7 of Let it Crackle (Playing with Fire #4)

Maddox

She’s stretched out on my couch in nothing but my fire station T-shirt, glasses slipping down her nose, one bare leg hooked over the armrest like she owns the place.

Hell, maybe she does. Most nights lately, she ends up here after our shift at the library.

Wearing my shirt. In my space. Smelling like home.

And I’m completely wrecked by it.

I don’t even hesitate. I scoop her up like she weighs nothing, and she lets out a squeal that hits me square in the chest.

“Maddox!”

“That’s me,” I mutter, grinning against the side of her neck as I carry her toward the kitchen wall. “You said something about a wall scene earlier. I’m just being a good boyfriend and doing my research.”

She gasps, pretending to protest, but she’s gripping my shoulders like she needs this. Like she needs me . Her thighs tighten around my waist, and her nails dig into my shoulders through the thin cotton of my T-shirt.

I cage her in against the wall, one forearm braced beside her head, the other hand gripping her ass, anchoring her to me. Our bodies press together — hot, needy, perfect — and I swear, if my shift didn’t start in less than an hour, I’d take her right here, let her feel exactly what she does to me.

“Still think I’d throw my back out?” I ask, my voice low, teasing.

She licks her lips. “Still think I’m trying to turn you into my fantasy?”

I lower my head and kiss her. Hard.

There’s nothing tentative about it. Her mouth opens beneath mine, and I take full advantage — tongue sweeping in, tasting her, owning her.

She moans into the kiss, one hand tangling in my hair, the other pulling me closer, like she wants to climb inside my skin.

The heat between us spikes, sharp and all-consuming, like we’ve been waiting years to cross this line.

I rock my hips against her just enough to feel the friction, and she gasps into my mouth, breathless and wrecked.

“Jesus, Maya,” I groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Just then, my alarm crackles to life across the room. I need to get done and get to my shift.

Fuck. Not now.

I groan and press one last, lingering kiss to her lips before slowly setting her down.

She straightens her shirt, cheeks flushed, glasses askew, and somehow even hotter than before. “Duty calls?”

“Yeah. But I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I toss my jacket on and grab my station bag from beside the couch, but I keep stealing glances at her.

Maya. In my shirt. Hair mussed. Lips swollen from kissing me like she wanted to eat me alive.

She’s leaning against the counter, trying to look casual, but I know better. Her fingers are still clutching the hem of my T-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. And I’m supposed to walk away from that?

Hell.

I walk over, press a kiss to her temple, and let my hand trail down her back, slow and possessive. “I was thinking,” I murmur, voice low against her skin, “maybe it’s time you came by the station.”

She blinks. “The station?”

“Yeah, meet all the guys. I talk about you all the time. Plus…” I smirk, brushing my lips just beneath her ear, “maybe we could try out a different kind of fantasy. One involving suspenders, a locker room, and maybe a truck bay, if you’re lucky.”

Her breath catches. “A lone woman in a building full of buff firemen--I like the sound of that.”

“I’ll be only one touching you, sweetheart. Don’t get other ideas.”

She laughs, but it’s breathy, nervous. “I don’t know… that’s kind of your world.”

I tilt her chin up with two fingers, my gaze locked on hers. “You’ve already lit it on fire.”

She goes still, softening under my touch. I swear her pupils dilate again, just from that.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I wanted to get some writing done, since it’s my day off, but I’ll try, okay?”

“That’s good enough for me.”

I kiss her once more—deep and lingering, like a promise—then pull back with a groan. “I have to go before I do something reckless.”

“Like what?” she teases, breathless.

“Like make you scream loud enough for my neighbors to file a noise complaint.”

She nods at me. But something tells me she isn’t happy about this. I go get ready for work.

I’m halfway into pulling on my uniform shirt when I feel her behind me.

“We could have a quickie…” she murmurs, voice husky with want. “You’re hard. I’m wet.”

I freeze. Then slowly turn around.

She’s standing there. Completely naked.

Not in lingerie. Not in one of my shirts. Just her, bare to me.

Bare, flushed, and bold.

Her skin is glowing in the low kitchen light, warm and golden, like she’s been lit from the inside out. My gaze drops—slow, greedy—and there they are.

Her tits.

Full, high, absolutely fucking perfect. Round and soft with dusky pink nipples that tighten the second I look at them. My mouth waters. I’ve had them in my hands, in my mouth, pressed to my chest—but seeing them like this, unhidden and on display just for me? It’s a goddamn religious experience.

And the rest of her? Jesus.

Curves that don’t quit. Hips made to take a man’s grip, thighs that part like she was made for me, and a waist I could wrap one hand around while the other’s buried in her hair.

Her stomach dips just enough to drive me crazy, that little soft line leading down to—I swallow hard.

She’s dripping for me already. Do I really do this to her.

Because it fucking turns me on so bad. My cock is rock hard, and I ain’t going to work like this. I need to be inside of her first.

“Maya,” I grit out, voice wrecked. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You have five minutes before you need to go,” she murmurs, stepping closer, hips swaying just enough to make me snap. “I’m just being efficient.”

Fuck me.

I’m on her in a heartbeat.

I slam her back against the fridge, one hand locking around her throat just enough to hold her still while the other grabs her ass and lifts her clean off the floor. Her legs wrap around me on instinct, and she gasps when I press against her—hard, clothed, desperate.

“You’re soaked,” I growl in her ear, grinding against her slick heat through my jeans. “Did you get this wet just thinking about me fucking you?”

She whimpers. Nods.

That’s all I need.

I unzip and shove my jeans down just enough to free myself. No time. No teasing. I grab my cock and drag the head through her folds once—just once—before I slam into her in one brutal thrust.

She cries out, nails digging into my shoulders.

I grunt, fucking into her fast and hard. “You said five minutes, baby. I’m not wasting a second.”

Her back slams against the fridge with every thrust. It’s dirty. Fast and filthy. Just skin, heat, and the sound of her soaking wet pussy taking everything I give her.

Her tits bounce with every movement, and I lean down, biting one nipple just enough to make her jolt. “Mine,” I snarl.

“Yes,” she gasps, clinging to me. “Yours. All yours.”

I slide a hand between us and rub her clit—fast, rough—and she breaks with a sob, body tightening around me like a vice.

“That’s it,” I groan. “Come on my cock. Soak me.”

She does. Loud, shaking, soaking wet.

It tips me over the edge. I grab her hips, slam in one last time, and come so deep inside her I swear I lose time.

We’re both breathing hard, her back still pressed to the fridge, my forehead resting against hers.

I kiss her—filthy, claiming, full of promise—and pull back just enough to smirk.

“Next time,” I say, still buried inside her, “we’re taking hours.”

And I mean it.

Because five minutes with her could never be enough, but it will have to do.

I place her gently down on the floor. “I really have to go now, baby.” She nods her cheeks are still flushed and she’s still breathing heavily.

I kiss her quickly and rush out because there is no telling what this woman does to me.

I’m all smiles and empty balls as I drive to work.

Sunlight glints off the chrome of the fire truck as I rinse away the last streaks of soot. The hose is heavy in my grip, but my chest feels lighter than it has in years.

I’m still riding the high from this morning—Maya’s sleepy smile when I made her breakfast, the way she sat on my lap wearing nothing but my T-shirt, glasses slipping down her nose as she read smutty stories to me. Our quickie against the fridge.

I haven’t stopped thinking about her since. About going home to her tonight. About what else she might have bookmarked in that dirty little novella. I’ve never felt more happier with anyone else before. Maya makes me so damn happy. It’s like she’s sunshine buried in my chest.

The guys are scattered around the station yard, the sun beating down on us as we go through the motions. Some are polishing gear, others stretching before drills. Zeke’s probably inside still cursing at the busted water heater, and I’m manning the hose, half in a daze.

The water streams in a steady rhythm over the fire truck’s wheel well, but my mind’s not on it.

All I can think about is Maya. How when I’m done here I go home to her.

“You still seeing that librarian?” one of the new recruits calls out, voice teasing.

“I wouldn’t have figured a buttoned-up nerd would be your type.

But,” he reflects for a moment, and I can tell by the flint in his eye that he’s about to say something filthy, “the frumpy ones are easy prey. Especially on crutches.”

There’s laughter. Light. Easy.

But the words twist sharp in my gut.

I blink. Straighten. The hose slips from my grip, spraying a crooked arc across the pavement.

I don’t say anything. I know I should, but I’m just trying to keep it cool—keep her safe.

This place isn’t kind to softness. These people don’t know her, and if I push back against their harsh words, I know I’m in for a ribbing and taunts of being “pussy-whipped” for the rest of the week.

I’m used to their teasing and crude comments, so the last thing I expect is for my chest to go tight like this.

Or for her voice to cut through the noise behind me.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Maya says.

Fuck.

I turn. And there she is—standing by the open gate, holding a box of cupcakes she probably brought for the guys. Her eyes meet mine… she’s hurt and totally shattered.

And I know, in one heartbeat, that I fucked up.

“I just came to drop these off,” she says quietly, voice trembling as she sets the box on the bench. “Won’t make the mistake again.”

She walks off, stiff-legged and fast, crutches clicking against the concrete.

“Maya—” I call after her, but she doesn’t stop.

I don’t even wait to explain. I drop the hose where it is, water still gushing, and take off after her, boots pounding like thunder.

“Maya, wait—please!”

She doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t slow down.

I catch up halfway down the sidewalk, hand catching her elbow gently. She rips it out of my grip like my touch burns.

“Don’t,” she snaps, eyes brimming. “Don’t do that now. Not after you just stood there.”

“I didn’t laugh—”

“But you didn’t say anything .” Her voice cracks. “That’s worse.”

She’s right. Goddammit, she’s right.

I drag a hand down my face. “I wasn’t trying to—shit, Maya. I just froze. It was a dumbass joke and I didn’t want to give it oxygen—”

“I don’t care,” she says, voice low and fierce now. “I don’t care if it was a joke or a whisper or a scream. You didn’t say anything, Maddox. And that silence? That told me everything I need to know about you.”

Her words hit like fire. Not the kind that burns skin. The kind that takes out whole houses from the inside.

“I thought you were different,” she adds, backing away. “But maybe you’re still just a bully.”

“No.” My voice is rough. “No, Maya. That’s not who I am. Not anymore.”

She gives me a look. One of those devastating ones. All betrayal and disbelief. “Then why did it still feel like I was the punchline?”

I don’t have an answer. Not one she deserves. Not yet.

She turns again, and this time, I let her go. Because what she needs isn’t me chasing her down with empty words. She won’t believe me now after she that. I’ve fucking messed up the best thing I ever had in my life.