Page 10 of Let it Ignite (Playing with Fire #2)

Byron

The baby monitor crackles on the nightstand, but the house is still. Both kids are finally asleep, with Rusty standing guard at the foot of their bed. I lie on my side, one arm draped around my wife’s waist, her body warm and soft against mine.

"They’re out," she whispers.

I press a kiss to the back of her neck, letting my hand slide lower, palming her hip. "Then so are excuses."

She laughs, low and sweet, and shifts against me, rubbing her perfect ass into my groin. My cock responds instantly—always does with her. Even after all this time. Especially after all this time.

"You tired?" I ask, voice already rough.

"Always," she says, flipping onto her back, her mouth tilted in that teasing smile that still undoes me. "But not too tired for this."

I don’t waste a second. I’m up, grabbing my turnout pants from the closet—suspenders and all—and stepping back into the bedroom without a shirt. Her eyes go wide, like they always do, cheeks flushed and eyes shining.

"Oh my God, Byron."

"Fire Marshal Summers," I say, my voice full authority now, stalking toward the bed. "Got a call about an overheated bedroom. Woman inside practically combusted."

She crawls toward me, the neckline of her tank top slipping just low enough to make my mouth water. "Think you can handle it, Marshal?"

"I’m going to need to conduct a full inspection."

She squeals when I toss her down, laughing until I pull the covers off and slide my hands under her shirt. Her tits are heavy and warm in my palms, nipples already hard.

"Fuck, I missed these," I murmur, bending down to suck one into my mouth, licking and sucking until she gasps and arches under me.

She moans, thighs spreading automatically as I slide her shorts down, revealing her soaked panties. My cock is rock hard behind my zipper, straining.

"Take it off, baby," she pants.

I do. Fast. Her panties get tossed over my shoulder, and my cock springs free, already slick with precum.

I kiss down her belly, tasting her skin, her sweat, her scent. Then I drag my tongue over her slit, groaning at the taste of her. I eat her until she’s writhing, grabbing my hair, moaning my name over and over again like a prayer.

And when she starts to beg—"Byron, please, I need you inside me"—I pull back just enough to look at her.

"You sure, ma’am?" I tease, lining myself up.

"Yes, god yes, I’m combusting—"

I thrust into her in one deep, hard stroke.

Her back arches off the bed with a sharp cry. I still for a second, letting her feel every inch of me buried deep. Then I start moving. Hard. Deep. Full strokes that make the headboard knock the wall and the bed squeak with every thrust.

She’s panting, legs wrapped tight around my waist, tits bouncing with every drive of my hips. She’s mine. Always has been. Always will be.

"You feel so fucking good, Cass," I groan, kissing her, sucking her bottom lip. "So tight. So wet."

She pulls me closer, nails scraping down my back. "Don’t stop. Please, Byron, don’t ever stop."

I don’t. I fuck her like it’s the first time and the last time all in one, like every part of me belongs inside her.

When she starts to tremble, gasping my name, I grip her hips and fuck her harder, until she’s coming around me, walls pulsing, crying out my name with so much pleasure it echoes.

And I follow her with a grunt, thrusting one last time, spilling deep inside her.

After, I collapse beside her, dragging her into my arms, both of us slick with sweat and still gasping.

"That scene’s getting a rewrite," she murmurs into my chest.

"What, too much?"

"Not enough."

I laugh, kissing the top of her head.

This right here is home.

"Hey, Cass," I say softly. "You ever think about it? The lights, the cameras?"

She lifts her head to look at me. "Are you kidding? You’re hotter than every Hollywood lead I ever dreamed about. And way better in bed."

"Damn right."

"I didn’t give anything up," she says, kissing my jaw. "I just found the real story."

"And?"

"It’s us," she whispers. "It’s always been us."

I kiss her again. Slow. Deep.

She giggles against my mouth, then says, "You know... there’s this scene in season two. The one where the grumpy fire chief rescues the small-town librarian from a broken elevator. It’s full of sexual tension."

“Yeah, you let me read that one,” I say, raising a brow. "The fanfiction writers are gonna go crazy. I can’t believe you’re making people wait two whole seasons for that kiss.”

"Well," she says, tracing lazy circles on my chest. "I was thinking we could... rehearse. You know, for research. I might have to do a re-write; heaven forbid it’s unrealistic.”

I roll over and pin her under me again, grinning. "For research, huh? Should I break out the utility belt this time?"

She laughs breathlessly, tugging me closer. "Maybe bring the axe too. The door was stuck, remember?"

"God, I love your brain."

"And you’re about to love my body again, Marshal."

I growl, kissing her neck. "Baby, you’re getting every scene in that series—and then some."

And I know—this isn’t the end. It’s the best damn episode yet.