Page 8 of The Smokejumper’s Lady (Praise Me Like Fire #1)

Clea

I’ve never felt this warm in my entire life.

It’s not just his body wrapped around me, or the fact that we’re tangled in barely there sheets after the most intense experience of my life. It’s the way my chest feels like it’s glowing, soft and full and open in a way I never knew I was allowed to be.

I lost my virginity tonight.

To a man I barely know anything about.

Well, except the fact that he jumps into fires to save lives.

I never imagined my first time would be with a man like Ryan Lewis. And it was nothing like I imagined.

I always assumed it’d hurt. That it would be awkward and fumbling and full of nerves and second-guessing. That I’d be too tense, or he’d go too fast, or I’d embarrass myself somehow.

Instead, it was…perfect.

He was so gentle. And filthy. And sweet. And wicked. And…impossibly huge.

That part definitely had me worried.

But then his hands were on my thighs, slow and calming. His voice was all low murmurs and promises. He made me feel so wanted. So safe. So his.

And when he pressed inside slowly, giving me time to adjust, stopping whenever I tensed up, whispering praise against my neck the entire time…it was just…bliss.

God.

I clench around nothing at the memory.

It’s like my body still misses him and wants to pull him back inside, stretch around him again, feel the sweet burn of fullness and the dizzy rush of surrender.

Every inch of me is hypersensitive, alive, and aching.

The dull throb between my legs is like a craving now. He gave me a taste…and I need more.

As if my thoughts call to him, Ryan shifts behind me, still pressed against my back.

His arm tightens around my middle, palm flattening low across my belly.

He hums, low and sleepy, lips brushing the curve of my shoulder.

It’s like his body already knows mine…like it belongs here, wrapped around me.

“Mm,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “You’re squirming, baby.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His hand glides lower, fingers teasing at the edge of the sheet. “Thinking about last night?”

Heat rushes to my face.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“Good,” he growls, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Cause I’ve been thinking about fucking you all over again.”

A shiver moves through me. “I thought you were asleep.”

He kisses the spot behind my ear and nips it gently. “I was. Then you started breathing all fast. Got me wondering if you were touching yourself without me.”

“Ryan!” I gasp, scandalized, but he just chuckles and slides his hand between my thighs.

“I’d forgive you,” he murmurs, voice like melted dark chocolate. “But only if I get to help now.”

His fingers part me with ease. I moan, already slick and ready for him. I buck against his hand as his fingers brush against my aching clit.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes. “Fucking hell, Clea.”

“You did this,” I gasp.

He shifts, sliding down the bed without another word, his mouth replacing his fingers in one devastating movement.

His tongue strokes over me with focused precision, like he’s got nowhere to be for the rest of the year except between my thighs.

I arch, fingers fisting the sheets, all thoughts fleeing as he devours me slowly, thoroughly, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“You taste like sin,” he groans, sucking my clit into his mouth.

I cry out, unable to help myself. Everything coils tight, and my body clenches, my thighs trembling around his head.

He pulls back.

“Ryan…” I moan helplessly, aching for him.

“I need to see your face,” he rasps, dragging himself up my body and nudging my legs wider. “Love the way you look when you come. I want to watch those pretty eyes roll back when you come on my cock.”

I’m panting. Shaking. My body is wound up like a wire.

And then I see him. Fully. Thick and hard and glistening at the tip. I suck in a breath.

“God,” I whisper. “You’re still…huge.”

His mouth twitches into a crooked grin. “You can take it. You already did, baby. You made it fit, remember?”

He presses the blunt head to my entrance and waits. His gaze holds mine.

“You ready for me, Clea?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes.” Always.

And then he pushes in.

Slow, steady, deeper with every heartbeat. My mouth falls open as my body stretches to take him again. It’s a tight, overwhelming fullness, but different this time. My body remembers him now. Welcomes him. Wants him.

We move together in lazy, rolling thrusts. He dips down to kiss me, soft and deep, contrasting the sharp rhythm of his hips.

It’s slow. It’s intimate. A different kind of fire than before.

“Look at you,” he whispers against my mouth. He pulls back and guides my chin so I’m looking down at where we’re joined, where he’s sliding in and out of me. “Taking me like a good girl.”

My whole body flushes. “You feel…so deep.”

“Cause you were made for me.”

He growls the words into my skin as he fucks me deeper, slower, like he’s trying to make me feel every inch. Like he wants to own this moment and burn it into my memory forever.

And God, he’s doing it.

My climax hits like a slow-building wave that crashes all at once, stealing my breath and blanking out every thought. I cry his name as he thrusts into me harder, chasing his own release.

When he finally spills inside me, groaning my name with a grip so tight on my hips it borders on desperate, I realize something that makes my heart race all over again.

I’m not just falling for this man. I might already belong to him.

After, we don’t move for a while, our bodies slick with heat, hearts beating in sync like they’ve known each other longer than just one night.

My skin hums where his hands have touched, lips kissed, tongue worshipped.

He’s still inside me. Softening, but not quite leaving.

Like his body is reluctant to part with mine.

He brushes a kiss against my temple. “You okay?”

I nod, breathless. “Yeah. More than okay.”

A satisfied rumble vibrates in his chest. “Good. Cause that was fucking perfect.”

I smile into his neck, not ready to let go.

After a deliciously long time, we manage to peel ourselves from the bed, limbs heavy and sore in the most delicious way.

He puts on his sweatpants and I tug on an oversize T-shirt and try to make myself presentable, though there’s nothing that can tame the glow I feel or the small, silly smile tugging at my mouth.

We head to the kitchen together but we barely make it two steps before he’s on me again, his hands sliding under the shirt, cupping my breasts, pressing me back against the nearest wall.

“I lied,” he murmurs against my throat.

“About what?”

“That being the last round.”

Before I can catch my breath, he spins me toward the counter. His hand slips down between my thighs, and I feel myself already melting under his touch, feel him pulling down his waistband and pressing his hard length against the bare skin of my ass.

“Ryan,” I whisper, clutching the cool edge of the counter. “We need to eat—”

“You will,” he growls, kissing down my spine. “After I take care of this first.”

And then he’s inside me again.

Hot. Hard. Deep.

His chest is flush to my back, one hand gripping my hip and the other flat on my stomach, holding me steady as he drives into me from behind.

The slap of skin and the sharp edge of the counter biting into my palms only heighten everything…

the urgency, the hunger, the way I feel like I’m unraveling every time he’s in me.

“You like being taken like this, don’t you?” he pants. “Bent over the counter, dripping for me.”

“Yes—God, yes!”

His fingers slide down, finding my clit, circling with practiced ease until I can barely hold myself up. My body clenches around him, my climax approaching, and just as I’m about to cry out his name, the shrill ring of the cabin phone slices through the haze.

I freeze.

But Ryan barely misses a beat. He reaches over, snatches the receiver off the wall, still sliding in and out of me, one hand still pressing me down against the counter.

“Yeah?” he says into the phone.

I can barely stop myself from moaning aloud. Why am I so turned on by this?

He keeps thrusting, faster. The sound of our bodies coming together seems startlingly loud in the quiet of the cabin as he listens to whoever’s on the other end of the line. “Got it. We’ll be ready.”

He hangs up and reaches his hand around to my clit, stroking me hard and groaning in my ear. “You liked that, didn’t you, baby? I could tell you wanted to scream loud enough to let everyone know what I’m doing to you.”

I’m nodding, thighs trembling, pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

“Come for me,” he demands.

And I do, clenching around him and moaning out my release. He comes too, emptying himself inside me and pressing gentle kisses down my back as we catch our breaths.

When we’ve separated and are pulling on our clothes again, he looks at me.

“That was dispatch. Our rides are here.”

My heart drops to my stomach, and just like that, my little bubble bursts.

Ryan cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. “You okay?”

I nod slowly. But I’m not. Not even close.

I hadn’t thought about what comes next. Not really. Everything has happened so fast—his arrival, the fire, the rescue. Us.

But now…what happens now?

Does he just leave? Do I just move on with my life like last night never happened?

My throat tightens, a knot forming in my chest. I feel raw. Exposed. Like one wrong word will shatter me.

Because if this ends here…if I walk away from him and that’s it…it’ll wreck me. Completely.

I don’t want to say goodbye.

I want to stay in this small cabin where it’s just the two of us. Where nothing hurts and everything is fire and softness and warmth.

He touches my chin, bringing my gaze to his. “Hey…whatever you’re thinking, don’t. We’re not done. Not even close.”

But I don’t know what that means.

And part of me is terrified to hope.

Ryan’s touch is grounding, but the thundering sound of wheels on gravel snaps my head toward the cabin window.

An SUV pulls up fast, brakes squealing. My stomach knots harder. I know that car.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

I’ve only just pulled on my smoke-scented pants when both front doors slam, and two familiar figures come barreling toward the cabin like a storm.

My parents.

“Clea Rose McMahon!”

The full name. That’s never good.

I barely step outside before my mother has her arms around me, smoothing my hair and clutching me like I’ve been lost at sea for years.

“We were worried sick about you. We couldn’t reach you. No updates, no contact! Do you have any idea the kind of hell we went through?”

“I—Mom, I’m fine. I was never in danger. Not really.”

“You were in the middle of a wildfire, Clea!” my father snaps, striding up behind her. His eyes rake over me, and then past me. To Ryan. “Who the hell is this?”

Ryan steps forward, calm but firm. “Ryan Lewis. Smoke jumper. I helped with her evacuation yesterday.”

My dad’s eyes narrow like he’s sizing Ryan up for a duel. “You’re telling me our daughter was left alone with a firefighter in the woods overnight?”

Ryan’s jaw flexes, but he holds his ground. “We weren’t alone. There were other evacuees nearby, and she was put in the safest structure close to base. I stayed because it was the protocol.”

“Oh, protocol,” my mother parrots, lips curled in disapproval. “How convenient.”

“Enough,” I say, but it comes out too soft. Too tangled in emotion.

Dad turns to me. “You’re never going back there, Clea. Never again. That’s final. You’ll leave this wilderness nonsense behind and come home.”

My heart drops.

“It’s not nonsense,” I manage. “I love this work. I’m good at it.”

“You could’ve died!” Mom’s voice cracks. “This is exactly why we didn’t want you doing this. You’re meant to be running the firm, Clea. Not dragging tourists through national parks and getting trapped in fires!”

“I’m not going back to the firm,” I say, quieter this time.

Ryan steps up beside me. “She saved lives out there. She kept calm under pressure and handled it like a pro. What happened was a freak accident.”

Dad rounds on him. “With all due respect, this is our daughter. We didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Then maybe you should listen to hers,” Ryan says, his voice dangerously low.

I put a hand on Ryan’s arm. He’s tense. Ready to blow.

So am I.

But I can’t do this here. Not now. My heart is still tangled up in too many things.

“Clea,” my mom says, her voice softer. “Let’s just get you out of here.”

I look back at Ryan. He’s watching me like he wants to reach out and drag me into the cabin for another round. Like he’s holding himself back. His eyes flicker down to my hand. Then my mouth. Then back to my eyes.

Say something! I scream desperately in my head.

But just then, a man in a fire captain’s uniform calls out, “Lewis, time to go! Wind’s picked up on the southeast side of the fire—it’s approaching a residential area.”

Ryan looks like he might explode. His jaw clenches. His hands fist at his sides. But he doesn’t speak.

I know he needs to go save people, but I would have thought he’d say something to me at least. He just watches.

Even as a medic rushes over to tell us they’re evacuating civilians from this area so we need to leave.

Even as I allow my parents to pull me toward their car. Even as I turn around and walk away.

Every step toward my parents’ SUV feels like I’m peeling skin off my bones. Like I’m leaving a piece of myself in the gravel. I close the car door behind me, then look through the window.

He’s still there.

Watching me go.