WILD PLEASURE {short erotic stories} Chapter 76: Fired Up (2)

“Pinch the nipple.” He wouldn’t make this easy for her.

Carefully, she closed the fingertips of her left hand around her nipple and squeezed gently.

“Harder, sha.”

He knew her so well. He always pushed her further.

“Leave a hand there on your tits. Now you can touch your pussy with

your other hand.”

Christ, Hannah coming was the sexiest thing Cole had ever heard. Yeah,

he’d give anything to be there in that watchtower with her, his tongue buried in her pussy, his fingers working in deep. She exhaled hard, a soft, low pant that picked up speed, her breathing coming faster and faster as her orgasm rippled through her. Then he heard that happy, sated sound she made, like every muscle in her body had just turned to water and she was ready to curl up and nap some.

He wanted to see her face as he worked her body over, as he drove her right to the edge and made her wait for it. Face-to-face with her, would he be so attuned to the small gasps, the way she sucked in a breath right before her pleasure broke and she came? If he was closer, with his dick deep inside her, riding her hard, would he notice these things?

Fuck.

He couldn’t imagine not noticing. He’d notice everything about Hannah. It was driving him pure crazy not having a face to put with the sultry voice reaching out to him over the airwaves.

She’d got hers, so now it was his turn. Ladies first, then him. That was part of their date night, too. Him rubbing one out fast and hard, his hands slapping against his cock, pulling up and tensing as the sensation in his balls tightened. No lube because he wanted the raw feeling tomorrow, to go through his day with that reminder of what they’d shared tonight. Plus, she’d hear every stroke.

She always listened.

Hannah. His balls constricted. Grabbing his T-shirt to catch the evidence, he came in long, hard jerks. She was miles away, where she couldn’t possibly see him, but he’d never felt more stripped bare—or closer to a lover. Funny how touching wasn’t everything, how just hearing her breathing over the airwaves did it for him.

“Cole . . .” Her sated, sleepy voice floated over the airwaves to him.

 Whatever question she had, whatever words were coming on the heels of his name, didn’t matter because right then thunder boomed over the line. Too close. Summer lightning storms were a serious threat in the national park. More than one watchtower had sustained direct hits.

He cursed, shooting to his feet. “Hannah?”

The microphone fell over, almost muffling the sound of someone dressing rapidly. A second clap of thunder was followed by what sounded like the whole damn watchtower vibrating.

“Talk to me,” he bit out. “Tell me what’s happening. Now. You okay?”

“Thunderstorm,” she said, a low laugh escaping her. “Talk about ending on a bang. It’s gorgeous.” Static broke up her voice. Hell.

“Those strikes are damned dangerous, sha.” He bit back a curse. This was not your average afternoon thunderstorm. “There are better ways to live on the edge of danger.” He should know. He’d tried them all and settled on fighting fire.

“I’ll be fine.” She dismissed his concern.

“You need to get out of the tower.” Like many of the watchtowers in the park, the Widow’s Peak tower was perched on top of a ridge. With its metal observation deck, it was the perfect lightning magnet. “Get out of there, lie down on the ground, and play it safe until the storm passes.”

“This from you.” Amusement colored her voice. “Hey, hotshot, maybe you should try taking a walk on the safe side of things. See how you enjoy that.”

She had no idea.

He opened his mouth to say something, but a second loud boom rolled over their connection, followed by a burst of static. Pulling up his jeans, he ran scenarios in his head.

Her voice broke up. “Radio . . . hit . . . going . . .”

Christ.

No way he wanted her out there alone without a radio. He wanted the

connection to her, but he also wanted her to have that lifeline back to base. Shit sometimes happened in the forest. There were plenty of possibilities for disaster once he let his imagination get rolling. The trails were open to anyone, so all kinds of low-life, crazy hikers could cross her path. There were bears. She could fall in a river and drown, because God knew more than a few park visitors died that way each year. There were rock falls. And, of course, the goddamn fires he fought.

 He knew which watchtower was hers. He’d made a point of looking it up after the first morning he’d heard her reporting signs of smoke. That sweetly sexy voice of hers caught his imagination, had him imagining carnal acts he had no business thinking about. But he had.

Hell yeah, he had.

Hannah Green’s watchtower was thirty-nine degrees north, eight-four degrees west. That put her fifty miles inland. Thirty of those he could cover on the fire roads, but the last twenty were a brutal hike in. He glanced at the clock. He’d leave as soon as he’d squared his absence with his team leader. Push hard and he’d reach Widow’s Peak tomorrow at sunset.

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