Chapter 9
GINNY
Iwalk to the bedroom and pull off my sweater. Then I slip off my jeans and undies.
It feels good to be in the water, even though it’s just barely lukewarm. I let all the anxiety of the day dissolve, washing over me.
Back in Whitefish, I was never much of a bath girl. A hard-hitting shower always seemed more effective.
But this bath feels good tonight. It makes me feel feminine for the first time in ages.
Even though I don’t have any fancy bath gels or salts to make me feel sensual, the memory of bathing Dylan, of feeling his cock, makes me hot.
I feel feel a deep, throbbing sensation between my legs that grows stronger and stronger.
My fingers slide down my wet skin, finding that sensitive spot I've touched countless times before.
I know exactly how to make myself come—I've had plenty of practice over the years, finding just the right rhythm, the perfect pressure.
But tonight, my own touch isn't enough.
My body craves something else. Someone else. I want Dylan's hands on me, his weight pressing me down.
I want him inside me.
The thought makes me shiver despite the warm water.
Maybe I should just go for it.
Walk out there right now, naked and dripping.
What's stopping me?
He’s available. No wife, no girlfriend.
He could be mine for the taking.
Nothing stops me except professional ethics.
What would happen if word got out that I seduced a man in my care?
Committing a violation that I’ve condemned men in my very own fire department for?
No. I tell myself I have to stay on the straight and narrow.
But still... there’s nothing wrong with a fantasy.
I swear to myself I won’t put my hands on Dylan.
It’s perfectly fine though, in my imagination.
I touch myself beneath the water, and I imagine Dylan’s smile.
In my fantasy, Dylan's eyes darken as he watches me in the tub, seeing my pink pussy beneath the clear water.
"Show me how you like it, Ginny,” he says, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see exactly what you need."
My fingers circle my clit, and I'm not shy about doing this. Especially since it’s all my fantasy.
Dylan’s muscled body moving closer. The heat of him radiating against my wet skin as he pulls me against him.
I can feel every hard inch of him pressing into my stomach. My nipples tighten in the most pleasurable way.
"I need you inside me," I whisper, my legs already trembling.
He lifts me, his biceps flexing, and lays me on a massive bed with the softest sheets I've ever felt against my naked back.
His eyes never leave mine as he positions himself above me, those broad shoulders blocking everything else from view.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his calloused palm cupping my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until I arch up against him. "So responsive."
His hand slides down my stomach, fingers dipping between my thighs where I'm already soaking wet for him.
I spread my legs wider, inviting him in, my breath catching when he pushes one thick finger inside me.
"More," I beg. He gives me what I want, adding another finger, and stretching me in the most delicious way.
My hips buck up to meet his hand as he positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock teasing my entrance.
"Are you ready for me, Ginny?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine.
I brace myself.
I've never had a man fully inside me. Yet in my fantasy, there's no fear.
Just pure want. Dylan positions himself between my legs, the thick head of him pressing against me.
He pushes forward slowly, inch by delicious inch, stretching me in ways I've never felt before.
My body yields to him, a surge of overwhelming pleasure radiating through me as he fills me completely. He pauses when he's all the way in, his chest heaving against mine.
I touch his shoulder. Both our bodies are slick with sweat.
"You feel so good," he whispers against my ear, his hot breath making me shiver.
When he starts to move again, it's gentle at first—long, deep strokes that make my toes curl.
Then faster, harder, his hips snapping against mine.
"Yes," I gasp, digging my nails into his back. "God, yes, don't stop."
Our eyes lock, and something electric passes between us. His rhythm falters as I clench around him, my entire body tensing.
The pressure builds low in my belly, spreading outward until I'm trembling beneath him.
When I finally come, it's with his name on my lips, my back arching off the bed as wave after wave crashes through me.
I open my eyes, expecting to see moonlight streaming through the window, but there's only a white blur.
The blizzard has arrived, snow pelting against the glass. Reality crashes back as the smell of butter, garlic, and onions drifts in from the kitchen.
Dylan's cooking dinner like nothing's wrong, but I can't shake the memory of that seventeen-year-old our team rescued last year.
One minute fine, the next gone—internal bleeding that no one saw coming. Dylan's motorcycle is scrap metal.
What if he's bleeding inside right now? What if his brain is swelling while he's standing there chopping vegetables? I grab my towel and scramble out of the tub, heart pounding against my ribs.
No way is this gorgeous man dying tonight.
Not on my watch.