Chapter Fifteen Lila #3
“I’m a career-oriented man,” he continues. “I’m always going to care about my duty more than pretty much everything else. Which means I’ve often worried that I’ll never have the time or energy to give a potential partner what she truly deserves.”
“Oh.”
“But if you can get more of what you deserve from others, too…”
“Oh.”
Hale shrugs. “It makes sense to me.”
“Right.”
“Does it make sense to you?”
I stare at him, feeling like a cornered animal. But, like, in a good way. Somehow.
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
“Can I explain it to you in a different way?”
“You can certainly try.”
Hale smirks and sits up straight, scooting his chair closer. His knees rest on either side of my thighs, an enticing cage. He reaches for me, and even though I draw in a sharp intake of breath when his palms come to rest on my hips, I don’t protest.
“When I look at you, Lila, I see an intimidatingly sexy woman.”
“Me? Intimidating?”
He breezes past the rebuttal and keeps going, “And I think to myself, there’s no way I have all the right vocabulary to explain how beautiful I think she is.”
“But—”
His grip tightens, like a playful warning for me to shut my stubborn mouth. “And when I hear you speak, with that charming wit and sharp tongue, I think there’s no way I can stand on even ground with you as a man of such few words.”
“To be fair, you’re saying quite a lot of words right now.”
“My point is, Lila, that I alone am insufficient for you. The kind of attention and pleasure I can offer is only a portion of what I think you deserve. So, if there are others who can admire you differently, who can offer you types of affection that don’t come naturally to me, then I’m content with that. ”
I’m feeling on the verge of drowning in those dark eyes of his. “I guess I see what you mean.”
His palms glide upward, slipping under the hem of my sweater, where his thumbs massage circular motions into the curve of my waistline.
“That’s good,” he murmurs.
Is it hot in here or is it just this stupid sweater?
As if he can hear my thoughts, his eyes once again roam the length of my body. “You’re wearing quite a lot of clothes today.”
“It’s chilly outside.”
“Hm.” Hale’s fingertips glide upward, tracing a path across my ribcage before dancing at the lace edge of my bralette. “We have unfinished business.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “The meeting.”
He chuckles darkly. “Not the fucking meeting, Lila. I mean the other day, when I got caught up in my own head and pumped the brakes too soon.”
“It was for the best.” My voice sounds a little breathy, and it’s definitely his fault. He’s looking at me like he wants to devour me, even as he caresses my skin so gently. “No fraternizing and all that.”
“Well, I think if we’re all in agreement that we’ll keep this little secret from the Hawk…”
It’s hardly a little secret, though. A public relations specialist messing around with not just one but three FDNY staff members while I’m still a resident of the firehouse is exactly the sort of thing that would land poor Kate Branson with a mountain of paperwork to deal with if we got caught.
Right now, however, I can’t seem to care all that much.
A secret,” is all I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Will you let me show you what I would have done if I hadn’t stopped myself in your ridiculously tiny kitchen?”
Yes. God, yes. “What if someone comes in?”
“Nobody is coming in here without knocking first.”
“What if you have to respond to a call?”
Hale shrugs, that infuriatingly calm movement that makes my core clench.
Under my sweater, his thumb strokes slow, deliberate circles over my nipple through the thin lace of my bralette, pinching just hard enough to send a sharp jolt straight between my legs.
“Then I’ll respond to the call, and you can go upstairs to the mezzanine and wait like a good girl for me to come back. ”
My brain melts. What is it about this man? His voice—low, commanding, like he's issuing orders on a scene—turns me into absolute putty. Noah's dominance is playful, teasing; Evan's feels equal, tender. But Hale... I swear I'd drop to my knees and crawl if he told me to.
“Lila?”
“Hm?”
“I need you to say yes.”
“Yes?”
He smirks, dark eyes gleaming. “Do you want me to touch you?”
“Oh. Yes.” The word tumbles out breathless, desperate.
That earns me the widest smile I've ever seen from him—genuine, wicked, transforming his stern face into something dangerously addictive.
“Sit on the desk.”
I hop up, the cool wood pressing against the backs of my thighs as my skirt rides higher. I expect him to stand, tower over me like he always does, pin me down and finally take me right here—rough, clothed, frantic.
But he stays seated, rolling his chair closer. His hands leave my sweater, and a disappointed whine escapes before I can stop it. He chuckles, deep and rumbling.
Then those big, callused hands slide under my skirt hem, gripping the backs of my calves.
He holds my gaze—unblinking, intense—as he lifts my left leg, draping my heel on the armrest of his chair.
Then the right. I'm spread wide for him now, thighs trembling, completely exposed except for the scrap of lace between us.
Instinct screams to snap my legs shut, hide how soaked I am, but his eyes flash with warning. Don't you dare.
His fingers trail up, pushing the skirt higher, bunching it at my hips. “Hold this for me.”
I obey instantly, clutching the fabric, arching back on one elbow to offer myself up. The air hits my damp panties, cool against the heat pulsing there.
Hale groans, low and guttural, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses along my inner thigh—slow, lingering, starting near my knee and working higher. Each one brands me, his stubble scraping deliciously, his breath hot against my skin.
He adjusts my legs wider over his broad shoulders, muscles flexing under his shirt. With one sharp tug, he yanks my thong aside, exposing my slick folds to the air—and to him.
No warning. His tongue flattens against me in one long, firm lick from entrance to clit, tasting me like he's starved.
I throw my head back, a strangled whimper ripping free as pleasure explodes through me.
He pulls back just enough for his warm breath to tease my sensitive flesh. “As much as I’d love to hear you scream my name, you need to be quiet, Lila. Can you do that for me?”
“Mmhmm,” I gasp, nodding frantically.
“Good girl.”
Then he's on me again—merciless, expert.
His tongue circles my clit in tight, relentless swirls before sucking it between his lips, flicking the tip rapidly.
Two thick fingers slide inside me without resistance, curling forward to stroke that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
He pumps them in time with his mouth, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office, mingling with my muffled moans.
I'm climbing fast—too fast—thighs quaking around his head. When the orgasm hits, it's blinding; my pussy clenches around his fingers, waves of heat crashing as I grind shamelessly against his face, biting my lip bloody to stay silent.
He doesn't stop. His mouth softens but keeps going, lapping gently through the aftershocks, then building again with firm sucks and deeper thrusts of his fingers.
“Hale—it's too much,” I whisper-shout, squirming, oversensitive and overwhelmed.
He looks up, chin glistening with me, eyes black with lust. “One more for me, Lila.”
The command undoes me. I nod, helpless, and he dives back in—tongue thrusting inside me now alongside his fingers, nose grinding against my clit. The second climax builds slower but hits harder, ripping a silent cry from my throat as I shatter again, flooding his mouth.
He finally eases off, pressing soothing kisses to my trembling thighs as I sag against the desk, dizzy and boneless.
“Again?” he murmurs, voice husky, almost innocent.
“Hale...”
“I bet you could.” His grin is pure sin.
“Can you even breathe down there?”
He laughs against my skin. “Hell of a way to go.”
The playful side of him—teasing, in control but reveling in my pleasure—fascinates me. This isn't the stoic captain. This is Hale unfiltered, and I want more.
I tangle my fingers in his dark hair, tugging gently to pull him up. He moans—deep, surprised—and his eyes go hazy.
Note to self: He likes that.
“I’ve never known a man to enjoy that so much.”
“You’ve known pathetic men, then.”
“Yeah,” I admit on a breathy laugh. “Pretty much.”
He nips my thigh playfully. “Want me to stop?”
“No. I want a turn.” My voice drops. “I want to taste you.”
He freezes, lips still on my skin. Then, in a blur, he bites my thigh sharper, rights my thong, and leans back in his chair—pants tented obscenely with his erection, thick and straining.
My mouth waters. I slide off the desk, sinking toward my knees, hands reaching for his belt.
But then—the alarms blare. Loud, insistent, the big-call tone that rattles the walls.
Hale curses a blue streak. I stand, legs wobbly.
“I can be quick?” I offer, half-joking, reaching for him again.
“Yes, I'm sure you can, little temptress,” he mutters, dodging me with tortured eyes. The station erupts outside—boots thundering, engines rumbling.
He suits up fast, fireproof pants over his sweatpants hiding the evidence, but that raw hunger in his glance promises everything.
“I’m not done with you.”
Then he's gone, door slamming behind him.