Bonus Scene The Firehouse
“What’s it like?” Sanaa had asked, her voice low, eyes tracing the firehouse walls like they held answers. “Living with men who run toward burning things?”
I leaned against the kitchen counter with my arms folded, watching her pace in that slow, curious way she always did when she was trying to figure something out.
She wasn’t nervous—Sanaa didn’t do nervous.
She was just intrigued. Her world was one of galleries and auctions, private studios and curated elegance.
Mine was sweat, alarms, and brotherhood.
“It’s like having twelve uncles, five big brothers, and a bunch of mouthy cousins who always leave hair in the sink,” I’d told her. “Until the bell rings. Then we’re one.”
That answer must’ve done something to her because two days later, she showed up.
I don’t know how she looked both classy and inappropriate at the same damn time—tight jeans hugging every curve, her crop top hugging her petite breasts. She wore it with my jacket slung off one shoulder and those dark brown eyes full of questions.
Someone let her in and suddenly there she was, walking into my world like it was hers to own.
The fellas noticed. How could they not see how fine she was.
“Damn,” Kofi muttered under his breath.
“Tariq got a whole Black goddess walkin’ in here like this ain’t a firehouse,” Minkah added.
I cut them a look that made them clear out, grumbling and grinning.
Captain Eldridge caught my eye. Old head, grizzled, still strong as hell. He looked at me, then at her, then back again. He gave a quiet grunt like he knew what time it was.
He turned to the rest of the squad. “Let’s go grab food for dinner. Family-style tonight. Tariq’s staying behind.”
“Cap—”
He raised a brow. “I said what I said. Let's move.”
I didn’t argue. Neither did they.
The bay doors clanked open and the crew filed out with knowing smirks. A few of them winked. Cap stayed back just long enough to say, “I’ve been young before, son. Don’t make a mess we’ll have to mop up.”
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with her.
“You told them to leave?” she asked, leaning against the same counter I had days ago, her nails tapping the edge like a slow countdown.
I shook my head. “Didn’t have to.”
“Mmmmmn.” That sound slipped from her throat as she walked past me, her fingers dragging along my chest. “So this is what your other life looks like.”
I watched her take it in—the weight racks in the corner, the coffee mugs labeled with nicknames, the framed photos of old engine crews and kids we’d pulled from bad places. She was still in her heels, but she moved like a woman who already knew what she wanted.
I showed her my gear — heavy boots by the door, the bunker coat folded over the back of a chair, the turnout pants draped across the seat with those thick red suspenders looped loose on top.
Before I could stop her, she reached for the suspenders. Her fingers closed around the elastic, thumbs finding the metal clips, and she tugged them free as if unhooking a secret. The snap of the straps recoiling made something in my chest tighten.
She stepped back, holding the bands between both hands, eyes glittering like she’d just been handed a dare. “What if I wore these?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t,” I said, but my voice had gone flat.
“Sure?” she smirked, and then, slow as a ritual, she unbuttoned her jeans.
She slid them down her legs and stepped out of them, folding them over the back of a chair like they were someone else’s clothes already. Her top came next, peeled away and dropped to the floor like a challenge.
I watched her step into the turnout pants — they swallowed her at the waist,and the legs were too long. She looped the red suspenders over her shoulders. She clipped them to the front with a small, satisfied sound, tugged them taut so they hugged her curves, and turned around slow for me.
No panties. No bra. Just the thick bands across her back and over her fat nipples— the heavy pant waist riding low on her light brown hips.
“Sanaa.” My voice came out hoarse.
“I was curious,” she said, kissing my chest. “About what it’s like. In here. With you. When you’re not chasing fire.”
Her hips pressed into mine and I could feel how warm she already was. Her skin. Her breath. Her want.
I gripped the edge of the counter behind me to stop myself from grabbing her too soon.
“You sure you wanna play like this in my house?”
“I came to see what it’s like.”
“And?”
Her hand slipped between us, over the bulge already thick in my jeans. She squeezed me once, hard.
“I think I want the full experience.”
That was all it took.
I turned her around so fast the suspender clips popped off with a snap. She gasped—soft and sharp at once—and leaned forward onto the table, palms flat. The pants slid down her thighs, and I stepped out of my jeans and boxers like a man on a mission.
My hand curved around her ass, and I dragged her hips back toward me, watching the way her legs shifted, bracing. Ready.
“I’m not gonna be gentle.”
“Good.”
I slid inside her in one long, deep stroke and we both let out curses too filthy to whisper. She gripped the table. I gripped her waist.
She arched her back and met every thrust, moaning my name like it was sacred and profane all at once. Her breath came out ragged, her cries echoing off the tile walls.
It was fast. Desperate. The kind of fucking that didn’t need a bed, just a reason.
She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wild and her mouth open.
“You gonna fuck me till they come back?” she panted.
“I might not stop even then.”
I leaned forward, bit her shoulder, and slammed deeper. Her legs trembled.
The sound of the back door shutting made us both freeze.
Just the wind.
I didn’t slow down again until I felt her clench, heard her cry out, felt her come undone around me. I followed right after, teeth buried in her neck, groaning like she was pulling something out of my soul.
When it was over, she stayed bent against the table for a long moment, catching her breath.
Then she turned, kissed me slow, and said, “You gonna let me keep these suspenders?”
“Hell no.”
“Then I guess I better move in. Before they see me stealing your shit.”
I laughed for real then. Laughed and kissed her again.
A week later, her toothbrush was next to mine and I knew I’d never want her to leave.