Chapter 2 — James #2
The return to the station is quiet. The crew is tired but satisfied, we got him out, everyone goes home safe, the job was done right. It's the best kind of exhaustion, the kind that comes from doing something that mattered.
I find myself looking for Tess's vehicle in the rearview mirror more than I should. Every time I catch a glimpse of it, something in my chest tightens.
Back at the station, the crew disperses to shower and decompress. The post-call routine is familiar, gear gets cleaned and checked, equipment gets restocked, everyone takes care of their own recovery in whatever way works for them.
I strip out of my turnout gear in the bay, hang it properly, and when I turn around Tess is there.
We're alone. The bay is empty.
The station has gone quiet in that particular way it does after a call, when everyone is taking care of their own recovery and the building feels like it's exhaling.
She's standing close. Closer than she needs to be.
Close enough that I can smell her shampoo underneath the residual smoke clinging to my skin.
"That was..." She trails off, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. "You were very good at that."
"It's the job."
"I know." Her eyes meet mine, and the look in them makes my stomach tight. "But you were still very good at it."
There's something in her voice that makes the words feel like more than professional assessment.
Something that makes them feel personal.
The air between us feels charged, heavy with something that has nothing to do with the call we just finished and everything to do with the fourteen years sitting between us like unfinished business.
I should step back. I should put distance between us. I should remember that we're in the station, that my crew is upstairs, that this is the worst possible time and place.
I take a step closer instead.
"Tess," I say, and it comes out rougher than I intended.
"We should probably talk," she says, but she's not moving away. If anything, she's stepped closer, close enough now that if I reached out I could touch her.
"I thought you said not here."
"I changed my mind."
She's looking at me like she's daring me to make the first move, like she's already made hers just by standing this close, and every cell in my body is screaming at me to close the distance.
I should not close the distance. I should remember that she's here professionally, that I'm the captain and she's the investigator, that the last time I touched her I spent fourteen years regretting the way it ended.
I close the distance.
My hand comes up to her face, fingers sliding along her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone.
Her skin is soft and warm and exactly how I remember it. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that goes straight through me, and I feel it everywhere.
"Tell me to stop," I say, giving her one last chance to be smart about this.
"No."
So I kiss her.
It's not restrained. It's not measured. It's fourteen years of wanting compressed into the space of a heartbeat, and she kisses back like she's been waiting just as long.
Her hands come up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, and when I angle her head to deepen the kiss she opens for me immediately.
She tastes like coffee and something sweet underneath, and she feels exactly right in ways that make my chest tight. I slide my hand down to her hip and feel how soft she is, how full, and something in my brain goes offline entirely.
All I can think about is getting my hands on her properly. Getting her clothes off. Getting inside her.
I walk her backward until she hits the side of the engine. She gasps against my mouth and I kiss her harder, pressing into her, wanting her to feel exactly how hard I am, how much I want this.
Her hands slide up into my hair, tugging, and I drop my mouth to her neck because I need to taste her skin, need to hear the small noises she makes when I find the spot behind her ear that I remember from fourteen years ago.
It still works.
She makes that breathless sound I remember and arches into me, and I'm lost.
"James." My name is half-gasp, half-plea, and the sound of it nearly undoes me. "We can't do this here."
Fuck, she's right.
Anyone could walk in. The crew is upstairs but they won't stay there forever.
But I don't want to stop touching her. Don't want to stop kissing her. I bite down gently on the curve where her neck meets her shoulder and she moans.
"My truck," I say against her skin. "Now."
"Yes."
We make it to the parking lot. Barely.
I get the back door of my truck open and she climbs in and I follow her, and the space is cramped and ridiculous and I don't care because she's pulling me down and kissing me like she's trying to crawl inside my skin.
I get my hands on her properly, her waist, her hips, sliding up to cup her breast through her blouse. She's fuller than I remembered, and when I squeeze gently she arches into the touch and makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
"Fuck, Tess." I squeeze again, harder this time, and she gasps. "I've thought about touching you like this for fourteen years."
"Then stop thinking and do it."
I get her blouse unbuttoned, or maybe she helps me, I'm not sure, I'm too focused on getting it open and getting my hands on her skin.
The blouse comes off and she's wearing a black bra that's doing absolutely nothing to contain how beautiful she is.
Full breasts that spill over the cups. Soft stomach. Hips that curve in ways that make my hands ache.
I've thought about this body for fourteen years. Wondered if memory was making it better than reality.
Reality is so much better it's not even close.
"God, Tess." I put my mouth on her collarbone, her sternum, the upper curve of her breast. "You're so fucking beautiful."
She laughs, breathless and disbelieving. "You don't have to—"
"I'm not saying it because I have to." I look up at her, make sure she's hearing me. "I'm saying it because it's true. You're gorgeous. Every inch of you."
I get my hands on her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the fabric of her bra, and she arches into the touch.
"I've thought about these," I tell her, squeezing gently. "Thought about getting my mouth on you. Thought about making you come just from this."
"James—"
I reach around and unhook her bra, pull it away, and the sight of her bare-breasted in the back of my truck makes my mouth go dry.
She's perfect. Full and soft and perfect.
I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, and she gasps and arches up hard, her hands going to my hair.
"Yes," she breathes. "God, yes."
I work her with my mouth while my hand cups her other breast, squeezing and rolling her nipple between my fingers. She's sensitive there, I remember that, and when I scrape my teeth lightly over the peak she makes a sound that's almost a sob.
"I'm going to make you feel so good," I tell her, switching to the other breast. "Going to make you forget every other man who's touched you."
"You already have."
The words do something to me. Make something possessive and primal surge in my chest. I want to mark her. Want to make sure she knows she's mine.
I kiss my way down her stomach, pausing to bite gently at the soft curve of her belly, and she shivers.
"These too," I say, running my hands over her hips, squeezing the soft flesh there. "Thought about gripping these while I fuck you. Thought about how good you'd feel."
I get her pants open, and she lifts her hips to help me slide them down. Her underwear comes with them, and then she's bare from the waist down and I can see all of her.
Soft thighs. The dark hair between her legs. Everything I've been thinking about.
"Spread your legs for me," I say, and my voice comes out rough, commanding.
She does, and I nearly lose it right there.
I slide my hand up her inner thigh, taking my time, watching her face as I get closer to where she wants me. When I finally touch her, she's already wet.
"Fuck," I breathe. "You're soaked."
"I've been wet since I watched you walk into that fire."
The admission makes my cock throb. I slide one finger inside her and she clenches around me, her head falling back against the seat.
"That what you want?" I ask, adding a second finger, stretching her. "Want me to fuck you?"
"Yes. God, yes."
I work her with my fingers, curling them to find the spot that makes her gasp, and when I find it I don't let up.
She's moving her hips now, riding my hand, and the sight of her like this is going to be burned into my brain forever.
"You're going to come for me first," I tell her, pressing my thumb to her clit. "Want to feel you come on my fingers before I fuck you."
"James—"
I work her harder, faster, circling her clit with my thumb while my fingers move inside her, and it only takes a few more strokes before she's breaking, her whole body going taut, my name falling from her lips in a way that sounds like prayer and profanity all at once.
She's still trembling when I pull my fingers out and bring them to my mouth, tasting her.
Sweet. Just like I remembered.
"I need you inside me," she says, her voice wrecked. "Now."
I get my belt open, my pants down enough that my cock springs free, and her eyes go dark when she sees me.
"I thought about this too," she says, reaching for me, wrapping her hand around my length. "Thought about how you felt. How you filled me."
She strokes me and I groan, my hips jerking into her touch. I'm not going to last long if she keeps doing that.
"Tess." I catch her wrist, pull her hand away. "I need to be inside you. Now."
We shift in the cramped space, her legs wrapping around my hips, and I line myself up.
The head of my cock presses against her entrance and we both groan at the contact.
"Tell me you want this," I say, because I need to hear it.
"I want this. I want you. I've wanted you since I walked into your station this morning."
I push inside her in one hard thrust and we both cry out. She's tight and hot and perfect, and I have to pause when I'm fully seated just to remember how to breathe.