Chapter Two Noelle #2
It’s oddly more comfortable to be down here in this communal space all by myself instead of upstairs in my captain-designated hideaway.
I take a deep breath.
Before I know it, I’m drifting away…
Silk sheets feel luxuriously smooth against my skin, no longer rough in texture like the upholstered sofa I thought I’d been dozing on. The room is bathed in moonlight, tacky string lights nowhere to be seen, and shadows dance on the walls like silent observers.
I’m not alone.
Three figures emerge from the darkness, their silhouettes tall and imposing. The tallest of them steps forward first, a commanding presence that makes my stomach swoop with anticipation without him needing to say a word.
I’m hardly aware of his approach, but then his fingers are tracing the curve of my bare hip, sending shivers down my spine.
I hadn’t realized I was naked.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, that sweet praise vibrating throughout my body.
The second figure appears, light and buoyant, golden eyes smoldering with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His palm glides up my inner thigh, his touch electric as he leans in close to press a kiss to the shell of my ear.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” he whispers.
The third figure, hazier and quieter than the first two, approaches the foot of the bed, calm and patient yet deliciously domineering. His gaze travels over my exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He kneels between my legs, the other two spreading them for me to make room for him.
I am surrounded, blissfully overwhelmed by the wandering hands and generous mouths. Someone’s lips find mine, the kiss demanding and possessive. Another’s mouth travels down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. The third’s tongue paints patterns on my inner thigh, moving higher with each pass.
My body responds with an urgency that surprises me even in this dreamscape.
My fingers tangle in someone’s hair, pulling them closer as the kiss deepens.
My back arches off the bed as the figure between my thighs finally reaches his destination, his mouth hot and insistent against my most sensitive parts.
There are hands on my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re hard peaks to playfully pinch and nip at.
The room spins as they move over me, each touch building on the last until I’m writhing underneath them, a willing captive to their desires. The sounds that escape my throat are unfamiliar, breathy moans and desperate pleas that I didn’t even realize I was capable of.
The quiet presence between my legs slides up my body, his skin hot against mine as he positions himself at my entrance. The kiss is broken, mouth moving to my neck, my breasts, my nipples. The triple stimulation is intoxicating, pushing me closer to the edge with each passing second.
“Please,” I gasp, though I’m not sure what I’m begging for.
The answer comes as a slow and deliberate thrust that makes my eyes roll back in my head.
I’m filled so suddenly, aching with the pleasure of trying to accommodate such a large intrusion.
He sets a rhythm that the others match with their mouths and hands, until the layered sensation threatens to drive me insane.
The dream shifts and blurs as they take me higher, their movements becoming more urgent and demanding. The room fills with the sounds of it: skin against skin, my whimpering moans and their encouraging grunts, whispered words that dissolve into incoherence as the pressure crests.
When the release finally comes, it’s explosive, rocking my entire body with waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain. I cry out, my fingers digging into hard muscle and soft sheets as the world dissolves into dizzying sensation…
“Fuck!” I gasp, bolting upright as I come crashing back to reality.
The first thing I see is the Christmas tree in the corner of the dark room, a cheerful assault on my dignity.
I lean forward and drop my head into my hands.
This is exactly what happens when you spend too much time—which is longer than ten seconds, apparently—trapped inside a building full of attractive firefighters.
Your subconscious stages a mutiny. And, really, it’s my fault.
It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.
Or even been on a date, for that matter.
I’ve been so on-edge recently, like I always am this time of year, and knew that I’d probably need to spend some quality time with my vibrator just to relax for a few minutes.
But then I got sent here, and I definitely wasn’t about to pack something like that in my bag.
At least nobody else came in here while I was dreaming that ridiculous, stupid sequence. It felt so real and I have a tendency to sleep talk, so there’s no telling what I might have possibly muttered out loud.
Fighting the urge to smack myself in the head several times just to shake loose the lingering tendrils of heat, I rise to my feet and stalk back up to the mezzanine. Thankfully, nobody crosses my path.
Locked away in my room once again, I drop down into the chair at the desk and whip open my laptop.
There’s no way I’m going back to sleep anytime soon, not only because I’m wide awake again, but also because I really don’t want to risk drifting away into another fantasy that toes the line of scandal.
Not that I could clearly see any of the faces of the three men in the dream.
But, still. If I wanted to, I could very easily guess who they were supposed to be.
It means nothing, though. It’s just the three reasonably attractive men that I interacted with. My subconscious latched on to that and ran a little too far with it.
That’s all.
Shaking my head, I open up the file for Firehouse 17, the first to burn down, and Firehouse 9, the second.
I scroll through their reports side by side, then dig into what we’ve managed to collect on Firehouse 4.
It’s a pointless exercise, really, considering I already have most of this stuff memorized, but the jargon is complex enough that it keeps me distracted from less savory thoughts.
I click through it all, firehouse by firehouse.
Insurance records. Contractor histories. Maintenance logs.
The next hour passes unnoticed. My eyes burn a little from exhaustion that the rest of my body refuses to acknowledge. Nothing jumps out. Nothing connects. Just the ordinary paper trail of three old buildings that burned down, full of names and dates and permits that mean nothing yet.
One name turns up twice across the contractor records.
Delaney Urban Partners. I know the name from the subway ads, mostly, and from the piece of shit studio I rented in my first year on the job.
Persistent dampness and walls so thin I could hear my neighbor’s alarm clock.
Their developments are all over the city.
Finding their name on a contractor list probably means exactly as much as finding a Starbucks on a street corner.
I jot it down anyway.
Outside the little window, snow continues drifting down in lazy spirals. It’s barely stopped since this morning and yet has only managed to coat the city in a few inches at most. Manhattan absorbs winter the way it absorbs everything else. Without much fuss.
If I let myself keep going right now, I’m going to end up convincing myself that Spider-Man is real and he’s ready to help me solve these alleged crimes.
My stomach growls again.
Right. I went downstairs to forage and ended up having a sex dream instead.
I pause for a moment before opening the bedroom door yet again, but after confirming that the firehouse is still relatively quiet, I sneak all the way back down to the kitchen yet again.
I pass by a few crew members quietly tinkering away with some gear or tending to their chores, but nobody gives me much more than a passing glance. I wonder if Captain Hale told them to pretend I don’t exist.
In the kitchen, I open the fridge. There’s nothing but bottled water, a few electrolyte drinks, and labelled Tupperware containers. With a quiet sigh, I turn toward a bowl of fruit and try to determine in the dim light if the banana I’m reaching for is too green to eat.
And then I hear shuffling feet, so sudden and obvious that I wonder if it was on purpose. A gentle alarm before an introducing presence.
I turn to find Wes, no longer covered in grease, standing there. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie with the FDNY logo on it.