Stretching His Tiny Lookout (Forbidden Firsts #6)

He’s forty-one, on duty, and not supposed to put his hands on her.

She’s twenty-one, first overnight, petite enough that his flannel eats her whole. Untouched. Up here because she thought a fire tower was the one place nothing could happen.

Then lightning drops two pines across the switchback. Dispatch says sit until morning. One cot. One radio. Twelve flights of wet grate and no way down.

Told in his voice. Short, low plot, high spice and unrealistic on purpose.

He kisses her before the road even closes. He puts her in his lap with her clothes on and makes her come like that. He strips her, teaches her with his mouth, stretches her on his fingers, and when he reaches for a condom she stops him.

She wants it bare. She wants to feel every bit of it. He gives her that, over and over—against the glass, in his lap, over the map table at dawn—and he does not pull out.