35. Ember
Ember
“Control changed hands so easily between them
it almost looked like trust.”
— Unknown
A breathless, involuntary giggle bubbles up in my throat, breaking the heavy, loaded silence of the kitchen. I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking as the sheer absurdity of the scene hits me.
Brooks is down there, hands on his thighs, looking like he’s ready to receive a court martial, and the contrast to his usual ‘I’m the grumpy fire chief’ persona is just too much.
“Brooks,” I gasp, peering at him through my fingers as another laugh spills out. “Get up. You are entirely too large to be doing this. You look like you’ve accidentally shrunk in the wash. It’s ridiculous.”
His jaw drops with mock offense. “Wow. Thanks, Ember. Truly. I’m out here baring my soul—and my knees—and I’m a laundry mishap.”
“Oh, you’re definitely a mishap,” I wheeze, sliding off the bar stool.
My bare feet pad softly against the floor as I walk over, stopping just inches from him. I have to look down at him, which is a view I’m starting to think should be legally protected.
“So, what’s the endgame? You’re just going to camp out on my kitchen floor? What if I need to get into the fridge for a midnight snack? Do I just step on you like a piece of furniture?”
“You’ll have to step over me,” he says, his voice a low, steady rumble that completely contradicts his submissive position.
His eyes darken as they track me, lingering on my mouth.
“Or, you can tell me exactly what you want from the fridge, and I’ll get it for you.
I’m at your service, Ember. Entirely at your disposal. ”
“Oh, really?” I tilt my head, a wicked, playful spark flaring to life in my chest. “Anything?”
“Anything,” he promises. “Name it.”
“Then come here,” I say, walking backward toward the living room rug, daring him to follow. “Crawl to me, Brooks. I want to see you cross that distance on your knees.”
I say it as a total tease, a snarky jab, fully expecting him to call my bluff. But he doesn’t blink. He just shifts, those massive shoulders bunching as he moves toward me with a slow, deliberate focus that makes the air in the room feel heavy.
Watching him actually do it—watching that heavy, capable, intimidating man submit to my whim—sends a jolt of pure, electric shock straight to my veins. The laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a heat that radiates outward.
I blink, hyper-aware of the space between us. Wait. This isn’t just a bit anymore. There is something deeply, undeniably hot about the way he ignores his own pride just to get closer to me.
He stops at my feet, looking up at me, completely undone by the simple command I’d given him. “What next, Emmy?” he rasps. “Tell me what you want.”
“Take off your shirt,” I whisper, my voice breathless as the reality of my own power hits me.
He doesn’t hesitate, pulling the fabric over his head and casting it aside to reveal his broad, muscled chest in the dim light. He sits there, exposed and waiting, his hands resting on his thighs.
“You know, you’re absolutely pathetic.” I reach out, my fingers tracing the hard line of his collarbone, reveling in the way he shudders under my touch. “You really like being down there, don’t you? At my mercy?”
“I love it,” he says. “I want to be whatever you need me to be. I want you to look down at me and know I’m yours to do whatever the hell you want with.”
“Then show me how much you want it,” I command.
I reach down and grab his hair, forcing his head back so he’s staring directly up at me.
The rush of it is overwhelming—I’m in control, and I love the way his eyes go hazy and wild when I assert it.
“Say it. Tell me exactly what you’re going to do to me. ”
“I want to taste you,” he says. “I want to be between your legs, licking every drop of you until you’re shaking and begging for mercy. I want to make you scream my name until you can’t remember anyone else’s touch but mine. I’ll do anything. I’ll worship you. I’ll ruin you. Just let me.”
“Now,” I say, my voice dropping to a breathless thread. “Carry me.”
I let out a sharp, muffled gasp, my arms looping around his neck out of pure survival instinct as he lifts me completely off the floor. He hoists me until my hips are level with his chest, my legs wrapping tightly around him.
He walks straight into the dark bedroom, where the only light is the pale, gray wash of the rain against the windowpane. He holds me securely, his chest heaving against mine, his eyes wild and dark as he waits.
“Put me down on the edge of the bed,” I tell him.
“Bossy,” he murmurs. “I love it when you get all high and mighty while you’re shaking apart for me. It’s a hell of a turn-on.”
He obeys anyway, lowering my hips to the edge of the mattress. I sit back, my curls tumbling around my shoulders. Brooks drops back down to his knees right between my open legs, his hands reaching out to wrap around my ankles, anchoring himself to me.
“What now, Emmy? I’m waiting on your next order. Tell me what you want from me and I’ll give it to you—I’ll give it to you twice, if you ask.”
I reach down, twisting my fingers into his hair and pulling him closer until he’s right there, right where he belongs. “Show me,” I command. “I want to see exactly how much you want me.”
“Fuck, you’re so sexy, Emmy.”
He hooks his thumbs into my shorts and thong, his gaze silently asking for permission as he glances up. I lift my hips just enough, a silent invitation, and he drags them down my legs in one smooth, sweeping motion, tossing them onto the floor without breaking his focus on me.
Now completely bare from the waist down beneath my oversized shirt, I feel the cool air of the bedroom hit my skin, followed by the heat of his gaze.
He looks back up at me.
“Tell me how you want it, Emmy,” he breathes, his nose brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “My fingers? Or my mouth?”
“Your mouth,” I pant, my voice barely holding together. “Use your mouth, Brooks.”
“You want to sit on my face?” he asks, smirking. “Let me take all of you. Spread your legs for me, Emmy. I want to see exactly what I’m working with.”
I shift forward, sliding to the very edge of the mattress, my legs trembling as I fall open for him.
Brooks lets out a low groan, his massive hands gripping my ass, kneading the flesh with a possessive strength that leaves no doubt who’s in charge.
He lifts me just enough to position me exactly where he wants me.
When his tongue makes its first, long stroke from the base of my pussy all the way to my clit, a raw, broken sob tears out of my throat. My hips jerk instinctively into his face, desperate for the friction. He laps at me, steady and relentless, his thumbs hooking inside me to stretch me wide.
“Goddamn, you’re so pretty down here,” he mumbles against my pussy. “So swollen and ready for me.”
He shifts, his tongue diving deeper, lapping at my sensitive pussy with a frantic, greedy intensity that makes my vision swim. “You taste like everything I’ve been craving. Every time I swirl my tongue, you get soaked.”
Every time I try to catch my breath, he pins me down with his hands, his mouth never leaving my pussy, feasting on me until I’m thrashing beneath him, my fingers tangling in his hair as I try to pull him even harder against me.
“Brooks, please,” I cry out. “You’re killing me.”
“Good,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let me have all of it. Cry for me, Emmy. Let me take every single drop.”
His gaze lifts to mine, and that unrepentant smirk I saw earlier flickers across his lips again. He looks far too pleased with how thoroughly he’s unraveling me.
Without breaking eye contact, he reaches up, sliding one long finger into my pussy. I gasp, arching my back, but he just chuckles, deep and dark in his chest.
“Oh, you like that?” He twists his finger, teasing the swollen, sensitive walls, watching my eyes roll back. “Do you want more? Or is one finger enough?”
I try to find a snappy retort, a way to reclaim the upper hand, but my brain feels like mush.
He slides a second finger in, pushing deeper, stretching me.
“You’re so tight. Fuck, you feel incredible.
Tell me, Emmy—do you want me to keep stretching you until you’re begging for the rest of me? Tell me.”
“I want you to… to keep going,” I confess, my voice a broken whisper as his fingers pump in and out, hitting that perfect spot.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He shifts his pace, his tongue flicking faster, his lips wrapping around me and creating a heavy, rhythmic suction that makes my vision go entirely blurry.
He licks deep inside me, then strokes upward, over and over, his hands squeezing my hips to hold me against his mouth as I try to escape the intensity of the pleasure.
I scream his name into the quiet bedroom, my body arching entirely off the bed as a violent, spasming orgasm rips through me. Brooks stays right there, taking every single drop until my whimpers fade into sharp breaths and the worst of my shaking stops.
He pulls back, his face slick with the evidence. He stands up from the floor, his silhouette blocking out the gray window light as he quickly rids himself of his pants and underwear. He climbs onto the bed and hovers over me on his hands and knees.
He looks down at me, his face soft, his breathing as ragged as mine.
“What else, Emmy?” he asks. “Tell me what’s next. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere until you’re completely taken care of.”
I reach up, my palms cupping his jaw, my thumbs tracing the line of his mouth. “Fuck me, Brooks.”
A low sound escapes his chest—a mix of a groan and a sob.
He guides the hot, blunt tip of his cock against my pussy, sliding through the slickness he created, but he doesn’t drive forward yet. He holds himself at the entrance, his chest heaving, his eyes searching mine.
“I’m clean, Emmy,” he murmurs. “I want to be as close to you as possible. You okay with that?”
For a heartbeat, I hesitate. The thought of the consequences flies through my mind, making my pulse jump. It’s only a micro-second, a tiny flicker of reality, but it’s enough to make me freeze.
Brooks catches it immediately.
He doesn’t push, he doesn’t frown, and there isn’t even a hint of frustration in his eyes. Without a word of protest, he reaches into the pocket of his pants that are laying on the ground and pulls out a small, foil-wrapped square.
I blink, a surprised, shaky laugh escaping me. “Damn, you were prepared, huh?”
“I was a scout, Emmy,” he says. “I’m always prepared for the things I want the most.”
I really didn’t know watching a man roll a condom on could be this unfairly hot, but something about the quiet confidence of it—the steady focus in his expression, the way his hands flex around himself—makes heat curl low in my stomach all over again.
His eyes flick up to mine as if he catches every thought crossing my face, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
Then he sinks into me with a slow, heavy deep push, filling me so completely that another sharp gasp escapes my lips. He keeps his movements agonizingly slow and deliberate, pulling almost entirely out until the tip is just brushing my opening, before sinking back in.
“Emmy,” he groans. “You’re so tight. You’re perfect.”
“Yeah?” I breathe, my fingernails grazing his shoulders as I pull him flush against me. “Then you’d better start treating me like it.”
He lets out a low laugh, locking his hips with mine before he drives in deep, filling me with a heavy force. “Oh, I’m planning on it.”
“Mm. Say it again,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
“You’re so soaked,” he murmurs against my ear, and he thrusts harder, the friction sudden and sharp. I let out a sharp sob.
“So greedy for me,” he pants, his eyes burning into mine before he sinks back in, deeper and faster. I arch into him, my breath catching in a broken, desperate sound.
“Look at you,” he rasps, as he thrusts hard. “Coming apart just for me.”
I lose my mind completely, my voice vanishing into a chain of breathless, desperate sounds.
Brooks lets out a low moan against my neck, his fingers digging into my hips to hold me still as he delivers three hard, punishingly deep thrusts that send us both completely over the edge.
He goes completely still above me, his forehead dropping against my shoulder as a wrecked sound leaves his chest. His grip on my hips loosens by degrees, like he’s forcing himself to remember how to be gentle again after holding on so tightly.
We stay like that for a long time, the only sound our echoing breaths in the quiet bedroom, our bodies glued together by sweat and rain-cooled air.
Slowly, gently, Brooks shifts his weight, a low groan escaping his lips as he slides to the side.
He presses one last kiss to my shoulder and reaches down toward the edge of the bed.
I hear the soft rustle of foil and latex, the muted creak of the bathroom trash bin opening and shutting a second later.
Even now, flushed and half-breathless, he moves with that same quiet steadiness—taking care of things without making me feel awkward about any of it.
When he comes back to me, there’s nothing hurried or careless about him. He slides right back into bed like returning to my side is the most natural thing in the world.
“So,” I mumble into the pillow. “Chief, I believe there’s a regulation about unauthorized access to private property. How do you intend to file your report?”
Brooks lets out a low, rumbling chuckle against my neck, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the skin behind my ear. “I’m thinking I might just plead temporary insanity, counselor. The defendant was… highly distracting.”
“Temporary?” I tease. “You’re looking at a life sentence, hot neighbor. I have very high standards for my neighborhood watch.”
“I’ll take it,” he whispers, pulling me closer. “As long as I’m the only one on patrol, city girl.”