He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 27

Chapter 27

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When I hung up, I had about an hour and a half before Milo came over.

I prepped everything: chicken ready for the oven, asparagus trimmed and washed, seasoned and waiting. Dessert stayed simple–strawberries with homemade whipped

cream.

I checked the lingerie. Dry.

I slid into it and turned in front of my full–length mirror. Pale pink, delicate, almost innocent -until it wasn’t. The bra cups were sheer lace, tiny pink flowers positioned right over my nipples. The panties were basically a suggestion: lace over my mound, strings everywhere

else.

I turned around and studied the way the thin strap disappeared between my cheeks, extra strings lifting and rounding them like I needed help.

I didn’t.

On top, I pulled on a gray knit dress with quarter sleeves, hem hitting mid–thigh. Then black,

sheer thigh–highs, rolled up carefully.

Back in the kitchen, I slid the chicken into the oven and opened a bottle of wine, letting it

breathe.

The asparagus only needed ten minutes at the end, so I sprawled with my e–reader. The

book I picked had a betrayed high school girl and four new gorgeous guys who all fell for

her. It was ridiculous.

And very spicy.

My phone alarm went off right in the middle of a scene that had me overheating.

I pushed up, flustered, and sautéed the asparagus in garlic and butter. The chicken timer followed; I pulled it out and let it rest, plated everything, and carried the plates to the dining

table.

Knock.

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I opened the door.

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Milo stood there with a single pink tulip in his hand, green eyes bright, smile so unfair it

should’ve been illegal.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hi,” I breathed.

I stepped aside. He walked in and looked around.

“Our places are basically mirrored,” he said. “Mine’s all brown and cream. I like your black-

and–white thing.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Dinner’s ready.”

He held out the flower. “For you.”

I took it, found a small vase, and set it in the center of the table between us.

Over food and wine, we filled in the gaps.

I told him I was an only child. That my parents lived in Spain. Dad was Spanish; Mom was

Scottish and French. I told him why I’d moved.

He told me he was one of six boys–third in line–and twenty–eight. Florida for six years, this

building for two. Las Vegas originally.

“And you left because…?” I asked.

“A breakup,” he said, matter–of–fact. “My fiancée–three years together–cheated on me

with my best friend.”

My chest tightened. “That’s brutal. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “We were probably too young to be getting married.”

We finished the first bottle. I grabbed another and refilled our glasses on the couch. He ate dessert and passed me a bowl.

“Strawberries and cream,” he said, impressed. “And you made whipped cream from

scratch?”

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“It’s easy,” I told him. “Heavy cream, vanilla. I add a little sugar, but honestly it’s good without it too.” I shifted the bowl in my hands. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I turned on the TV and opened Apple TV.

“What are we watching?” he asked.

“Whatever,” he added when I paused.

I smiled to myself and hit play.

50 Shades of Gray.

He leaned forward. “What’s this one about?”

I stared. “You’re serious? You’ve never even heard of it?”

“No,” he said, looking genuinely confused.

I laughed until it hit my

stomach.

“Well,” I told him, “my ridiculously hot neighbor–you’re about to have an education.”

His grin widened.

An hour in, he was completely absorbed. At some point, his shoes had come off. His black

slacks didn’t hide much.

I shifted closer, lifted his arm, and tucked myself against him.

He looked down at me, lust flashing straight through. “You’re playing with fire, gorgeous.”

“I like heat,” I murmured. “Mr. Firefighter.”

He moved fast–one second adjusting, the next pulling me onto him. I straddled his lap and

our mouths crashed together.

Wet. Hot. Hungry.

His tongue met mine like he’d been waiting all day. His fist slid into my hair and tugged, just

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enough sting to make my gasp turn into a moan. I ground down on his erection. My dress had ridden up, and his free hand squeezed my left ass cheek hard.

“You’re so fucking hot, Scar,” he rasped, and kissed me again like he meant it.

He turned us and laid me back on the couch. He pressed into me, grinding against my panties until my breath broke. I could feel how big he was, even through fabric.

“I need to get inside you,” he growled.

He sat up and yanked off his green polo. The sight punched a sound out of me. I sat up and dragged my dress over my head.

“Fuck,” he said, voice rough. “So damn sexy.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom.

Prepared.

He shoved his slacks down and I swallowed hard.

I had forgotten.

The locker room glimpse hadn’t been enough–nothing about him was subtle. Long, thick,

veined. Hairless, which only made him look bigger.

He bent over me and slid my panties down slowly, like he was unwrapping something he’d been wanting. I unclasped my bra and let it drop to the floor.

“So gorgeous,” he said, almost reverent.

A finger traced one nipple in a slow circle, and he watched the way it tightened.

Then he lowered himself onto me and treated my breasts like a prayer–mouth closing over

each nipple, tongue flicking, sucking until I couldn’t keep still.

His hand drifted lower, fingers parting my slick folds. He teased my clit with light strokes,

soft enough to make me ache.

“Ah–please,” I whispered, already trembling. “Milo. I need more.”

He gave it.

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One finger, then two, pushing in while his mouth stayed on me. My legs opened wider without me even thinking. His thumb found my clit and pressed.

The orgasm hit hard.

“Yesss,” I screamed, hips lifting, chasing his hand. He kissed me, deep and dirty.

Then he lined himself up at my entrance and pushed in.

“Oh–God,” I moaned.

He groaned and stopped, holding still while I adjusted around him. He kissed me softly,

checking my face.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good,” he said. “Hold on.”

He pulled back and drove forward again. And again. Faster, heavier, building rhythm until

the couch creaked beneath us.

He shifted upright, hands gripping me, guiding me onto him.

“Ride me, beautiful.”

I did.

Up, down–using my thighs, my hips, my whole body. He held my waist and helped, thrusting up as I came down, meeting me perfectly. When I rotated my hips, his sound turned guttural.

“That’s it,” he said, voice breaking. “So good. So fucking good.”

His words turned filthy, praising, demanding–telling me exactly what he liked, exactly what

he felt as I took him.

I moaned and he smacked my ass.

Then again.

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“Don’t you?” he demanded, the second smack landing harder.

Fuck.

I loved this.

“Yes,” I gasped. “Milo–God, yes. I love your big cock.”

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I moved faster, chasing the edge as wet sounds filled the room. My body was on fire.

“Yes, baby,” he groaned. “You feel so good. Best pussy ever.”

He held me down, cock pulsing as he came, and his thumb went straight back to my clit.

I shattered.

My head fell back and I screamed as orgasm rolled through me–again and again–too long,

too intense, until my muscles quivered and I collapsed onto him.

“Jesus, Scar,” he said, breathless. “You destroyed me.”

He wasn’t the only one.

Fuck.

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He Cheated; I Chose Two Firefighters