Noah swiped one crest with his tongue. “Hang up,” he commanded harshly as her thighs went from wet to dripping. Her other nipple got a similar treatment.
Erin pulled the phone away from her face to moan. Since she made no motion to stop him, Noah took it to be her tacit approval to start vigorously suckling on her tits. Erin found herself scooting forward to grind her center against his naked obliques. Hoping she wouldn’t melt immediately, she struggled to keep her voice steady. “I have to go.”
“Hey, wait—”
Noah took the phone out of her hand, hit ‘disconnect,’ and tossed it over his shoulder into the living room. “He can call you back later.”
The brief distraction of the phone gave her a chance to regroup, and she slid off the table. “You’re so naughty.” Erin rolled his boxers down, freeing him. She kissed her way down his hard pecs and abs right to the head of his cock. With her best Mona Lisa smile, she gave the tip a quick kiss.
“Erin,” he warned, fingers resting on her hair like he itched to position her for maximum deep throating potential.
“Bedroom?” She wrapped her lips around the flared head and sucked hard. The spicy, salty taste of him flooded her mouth.
“Bedroom,” he agreed in a strangled voice.
No need to delay. She threw her shirt over her head. “We already unmade the bed. Let’s see how close you can hold me.”
Her words weren’t forgotten an hour later after Noah practiced holding her close. In fact, he held her so close, he slept inside of her.
Erin should have stopped him, tried to distance him, but she was too satisfied and fulfilled to wonder if they were moving too fast.
Chapter 23
Halloween was an eternally exciting twenty-four-hours for firefighters. It was less exciting for the administrative side.
“Good morning, Chief.” Division Chief of Operations, Alan Hastings was at his door. Alan had been with the department over forty years. He’d reached Operations Chief in the 1990s and openly stated he had no ambition to advance. As a result, he was not a political threat, he knew everything about the department, and he was one of the sharpest men Noah had ever met.
Alan hid it under a thick Mississippi drawl, which he turned on and off at will.
Fire Marshall Russell Taggert hurried in after. This was Noah’s first meeting on what was an over-scheduled day.
The two men sat in the visitor’s chairs across from Noah’s desk rather than the unfriendly chairs he reserved for disciplinary meetings. They spread out copies of paperwork.
The Fire Marshall went first. “Here’s this month’s report on suspicious mail sent to CCFD.”
Beyond the other city services, the CCFD had a centralized mail system. All letters to CCFD, regardless of their actual delivery address, went through the HQ sorting system. It allowed them to keep HQ on top of the community requests, rather than depending on individual firehouses. The mailroom discarded the junk mail, copied requests, and forwarded the letters to the appropriate firehouse along with official CCFD mail.
“Anything exciting sent to any of the firehouses last month?” Noah asked.
Taggert guffawed. “A remarkable number of people find you very attractive. Overall, vaguely threatening letters are down, but you and Firehouse 15 got a slight uptick in being accused of affirmative action and being communists. It was offset by a small increase in accusations of the Chief being a ruthless profiteer. Wonder if these people talk to each other. One accused you of all three.”
“They need a dictionary,” Hasting suggested in his southern drawl.
“I did bring that one…” Taggert fished through his paperwork and read, “’I cannot begin to express my disappointment in the Communist bastards in charge of the once proud Cleveland Fire Department. Chief Baked-head encourages the continual weakening of our institutions by inviting inferior races and females to participate. You bow to the gods of capitalism who line your pockets. Don’t be surprised when the women end up pregnant like the whores they are, and the city burns down around us. Best of luck and have a nice day.’”
“Wow,” Hastings said. “There’s a cry for therapy in there. I don’t suppose they cut out magazine letters and pasted them on the paper.”
“Nope, it’s typed.” The Marshall rotated it for Noah to see.
“Return address?” Noah gingerly picked it up. “In case Chief Baked-head wants to write him back.”
“He wrote the return address from Washington DC, the Capitol building. The postmark, however, was from Lyndhurst.’”
“Long commute,” Hastings quipped. “I trust you forwarded that one to the boys in blue… well, the people in blue if we’re planning on including ‘the pregnant whores’ who run that service.”
“Good catch. I’m sure Chief Reyes appreciates being included in the letter writer’s high regard,” Noah said.
“Of course, I did. I also alerted the firehouses in Lyndhurst to monitor for increased arson,” the Marshall said.
