"You feel amazing," I whisper, half-delirious from the incredible heat of her, the way her walls flutter around me like they're pulling me deeper.
She watches me with glazed eyes as she works herself onto me little by little, panting hard. I glide my hand up her body and palm her breasts, pinching her nipple lightly—rolling it between my fingers until it pebbles harder. The sound she makes is the sort of thing I wish I could bottle up and carry with me everywhere—a breathy, needy whimper that shoots straight to my balls.
When Lila has taken my full length, she collapses forward onto her hands, leaning over me on all fours. Her blonde hair curtains us, her tits brushing my chest with every ragged breath.
And, at last, I get to kiss her. I sweep my tongue past her gasping lips, tangling with hers in a messy, open-mouthed kiss as she starts moving in a slow rhythm—grinding down, circling her hips in a way that makes me see stars. I can tell she's still adjusting, still tender, but then her soft moans turn into something more like whimpers and I know she's ready.
I don't care if she said I should rest and let her ride me. I'm taking control.
I grip her backside—fingers digging into the soft flesh—and hold her still, thrusting up into her hard and deep. She sinks onto her elbows, burying her face in my neck as I set the pace, pounding upward with relentless snaps of my hips. The bed creaks under us, the station's distant hum a reminder of how thin these walls are, how one wrong noise could bring someone knocking. I breathe in her floral perfume and the scandalous scent of sweat and sex, and all she can do is cling to me as I fuck her like this—clumsy at first, but building to a frantic rhythm where every thrust hits that spot inside her, making her walls clench tighter.
"Fuck, Noah—right there," she gasps against my skin, her nails raking down my back, leaving hot trails that only spur me on.
It's raw, desperate—the kind of fuck that erases everything else: the fire, the screw-up, the campaign hanging by a thread. Just her heat gripping me, her body arching, her moans muffled in my shoulder as I drive deeper, faster, chasing that edge.
When she climaxes, I can feel it. There's a pulsing sensation, and her already tight walls start squeezing in a soft rhythm—milkingme, fluttering wildly. It sends me right over the edge along with her, my release slamming through me in hot waves as I bury myself to the hilt, groaning her name into her hair.
As we tumble into the blissful abyss, she slumps on top of me, boneless and sated.
"Can't believe this is my life," she murmurs, nuzzling my neck.
"Tell me about it, Blondie," I whisper back.
Chapter eighteen
Chapter Eighteen: Lila
Kate Branson closes the conference room door with the same kind of finality of someone sealing a coffin. Theclickechoes ominously.
I’m alone in here with her, but it’s not like I’m scared or anything. Respectfully intimidated is probably a better phrase.
She takes a seat across from me, her back straight, hands folded, and expression neutral. I’m trying my best not to use the nickname that the station has secretly given her, but she really does look like a hawk right now, hunting for her next meal.
“Ms. Hart,” she begins.
“Please, just call me Lila,” I remind her.
Her lips purse with obvious disapproval, but the union rep certainly knows how to pick her battles, so she responds with a simple, “Lila, then. As you know, we have much to talk about.”
I sit up a little straighter. “Yes, that’s exactly why I requested this meeting. I had a feeling you’d be wanting to discuss the situation with me.”
“The situation, meaning the livestream incident.”
“Yes, that one.” It’s been two days of pure bedlam, but I didn’t go into PR because I’m a wuss who doesn’t know how to handle tricky situations. Quite the opposite. “It’s been handled.”
“Handled,” Branson repeats, leaning back in her chair. “Elaborate on that.”
How does she do it? How does she manage to look so classy and feminine, yet incredibly frightening at the same time? God, I’d like to be her when I grow up.
“Noah’s public apology has already been posted to all online channels. Furthermore, Sandy and Clara, the firefighters who were in the engine with them when he was prepping for the stunt, also insisted on posting their own apologies for not taking enough responsibility to identify the potential problem and intervening appropriately.”
“Right.”
The tone of her voice suggests that I should keep talking, so I do. “We also got lucky because the father of the child that Noah rescued has also gone public on his personal social media accounts, defending Noah and arguing that he’s more than happy to have had this moment shared with the world so that everyone can see just how brave the FDNY is.”
Branson nods slowly. “My assistant showed me this morning. I believe his exact phrasing was that we should ‘not be weaponizing a clumsy video to punish heroes.’ I suppose that goes along with your Save A Hero thing.”
She’s not smiling, nor does she look particularly pleased by the words coming out of her mouth, but I grin and nod. “Absolutely. Also, the father is holding the puppy Noah saved in the videos, so that definitely helps to soothe the vitriol. I wouldn’t say we’re back on even ground, but public sentiment is definitely rebounding back to at least the center of the board. Or whatever the correct metaphor is supposed to be.”
