Still steamy for my Firefighter

Three Summers Later | Hannah

Eleven hours before baby boy Williams is born.

The air hangs heavy with August’s suffocating heat wrapping around me like a sticky embrace as I settle into the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. A heat wave the likes of which Kissing Springs hasn’t seen in a generation rolled in earlier this week and shows no sign of letting up.

Daisy glances up from the spot next to me where she’s been sprawled out on the rug for ten minutes now. Despite the ceiling fan on high, beads of sweat slide down the crevice between my breasts, absorbed into the maternity bra I could wring out like a wet towel.

I grip the board book I was just about to add to the bookcase to fan my face as my head falls back against the cushion, lulled by the gentle glide of the chair. Despite the west-facing window, the nursery is a haven I’ve escaped to often these past few weeks as the anticipation of our baby boy’s imminent arrival is both thrilling and terrifying.

I prop my swollen bare feet on the ottoman just as the familiar hum of Hunter’s motorcycle turns into the driveway. Daisy’s ears twitch, but she makes no move to leave my side to greet him at the door.

I pet her head with one hand and draw the curtain back to enjoy the show as Hunter pulls off his helmet and shakes out his hair, the dark curls glinting in the golden rays of the late afternoon sun.

My husband throws a thick leg over the back and sets the kickstand while a different kind of heat ignites between my thighs. A throbbing ache only he, with that powerful body of his, knows how to satisfy.

I move to rise, but still as Mrs. McArthur emerges from her house next door to flag Hunter down before he can make his way inside. Damn.

For a solid five minutes she holds him hostage, no doubt suggesting another handful of baby names. She stopped by the library just yesterday with advice on how to induce labor and I had to cut her off before she started suggesting non-PG friendly ways in front of our toddler group that was gathering for story time.

Hunter, who shoots at least three desperate glances toward our front door as if hoping I’m going to appear and rescue him, finally manages to extricate himself and, with a wave, calls goodbye as he beelines it to our porch while she shuffles back to her front door.

“Honey?” he calls, as the door closes behind him.

“Up here.”

He takes the stairs two at a time, his boots thumping against the stairs, and his entrance brings a burst of energy, a refreshing breeze in the midst of the August heat.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he grins, leaning down to place a soft kiss on my forehead. “How are you?” He squats next to the chair to lay a hand on my belly as he gives Daisy a rub, too.

“Hot, but good,” I assure him. “Have a nice chat with Mrs. McArthur?”

“See that, did you?” he asks with a wry smile.

“Yesterday, she tried to convince me the name Arthur is seeing a resurgence.”

Hunter chuckles, a deep, hearty sound that fills the room and my heart.

“Arthur, huh? Well, it has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” he winks, his hand sliding absently down to my thigh.

I play along, raising an eyebrow. “Absolutely. Arthur Williams, just rolls off the tongue.”

“Art for short,” he says with a laugh, shaking his head.

I wrinkle my nose and try to keep a straight face. “Maybe a middle name? You know, keep the first name for something that starts with H.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Mrs. McArthur would be so disappointed.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“Well,” he says, his thumb tracing absently over my bare thigh, “either way we’ll have to pick a name soon if we want to be ready.”

The baby moves and I shift on the chair and wince. It’s not painful, just dreadfully uncomfortable, like my organs are squished inside a jack-in-the-box that’s being cranked but shows no sign of popping.

“You okay?” Hunter asks, his dark eyes scanning me as he shifts from husband mode to first responder mode in an instant.

“I’m fine,” I assure him with a weak smile. “Just a healthy woman who happens to be thirty-nine weeks pregnant, you know.”

“And hanging in there like a trooper. Anything I can do for you? Where’s your water bottle?” He turns to scan the room and spots it over by the bookcase I was organizing. A second later, it’s in my hand.

“Thanks.” I take a long swig of iced water. “It’s just so hot and the forecast doesn’t show any relief in sight. I’d love nothing more than to take a cold shower then eat a big bowl of ice cream.”

He cocks an eyebrow, then brushes a piece of damp hair back off of my forehead. “I’m pretty sweaty from my shift.”

That tone—sexy and inviting—gets me every time. Especially when my hormones are raging, even if I feel as big as a whale.

“How about I join you?”

“Only if you let me do all the scrubbing,” he murmurs, leaning close enough to kiss me.

I grab his shirt and tug him closer, kissing him soundly. He smells like hard work and red-blooded male. A hum of approval resonates from deep in his chest, and my lips curve into a smile against his.

“Is that a promise?”

He draws back to tug his shirt off over his head in one smooth move then presses a kiss to my swollen belly as his hand trails up my thigh. “I did vow to love and to cherish you.”

“You did,” I confirm, picturing Hunter, with tears in his eyes as he stood in front of me in a dark suit and held both of my hands in his as he recited his vows in front of all our friends and family here in Kissing Springs.

“And,” he adds in that delicious tone, “Sliding my sudsy hands all over your beautiful body seems like the least I can do considering you’re the one who’s doing the heavy lifting carrying our son.”

I grip his shoulder and inch my thighs apart. “All over?”

His fingers slide between my legs and caress my clit through the wet cotton. I bite my lip as a wave of pleasure tingles through me.

“Every. Single. Inch,” he confirms, watching me carefully. “Especially those spots that may enjoy some extra attention.”

“You, Mr. Williams,” I say, wriggling against him. “Have got yourself a deal.”

💕 Thanks so much for reading! 

xoxo Ellen

Still Steamy for my Firefighter!

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