Heat & Desire: A MFM Firefighter Romance (Surrender to Them Book 4)

  Heat & Desire

  A MFM Romance

  Kelli Callahan

  Copyright © 2018 by Kelli Callahan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Wendy

  2. Wendy

  3. Brody

  4. Wendy

  5. Micah

  6. Wendy

  7. Brody

  8. Wendy

  9. Brody

  10. Micah

  11. Wendy

  12. Wendy

  13. Brody

  14. Wendy

  15. Micah

  16. Wendy

  17. Wendy

  18. Brody

  19. Wendy

  20. Micah

  21. Brody

  Epilogue

  Join My Mailing List

  Kelli’s Voracious Vixens

  Small Town Seven: Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Wendy

  Five years ago

  “Make a wish and blow out your candles, Wendy. The rest of us want to eat the cake instead of stare at it.” My best friend, Beth, nudged my ribs and motioned to the eighteen tiny flames in front of me.

  “Yeah, okay.” I smiled and looked up.

  “Don’t forget to make a wish.” She nudged me again.

  “Right.” I took a deep breath and blew until I was staring at nothing but smoldering wicks.

  That’s one wish that will never come true, but it won’t stop me from wanting it.

  “Good job. Let’s eat.” Beth picked up the knife and grinned.

  Everyone in the room was focused on the cake and getting their slice. My attention was focused elsewhere—past the group of people gathered at the table. Beth’s father was sitting in his favorite chair, staring at the football game on the television set in front of him, trying to hear the announcers over the excitement of people arguing over how much icing they got. He was what I wished for—the hottest single-dad on the planet. It was a foolish wish that might as well have been whispered into a hurricane. He didn’t see me as anything more than one of his daughter’s friends. I would have done anything to change that, but I was completely invisible to him, even on my birthday. I wasn’t brave enough to flirt, and truthfully, I didn’t even know how.

  “This cake is delicious!” Beth dug her fork into the icing as she chewed her first bite.

  “Yeah, I’m definitely getting my next birthday cake from Marigold Bakery. This is freaking fantastic.” Emma, one of our other friends, grinned as she eagerly stuffed a second bite into her mouth.

  “So, what did you wish for?” Beth turned towards me. “I bet you wished that Cody would ask you out!”

  No, not exactly—even if he is the most popular guy at school.

  “That would be my wish.” Emma nodded quickly. “That’s the worst part of graduating from high school—knowing that we won’t see his beautiful smile ever again.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m going to the same college as him.” A grin spread across Beth’s lips. “You never know, he might be happy to see a familiar face.”

  “Keep dreaming. He’ll have even more girls throwing themselves at him when he takes the field at the University of Texas.” Emma finished her last bite and sighed. “I should have been a cheerleader. At least then I would have had a shot with him.”

  “You’re not participating in this conversation, Wendy. You’re supposed to be lavishing Cody with the praise he deserves like we are.” Beth giggled and gave me a light tap on my shoulder.

  “Sorry—he’s just not my type.” I shrugged and put down my plate.

  “Not your type? He’s every girl’s type!” Emma looked almost offended by my comment.

  “Fine, yes. I wished that Cody would ask me out before graduation.” I forced a smile and nodded.

  I might as well lie. It’s better than the truth.

  “I knew it!” Beth giggled and picked up the knife. “Okay, who wants another slice of cake?”

  “Me!” Emma pushed her plate over immediately.

  I was one of the few girls at Canyon City High School who wasn’t madly in love with Cody Danvers, our star quarterback. I understood the appeal. He was certainly hot, but he wasn’t my type because when I looked at him, I just saw a boy. I had no idea why my desires were misaligned with the rest of my friends. Guys my own age just didn’t get me excited. If I did have a type, it was the man sitting in the other room. Just looking at him made my stomach do flips while my whole body tingled. Beth’s father was a real man. He was rugged, alpha-as-fuck, covered in beautiful ink, and so hot my panties practically melted off my hips when I looked at him. When he wasn’t starting a fire between my thighs, he was putting them out with his hose—just not the hose I dreamed about.

  Several hours later

  “Did you have a good birthday party?” Beth walked into the kitchen while I was trying to get the cake back in the box, so we could save what was left.

  “I did. Thank you so much.” I turned to Beth with a warm smile. “I really appreciate you throwing this party for me.”

  “Sorry I didn’t get you strippers or alcohol.” Beth chuckled and motioned towards the living room. “Dad might not pay attention to much, but that’s where he draws the line.”

  “This party was perfect.” I walked over and hugged her. “It means more than you know.”

  “I just want you to be happy. You deserve that.” She sighed as we broke from our embrace. “Are you heading home, or do you want to spend the night?”

  “I’ll stay, if you don’t mind. It’s late and you know what that means…” I shook my head and let my words trail off.

  “I don’t mind at all.” She smiled and nodded. “You’re always welcome here.”

  Beth’s house had been my sanctuary for several years. I hated going home. My father was a shell of the man who raised me, and it was hard to remember the days when he was sober. I tried everything from tears to threats, but nothing got through to him. My mother abandoned us when I was a little girl and he never figured out how to heal the wound she left behind. I didn’t realize it was an issue when I was younger. He drank in the evenings, but it didn’t impact our lives in any way back then. It got worse as the years went on. I didn’t see the damage it was doing until he lost his job after showing up for work still drunk from the night before. After that, he just put the bottle to his head and pulled the trigger.

  My father wasn’t a physically abusive drunk and he never mistreated me, but it still left an emotional scar. He got really sad when he drank. I would often find him looking at old photographs from his childhood, his wedding, and watching home movies of the happy years. If I wandered into his vicinity, he would insist that I stay while he slurred his way through stories I had heard a million times. If I tried to leave, he would guilt me into staying until he finally passed out. I knew I was lucky that he wasn’t violent and never laid a hand on me. It just hurt too much to see him like that. It was easier to stay with Beth and go home in the morning when he was sure to be passed out.

  A few days later

  I never went to Beth’s house on the weekends she was away visiting her mom. Even if things got rough at home, I just put my head down and toughed it out. That was my plan for the weekend ahead of me, until I got home and found my dad drunker than usual at fou
r in the afternoon. It was clear that he had been hitting the bottle pretty hard, and if the empty bottle next to him was any indication, he was already working his way through a second one. Something inside me snapped. I just couldn’t endure an entire weekend of his nonsense. I had a huge assignment due for one of my classes and I needed somewhere quiet to work on it. I wasn’t going to get that at my house. In an act of desperation, I sent a message to Beth and asked if I could stay at her house, even though she wasn’t there.

  Beth was pretty sure that her father was going to be at the station until Sunday morning, and he never had a problem with me staying over. She told me where the key was hidden—not that I didn’t already know. After I confirmed that she sent him a text message to let him know I would be staying, I headed to her place. I cried on the way over. Tears had become all too common. I had hope on the horizon in the form of a scholarship to a school in Georgia, but I had to graduate first. Leaving Texas would be bittersweet, but it was the only chance I had to get away from the turmoil defining my life. I pulled my car into Beth’s driveway, and to my surprise, I noticed that her father’s truck was parked in the carport.

  Oh god, I think he’s home. Beth must have gotten his schedule wrong.

  I had more than one fantasy that started with me being alone with Beth’s father, but I could never actually go through with them—even if he reciprocated my secret desires. I sat in my car for several minutes, trying to decide what I should do. I could work at the library or possibly even use some of my savings to get a hotel room. Neither of those options were very enticing. Perhaps it was a twinge of those secret desires that gave me the courage to turn off the engine and walk up to the door. I hesitated with my hand poised, and finally started to knock. There was no response after several attempts, so I sent another text message to Beth. She was fairly certain he was supposed to be working, and suggested that he may have gotten a ride with one of his buddies.

  Okay, I guess I’ll just let myself in. Hopefully she’s right.

  “Hello?” I pushed the door open after retrieving the key and called out, just to be safe.

  Is that—music? It sounds like it’s coming from upstairs.

  The music explained why he didn’t hear me when I knocked. I thought about going back outside and ringing the doorbell, but I was already in the house. I dropped my stuff on the couch and tried to make a little noise, but I didn’t hear anything except the music. I called out a couple more times, and finally took a couple of steps. Before I could call out again, I heard something a little louder than the music. My curiosity was piqued, because it sounded like talking, but the voice wasn’t Beth’s father. That was the moment I should have turned around, but my curiosity continued to flourish. I stepped quietly, creeping up the stairs, trying not to make a sound. As soon as I got to the top of the staircase, I saw something that made my jaw fall open.

  Oh my god! It’s Beth’s father—and he’s completely naked!

  “Get over here and wrap those vulgar-red lips around my cock.” Beth’s father reached out and grabbed something—a second later I saw a woman with long blonde hair and bright red lipstick being pulled towards him.

  Oh shit! He’s got a girl up there!

  “Damn, Brody—your dick is huge. I hope you don’t expect me to deep-throat that.” She looked up at him.

  “Every fucking inch, baby.” He let his hand tangle in her hair and turned to the side, giving me a full view of his erect cock.

  “Lucky for you, I like a challenge.” She licked her hips and grinned.

  I need to go. This was a huge mistake.

  I took a step back, but I was completely captivated by what I was witnessing. Beth’s father—Brody—he was so damn hot. I had never seen him without a shirt. The tattoos that started on his wrists and twisted around his enormous biceps continued across his chest and back. The woman on the bed wasn’t lying—he appeared to be very well endowed. I watched as he pressed the glans to her lips and started entering her mouth. She looked uncomfortable when he drove it into her throat and I heard her struggle to breathe. There was another noise—one that drowned out her moans. It was a throaty-growl that didn’t appear to be coming from Brody. I pressed myself against the wall and when my face touched the wallpaper, I saw something else—another man. He was positioned on other side of the bed, furiously driving his dick into the woman from behind.

  What in the world? He’s not alone with her?

  “You sure you don’t want some of this?” The man looked up at Brody. “Her pussy is nice and tight.”

  “Nah, Micah. You enjoy that. I’ll be good right here for a little bit.” Brody smirked and drove his cock into her throat again.

  I’ve got to get out of here.

  I carefully made my way back down the stairs as the moans got louder. My stomach was in a knot when I got my stuff and headed for the door. I had put Beth’s father on a pedestal. I knew he was rough around the edges, and hardly a saint, but he dedicated his life to helping people. He put on his life on the line every time a building went up in flames. That heroism was what drew me to him. I never imagined he would be the type of guy that would engage in something so filthy. He was single, so he could do whatever—or whoever—he wanted. It wasn’t my place to judge, but I had to let go of my childish fantasy. I wanted him. I definitely didn’t want to be shared.

  I just wish those images would stop flashing in my head—and stop making my pussy tingle.

  Wendy

  Present day

  I moved to Georgia after graduation and started college in the fall. I got a part-time job to help cover expenses, and began the next chapter of my life. I lost touch with most of my friends from high school, except Beth. She started dating a guy named Brent and fell madly in love with him. A short while later they were engaged, and she didn’t wait until she graduated from college to get married. I came back home for the first time since leaving to be her Maid-of-Honor. It was a beautiful ceremony, but I spent most of the weekend trying not to look her father in the eye. Every time I did, the images of what I saw that day at his house flashed in my head.

  Unfortunately, the weekend wasn’t entirely filled with Beth’s wedding vows and awkwardness. I also found out that my father’s drinking had started to take a significant toll on his health. I had tried to keep in touch with him, but most of the time when I called, all he did was start telling me the same stories I was tired of hearing. I returned to school after Beth’s wedding, but I was filled with guilt. I had grown up a lot since I left, and while I had never said the words to his face, I forgave my father. Seeing him in that state broke my heart, and after I graduated, I moved back home to try and take care of him.

  It wasn’t easy, but over the course of a few months, I finally seemed to get through to him. I got him admitted to a detox and rehabilitation enter, and he started his road to recovery. His house was paid off, and he was getting by on government benefits after losing his job, so I did my best to clean it up while he was away. The business degree I worked so hard for was put on the shelf because there really weren’t any good jobs nearby. The only job I managed to find was in a bakery downtown, working for a woman named Jillian Hall. She was nice enough, and Marigold Bakery was doing good business, but it wasn’t my true calling. It gave me what I needed, though—a steady paycheck.

  “Wendy, you got here just in time! Put on your apron and get behind the counter, I need to run to the bank.” Jillian stripped off her apron and hung it on the hook near the door.

  “Sure thing!” I smiled and grabbed my apron.

  “I’ve got some rum muffins in the oven, glaze on the stove, and the kitchen needs to be cleaned up when they’re done.” She smiled and picked up her purse. “I trust you can handle all of that?”

  “Yeah—I think so.” I nodded and walked behind the counter.

  “Okay, I should be back soon. Hopefully I get there before they close.” She opened the door and took a step back. “Sorry, it looks like we’ve got some customers hea
ded this way.”

  “No problem. I got this.” I waved her off and walked over to the register.

  Oh right, something is cooking.

  I ran to the kitchen to check on everything, and then I heard customers entering, just like Jillian said. I rushed back to the register, bagged muffins, sliced cake, and handed out a few cookies. Once the initial rush was over, I did a quick trip back to the kitchen. The glaze needed stirring and after a few quick stirs, I realized it wasn’t quite ready to be removed from the stove. I peeked into the oven to see how the muffins looked, and then the chime sounded to signal that another customer had arrived. It wasn’t uncommon for the bakery to have a few moments during the day when customers were showing up in droves, but I normally wasn’t there by myself. I did another round of customer orders and heard the timer for the muffins. I quickly ran back to the kitchen, grabbed a potholder, and pulled them out of the oven.

  They might need a couple more minutes.

  I turned towards the oven with the pan, but as I was turning, the muffins bumped into something. My eyes got wide when I saw that it was the small bottle of rum Jillian had used to flavor the muffins. The bottle tilted, and before I could react, it fell over and the rum started pouring out onto the stove—a stove that still had blue flames burning. I put the muffins down, tossed the potholder, and reached to turn off the stove, but it was too late. The vapors from the alcohol ignited and I nearly stuck my hand into the fire. I recoiled, jerking my hand back, and the fire covered the surface of the stove. I looked around for a towel or something to smother it, but before I could find anything, the sprinklers started going off—all of them except the one directly over the stove. It was dripping instead of spraying.