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“What’s got into you?” Pressing his lips to the top of my head, his question is spoken into my hair as his arm wraps around my shoulder.

Shrugging, I go with the lame, “Hopefully you later.” It at least gets a snicker out of him, but the change in my body language, or the way my arm is curled around his waist, anchoring my body to his, it all gives me away.

Angling his body back from mine a touch, he leans against the arm of the couch. When he looks down at me, his brows are knotted together in concern. “Aside from that.” He leans in, offering me a seductive kiss that leaves my head spinning. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ll laugh.” My attempt to dismiss his worry does nothing but amplify it.

Reaching forward, he lifts the remote from the coffee table. After clicking the television off, he twists in his seat, facing me completely. “I promise not to laugh, especially since it’s something that’s clearly bothering you.” The gentle vibrations of his calm voice convince me to share my apprehensions, no matter how he may react to them.

“I’m nervous about tomorrow.” Throwing that out there, I wait for his easy dismissal of my words.

“Why? Something going on at work? An observation already? Isn’t that a little early, even for a new teacher?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Realization slides over his face, washing away what I mistook for his glossing over the subject.

“Oh.” Scratching a hand over his chin, he moves it through his hair, letting it flop every which way. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not in any more danger tomorrow than any other day. Besides, it’s probably safer for me anyway. I’ll just be down at the memorial all day. It’s not like it’s an actual day of work or anything.” Tipping up my downturned chin with his fingers, he looks deep into my eyes.

Biting back the panic, I swallow hard and nod, but the acceptance he’s looking for isn’t genuinely there. “Then can I ask something without you getting mad?”

“I’d never get mad. Ask away.”

“Then why do you have to go? I mean if you’re not actually scheduled to work, and it’s not a work requirement or anything like that, why do you have to be there?”

Without missing a beat, he says, “Because I have to.” His dark brown eyes shine with something I can’t put my finger on. Respect. Honor. Dedication. Love. He kisses my cheek softly before continuing. “Three hundred and forty-three firefighters died that day. And every year that passes, we meet with the families of the victims from our squad.” Gently squeezing my upper arm, I can tell he’s not mad with me for asking. Even I can admit, the request sounded a lot like something a petulant girlfriend would ask, but when you’re worried about your firefighter boyfriend, whose safety you’re always thinking about, spending his day off at the 9/11 memorial on the anniversary of the tragedy, being whiny or demanding were the least of my concerns.

“Over the years,” he continues, a wistfully sad sound to his words. “Fewer and fewer families come in for the ceremony. I guess they choose to mourn in their own way, so no one can fault them for not being there. I can’t pretend to know what I would do, so I won’t judge them for what they choose.”

Tenderly, he lifts my hands into his. Stroking his thumbs over my wrists, he tells me about one particular family to whom he’s grown close over the years. “There’s this one family. They come year after year. They even stay in a hotel for a day or so before the ceremony to make sure they can get to the site in time.”

“How far do they travel from?”

Dropping one hand, he waves off my question. “Not far at all. Out here on the island. But that’s just how they are. The guy wasn’t married, didn’t have any kids. So year after year, his mom, two brothers and two sisters and their families come into the city, spend the day at the memorial. His father was a firefighter, and he died a month before 9/11. The family had actually postponed celebrating his fortieth birthday because of the funeral. And his brother.” He pauses to chuckle a little. “He’s a firefighter, too. He’s a trip. If you think I’m a dork, you oughta meet this guy. He’s even got that firefighter mustache you’re so fond of in all the old school guys.” For dramatic purposes, he strokes the hairless space above his upper lip. I can’t help but laugh, because seriously, every single older firefighter I’ve ever seen has what I call The Stache.

The laughter and silliness settles as he continues. “Anyway, his brother worked the pile until he could find his body. After a week and a half of searching, they found it. It was sobering to hear him say that they were a lucky family. The fact that they recovered his body made them feel like they were one of the lucky ones.” His voice changes, taking on a quality akin to awe and gratitude. Running his hand through his hair and over his face brings him back to the end of his story. “Michael,” he explains. “That’s the brother’s name. He had to retire a few years after the attacks. The guy rides his bike hundreds of miles a week, but his lungs got all jacked-up from the debris.” Something a lot like anger touches his words and my heart bleeds for him. “They always stop down to the squad, too. That’s how I first met them. His name was David, too.”

Willing the lump in my throat to go away, I simply nod, allowing his words to permeate my silence. “One year, when the crowd was particularly light because of some nasty rain, I asked the mom why they still came in. Her response has stuck with me ever since and it’s the reason why, even when I’m not working, I’ll always be at Ground Zero on 9/11.”

“What did she say?” I ask, captivated by his story and this family.

His lips, so soft and full, spread across his face in a warm smile. “Her words were so simple, I’ll never forget them. She said ‘If I stop coming, one day there won’t be anyone left who’ll remember my son.’ Something in that sentiment changed me.”

The tears I had been holding back since he first started speaking fill my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. Swiping them away with his thumbs, he smiles at me, just a small, sweet smile. The one reserved only for me. “So I promised her that as long as I was alive, I would be at the memorial to remember her son.”

“David,” I choke on his name. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he deflects my adoration over what he considers a small tribute. When he pulls me into his arms, I feel safe and whole. Above all else, I feel so incredibly lucky that he loves me. This man, whose heart is made of gold has made room in his life for me. “It’s just how things are. If it were me, I’d want someone to remember me like that.”

If it were me.

The tears he only just wiped away return in earnest. Accompanied by soft sobs, I let my words spill out, taking on a life of their own. “That’s what I’m struggling with, trying so damn hard to get past. You getting hurt. You being taken away from me. What if it were you?”

“Shh.” He calms me. “It’s only natural to worry.” Cupping my face in his hands, he looks at me with love in his eyes. “I wish I could tell you that you’re worrying about nothing. That I’ll always be safe and no harm will ever come my way, but we both know I can’t promise that. Even if I wasn’t a firefighter, there’s no way for me to guarantee I’ll always be safe. That’s just how life goes.” Nodding, I see the truth in his words. But understanding what he’s saying with my head and feeling good about it in my heart are two different things entirely.

Recognizing my struggle, he pushes the hair out of my eyes and presses a sweet kiss to my lips. “What I can promise you, is that however many days I have left, I’ll spend them loving you.”

Sealing his lips over mine, there’s more than a simple promise passing between us. It’s enough to settle my nerves—at least a little bit. Leaning his forehead against mine, he smiles at me, making sure I’m okay. When he sees I am, he smiles even bigger. “So,” he drags out the word a little, “about that ‘me getting inside you’ business you were talking about before? Is that still on the table?”

A subtle nod and soft chuckle is all I have time to respond with before he sweeps me up in his arms and races us down to my bedroom.

Blinking away the persistent early morning light that’s determined to break its way through my blackout curtains, I hit the snooze button once more.
Thank God, for first period studyhalls.

Before the hellish sound of my alarm clock goes off once more, I manage to pull myself out from under the covers. Stretching my arm to the side, the spot where David should be is warm but empty. The muffled sounds of the shower filter into my room. Getting up early has its advantages sometimes.

Not even bothering to knock, I step into the small, steam-filled room. Stripping out of my pajamas with more speed than any human should have at five in the morning, I can’t wait to be on the other side of that curtain.

Pausing for a second before pulling back the fabric separating us, I hear David mumbling something on the other side. It’s tough to make it out exactly, what with the water running and it being five o’clock and all. Before I make any sense of the conversation he’s having with himself, he grunts in frustration, cursing himself and his stupidity.

“Hey now.” Opening the curtain, I interrupt his grumblings. I’m met with a gasp of shock that quickly morphs into appreciation for me being in front of him. His admiration is paid back in spades as my eyes roam all over his soapy, wet body. With his back to the shower head, the water flows over his shoulders. The hard planes of his chest and bulging muscles of his arms are covered in soap, but every thought running through my head is anything but clean. Stepping under the water, I run my hands over his pecs and stretch up on my toes to place a good morning kiss on his wet lips. “I’m the only one who gets to talk about you that way. And I usually reserve words like that for when you aren’t around.”

“What are you doing in here?” Looping his arms around my waist, he pulls us both under the hot spray.

I may not be a fan of mornings, but apparently my sense of humor doesn’t suffer for it. “Well, let’s see. I’m naked.” To entice him a little more, I run my hands over the curves of my body, down my waist, hips and then back up to cup the round undersides of my breasts.

“I see that.” He groans, pressing the evidence of his arousal against my stomach.

“And there’s water,” I continue as if his body isn’t reacting at all to my presence. “And soap.” Reaching around him, I make sure to press my breasts into his body while grazing my hand across his hardening length. Accidentally, of course. Working the soap I drizzled into my hands up into a lather, I rub the bubbles over my body, loving that it makes him even harder. “So it looks as if I’m showering,” I continue with my little joke, trying my best to ignore his growing reaction.

Grabbing my ass in his hands, he squeezes each cheek and pulls me hard against him. Groaning, he presses his lips to my ear. Sucking my earlobe between his teeth, he tangles his hand into my hair, pulling my neck to the side. “Very funny, sweetheart.” Pretending to chide me, he licks at my neck, the heat of his mouth rivaling the heat of the shower. My knees wobble as a sigh of pleasure falls from my lips. “Now let me tell you what you’re really doing in here.” Dominance and love mingle in his words. Turning me around, he holds my wrists in one of his hands at my lower back. “None of this wise-ass ‘I was just taking a shower, fancy meeting you here’ garbage.”

Keeping my hands bound at my back, he runs his other hand down my spine. “And now.” He leans forward, keeping me locked between the tiles and his body. “You’re going to make us both late.” After lightly sinking his teeth into my shoulder, he licks over the spot, sending chills racing everywhere.

“I’m okay with that,” I taunt him, pushing my ass into the heat of his body behind me. “Are you?” I ask, eyeing him over my shoulder.

Turning me back around, his hands effortlessly glide down to cover my breasts. “I think you’ll see,” he croons. Bending slightly, he lifts my leg, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. The wide crown of his cock presses into me, eliciting a sigh of relief from both of us. “That I’m more than okay with being right here with you.” He buries another inch into me, the veins in his neck bulging under his restraint. “This is where I belong.” And then there’s no him and me.

There’s only
us.

Our bodies glide together smooth and easy, a delicious contrast to the hard and fast rhythm he’s pounding into me. “I’m not going to last long at all, baby,” he warns. “You’re too hot. Too tight. Too fucking much.” Reaching between us, he runs his thumb over my clit. Thankfully he’s holding me up, otherwise I’d be nothing but the puddle of water circling the drain, swirling blissfully around and around before being pulled down into oblivion.

Between the rapid motion of his thumb, and the heavy fullness of his body in mine, I lose control of everything. My body isn’t my own. It’s his to do with as he wants. Even the air in my lungs no longer belongs to me, escaping past my lips in uncontrollable puffs of ecstasy.

With his face buried in my neck, he growls, coming in a wildly passionate blaze of heat. When his breathing returns to normal, and I return to my own body, he lowers my leg to the floor. In a gentle swipe, he pushes the wet hair from my face, which I’m sure is flushed in patches of red. “Now that’s one fine way to wake up.” His smile, my God, it’s beautiful. Warm and luscious, smooth and sexy—and all mine. It beckons me to return it with my own.