ControlledBurn by Em Petrova Read Free Book Online Page B

throat and face. Mitch
made a quiet sound and set down his beer abruptly. She trembled as he came
around the counter, approaching very quietly considering he still wore his
heavy boots.
    His body was sculpted from the angular cut of his jaw to his
thick calf muscles bulging against tight denim. His chest was a fraction
bulkier than Pearce’s, and where Pearce’s waist was tapered, Mitch’s was broad.
Her nerve endings tingled, thinking about what she’d see beneath his shirt.
Beneath his jeans. And beneath his boxers.
    During their intense lovemaking, Pearce had talked about
Mitch’s cock slipping against his, thick and hard as steel.
    She quivered.
    Mitch moved in closer and closer, until he invaded hers and
Pearce’s space. He shot a look at Pearce, who nodded. Then, with excruciating
slowness, Mitch lifted his hand to Ellie’s face. He caught a lock of her hair
and rubbed it between his fingers. “I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.
Always wondered if it was hot like fire.”
    “Other parts of her are,” Pearce said suggestively.
    She practically moaned, her breasts aching, thighs
clenching. Did they really have to go through the motions of pretending to eat
before they whisked her off to the bedroom? She couldn’t care less about any
sustenance besides what they could provide with their touch.
    Mitch let his fingers skate down her cheek to her jaw and
along the lines of her collarbones. His gaze was locked on her mouth.
    Pearce closed his fingers around Mitch’s, stopping his
caress. Their gazes snapped together and held, locked in a silent union. The
sight stunned her. When had they become so intimately bonded? Judging by their
expressions, these hunky firemen had shared more than a kiss or a masturbation
session. How far had they gone?
    “Let’s eat.” Pearce’s voice was a sandpapery tongue running
over the skin of her mind, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
    Mitch dropped his hand but his gaze continued to stroke her.
“Of course.”
    He took up his stool once more and Pearce nudged Ellie
toward the center stool while he set about dishing up three plates of lasagna.
When he took the seat on the other side of her, she nearly screamed with sexual
frustration. Were they going to tease her all night? Make her wait, wiggling on
this stool while they bolted down ricotta and fresh sauce?
    She twirled some mozzarella cheese around her fork and
brought it to her lips, but she had no appetite for anything except their
savory bodies.
    Pearce finally coaxed some conversation about her day from
her, and Mitch took a genuine interest in the things she had to say. But when
she asked about their calls today, they both clammed up.
    Stiff-shouldered, Pearce plowed into his meal as if he were
starving. And Mitch just shoveled food into his mouth, polished off his beer
and, making himself at home, retrieved another from the fridge.
    “The call was that bad, huh? How close was it?” She glared
at her husband. They had an understanding—he didn’t have to talk about what
went on in the field except when it was really bad. She had a right to know
when his life had been put into danger. It didn’t stop her from flipping about
it, but at least she wouldn’t read it in a newspaper or hear about her
husband’s near escape secondhand.
    “There was a meth lab in the warehouse where we got a fire
call.”
    “Jesus!” She dropped her fork with a clatter. Pearce slipped
a warm palm onto her thigh, anchoring her and trying to calm her
simultaneously. “You were in there? It might have exploded anytime!”
    “Not me, but Mitch was.” His gaze flicked over her shoulder
and latched on to Mitch.
    The man released a low sigh. “It’s all good. Lived to eat a
great meal, drink a beer with friends and hopefully…to gain a little pleasure.”
The smooth way he said “pleasure” sent her into paroxysms of need.
    She swung her gaze to his face. His gaze was locked with
Pearce’s in that special way again that made her