Vital Signs by Em Petrova

close-ups of her lips. One in a pout and one with her sucking on her fingertip. His cock distended in a blink.
    And the last image was her warm brown ass with a handprint on it. Her own handprint, he could tell by the small size and shape of her slender fingers.
    A growl left him and his thumbs flew over the keypad. You better not touch yourself.
    Oh I’m not.
    Satisfaction bloomed inside him, taking up too much space for his peace of mind. Where did a woman like Sarita learn to provoke a man? Images and words, even her breathy pleas undid him. But all of it was natural, it seemed. She was a very sexual being, and he was damn lucky to be on the receiving end.
    What had Jagger said? Please tell us you’re hitting that . The guys knew a good thing when they saw it too. When Corey thought of Wally touching Sarita’s hair, he still wanted to punch something.
    But he also had no intention of letting Sarita go. He had enough knowledge of women to realize if he kept her feeling desired and beautiful and important, she’d never stray.
    That was something he’d learned the hard way with his fiancée years ago. He’d gotten too caught up in work and neglected her. He wasn’t saddened by his past mistakes, not anymore. But he wouldn’t make them again, and especially not with Sarita.
    Keep it wet for me. His text got a response of several hearts and a kiss emoji.
    Smiling, he went into East Street. And chaos erupted.
    The sirens sounded. Men were on their feet, running for gear. Jumping into the trucks so fast he could hardly make out their faces.
    “We’re short, Corey. Get into gear,” Jagger hollered as he passed.
    Corey didn’t hesitate. He felt whole. And he’d had plenty of recovery time.
    It took him a minute longer than he wanted to gear up. The first ladder truck rolled out of the doors and he ran to catch the handle. Making a leap and landing on the ledge to whoops from his fellow firefighters. He grinned, feeling the old spark of adrenaline that fueled him.
    Deep inside his gear his phone vibrated and he imagined several more naughty photos from Sarita. Too bad he couldn’t get to his phone without stripping off his coat and suspenders.
    He squeezed into the moving truck and the guys slid down the bench to accommodate him.
    “Good to have you back, Corey. Get your clearance?” Gabriel asked .
    “I’m five minutes away from it. Chief’s making the call right now. Feels good to be geared up.” He couldn’t deny the excitement raging through him. Yeah, the last time he’d gone into a burning building, he’d come out on a stretcher with a pipe the whole way through his body, but that wasn’t going to happen again.
    But he knew Sarita would give him hell for going in without his final doctor’s visit and those papers in hand rather than Chief’s hasty phone call. He’d have to make sure he softened her up before she found out. When she was begging for him to come, she wouldn’t care what he’d done with his day.
    His phone vibrated again. And again. Damn, what if something was wrong? He unzipped his jacket and whipped it off. When he leaned back to dig into his pants, the guys whistled and catcalled. But he ignored them and located his phone.
    When he pulled it free and saw the strange number there, his mind went a million directions.
    It could be a spam phone call. Or it could be the only person he’d given his number to today. Mrs. Allancamp.
    Five were missed calls and one alert was for a short voicemail. He plugged his opposite ear in order to listen, his brain working over the case. Had she heard from Mitchell? Was she calling to tell him where to find her son?
    Slurred speech filled his ear. She was high. Fading off track. He had no fucking idea what she was saying.
    “Dammit.” He stabbed a button and listened again. But he still couldn’t make out the words.
    He might have minutes to get to the slums and nab the suspect but he was sitting here trying to crack the code it seemed she spoke in.