Brotherhood of Fire (2 page)

Garrett watched Carrie moving back and forth, tending details, chatting, fixing this, checking that. Smiling. Obsessing. Seeing her flit from thing to thing, he barely noticed what she did at all. What he noticed was the same thing that always made him stop cold when he caught sight of her. After five years, his wife could still drop him in his tracks.

Taller than average at five foot seven, she still only came to his chin. He supposed compared to most women she wouldn't be considered tiny, but to him she sometimes seemed fragile. Watching her move, her sassy little ass tempting him, his eyes drank her in. Lithe but curvy in all the right places, creamy ivory skin, fiery, dark auburn hair, and hazel eyes that never failed to melt him even if they were narrowed in irritation when they fixed on him. Now, like always, an earthy air of sensuality surrounded her, but it wasn't affected. He'd learned pretty quickly she barely realized she had it and never used it as an advantage. Not that she needed one. A bundle of vivacious energy, Carrie didn't come in a big package, but she packed a big burst of power when she focused her attention in your direction.

He shook his head and smiled as he hauled himself out of the folding canvas chair. Sliding in behind her when she stopped for a nano-second, he watched her blow a piece of bang off her forehead absent-mindedly. He put his hands to her shoulders, kneading softly.

Her hands stayed on her hips even when she leaned back into him, letting him work the tension out of her muscles.
"It's good, right? I should have gotten the bigger plates though, and now I wish I'd . . . ."
He tuned out most of the litany. Not that he didn't love her, or mind listening to her concerns, but like always, her concerns were unnecessary.
"I think the games will be good, but I'm—"
"Carrie—"
"Going to want to . . . what?" She turned her head slightly to look at him, a sheepish grin on her face. "Doing it again, aren't I?" She sighed.
"The picnic is perfect, sweetheart. Everyone is having a blast, the food's great, the kids are going to love the games. They won't care what games you play with them, you're giving them water balloons that's all they'll care about."
"Okay. Okay. Thank you. You pull me back to earth, like always." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"I only have one question," he said, pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Shoot."
"When we clean this picnic up and go home, what's your next obsession?"
"Umm, I've been thinking you're only two months out from your state exams, and well, you need some space to study, we could move the desk to the—"
He groaned. "No. I'm not your next obsession." He rolled his eyes and leaned his head on her shoulder. "And don't go off on the whole brain food diet thing again, okay? That was torture."
Carrie laughed at him, reached back, and pinched his thigh before she pulled away. "Whatever! Fine, don't let me help."
Watching her walk around the pavilion to go referee games, he shook his head. Turning, he caught sight of John sitting on a picnic table nearby. He seemed to be starting right where Carrie had stood, a far-off look in his eyes.
"John?"
His eyes focused. "Huh?"
"Staring at my wife's ass?"
John's face turned red. "Fuck you, Garrett." He grinned. "Okay yeah, she's got a nice ass. Whatever. Not what I was thinking. You're damn lucky, that's all."
"Yeah, I am lucky. More than I deserve to be." He wandered over and sat next to him, handed over a beer out of the cooler. Without warning, the look on John's face sent a shock through his system as everything clicked in his head. The ever-present threesome fantasy had a new twist, and John was it. Downing his own beer, he tried to focus on what John said about some fire station gossip rather than the thoughts buzzing through his brain, setting his body temperature on a slow boil.
Getting a grip on his libido, he focused on the moment. They chatted like always, two good friends laughing, gossiping, and sharing the afternoon. Not at all like he had a vision of both of them fucking his wife in his head. Now and then, others stopped to chat, make jokes, praise Carrie for organizing the firehouse family picnic.
"Hey! Need some help over here!" One of the wives popped around the corner of the pavilion, waving and shouting. "John! Need you!"
John jumped up and ran, with Garrett right behind him. When they yelled for John, someone had been hurt. The go-to guy for medical assistance when the EMTs weren't around, John's pending paramedic certification would be a formality, window dressing to his training as an Army Medic.
They rounded the corner to see Carrie on the ground, holding her leg and shaking her head. She tried to wave them off.
"I'm fine! Just sprained my ankle!"
John ignored her, as did Garrett, but John got there faster. He bent down, scooped her up before Garrett or Carrie could protest, and headed back to the picnic tables with her. Garrett stuffed down the slight feeling of jealousy he got, but he shouldn't have bothered. Intense need slammed into him, and wiped out every other thought in his head. So hard, he stopped cold and felt a physical shock as he watched John cradle his wife in his arms. He had to take a deep breath and calm himself, stand back and gather his wits because his head filled with the vivid image of John, holding his wife in a much more seductive pose. In fact, buried to the hilt in her, making love to her like he didn't have a care in the world. The gut-lurching sensation left him wanting to make this real, now more than ever. Sucking in a deep breath, he adjusted his steelhard cock in his shorts and pulled himself together.
When he'd composed himself and came back around the corner, John had Carrie situated on top of a picnic table. Leaning back on her hands, she watched nervously while he knelt in front of her, massaging her rapidly bruising ankle. Garrett moved in next to her, watching the interaction between the two of them.
"Can you feel this?" John stroked her skin lightly.
"Yes" she murmured, looking like she'd like to pull her leg out of his grasp, her eyes wide. Garrett knew instinctively she had the very same fantasy he'd been pumping into her head running through her thoughts. A flash of momentary guilt riddled him. If he didn't know her discomfort meant she had the same thought he did, seeing John in that role, he'd feel like an ass for pushing her there.
"Okay, this is going to hurt a little. Tell me how much, on a scale of one to ten." John manipulated her ankle slightly back and forth.
"Shit!" She yelped, then slapped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry! Forgot the kids. Ow . . . crap. Um . . . five."
"Sounded more like seven." Garrett grimaced. "She has a high pain tolerance."
"I can tell." John nodded, still holding her calf in his palms, face flushed, eyes intense. Garrett noticed his fingers continued stroking her even after he'd stopped checking her ankle.
"Probably would have brought tears to my eyes. She's got a lot of fluid in there. Broken blood vessel. Nothing crunchy, but you're going to be off it for a few days."
"But the games, the clean up, I have to—"
"No!" John said with Garrett at the same exact time.
"We got this.
You
are down for the count." Garrett glared down at her, putting a bit of force in his tone. "I mean it, you aren't moving. If you do, I'll make him sedate you."
"What? For an ankle, seriously, Garrett, he'd never—"
"Oh, I would." John smiled, his eyes a little mischievous. He'd shed the professional medic demeanor.
Garrett smiled, a smug sense of satisfaction settling over him. Seemed John was falling easily into the connection he had going with Carrie.
Carrie sputtered. Sighed. "Fine, I'll sit here and order you two big dummies around then. Whatever."
"Good girl." Garrett grinned. "Look, honey, now you have two big, strapping firefighters at your service, ready to do anything you tell us." He cocked an eyebrow at her and caught her flush. John shot him a curious look. Another hot jolt ran through his body that the idea wasn't seeming so farfetched and he had to shift again to keep his erection from being visible in his cargo shorts. His wife, his best friend. The two people in the world who meant everything to him. He couldn't help it, wanted it too damn bad to keep his thoughts to himself.
"I'm going to wrap this up for you. Sit still, I'll be back with the med kit."
John jogged off to his truck as Garrett eyed his wife.
"Don't even think about moving."
"I'm not!" She laughed nervously. "Would you wrap it for me?"
"Uh, no. He's the medic. I'd make you look like the mummy. Why? Does John touching you make you uncomfortable?"
The scowl on her face was her answer. He didn't need to hear the words, anyway; the way she sat watching John gently wrap her ankle in an ace bandage, put the ice pack on, wrap it again . . . she looked like a nervous cat. Every time he brushed her leg with his fingers, she jumped. For him, the whole thing stoked his imagination higher. Every time John spoke a soothing word to her, held her gently while he wrapped her ankle, Garrett's cock got that much harder.
When he finished, John moved away to re-pack the med kit. Carrie's scowl deepened.
Garrett couldn't help the smile that split his face, though it wasn't going to help him placate her anger any.
"You okay?"
"Fine."
John came back to check her ankle once more before Garrett managed to find out what she might have been thinking. No mistake her thoughts had been about John, and sure as hell not about him wrapping her ankle. Before Garrett blurted anything stupid, Carrie thankfully started hurling instructions for finishing the games and cleaning up. Laughing, he and John moved to fulfill them.

John's head snapped up and he stopped going over his turnout gear, a flash of apprehension tightening his body. "What?"
Garrett stood at the end of the row of lockers, hands in the pockets of his jeans, hair still wet from his shower.
"Yeah, you know, what do you think about Carrie?"
He studied Garrett, then went back to looking at his gear. Not that a single thought in his head was focused on what he should be doing with it.
"I dunno. She's nice."
"That's it?"
"What do you want me to say here, Garrett? Sounds like you're fishing for something."
He tossed his gear back to the bench and looked at Garrett again. If he only fucking knew. Usually pretty careful to keep his glances and wandering thoughts about Garrett's wife to himself, John knew he'd been busted watching her at the picnic. Garrett had passed it off with a joke, but maybe he'd just waited for a better time to question him on it.
Garrett pushed off the locker and sat down. He grabbed a towel and attacked his wet hair. "Just curious."
"You testing my loyalty?"
"No, I trust you like my brother; you know that. This is hard as hell for me to ask, so if you could just answer the question, John. What do you think about her?"
His gut clenched. "Why, something wrong?" He hoped like hell Garrett wasn't going to say things were going south between them. He didn't want to see them go through something like that, and he sure as hell didn't want to think of Carrie with anyone else.
"No. Nothing like that. Are you going to answer the god damn question or not?"
He stood, paced toward the wall at the end of the bench, and tried to play off the tension rolling through him.
"I like her, sure. Fuck, she's your wife; I don't know what else you want me to say." He closed his eyes. Trusts me like a brother. Yeah, sorry bro, I want your fucking wife. She's my dream woman. I'm in love with her. He sighed. No matter what his feelings, he'd never attempt to take what wasn't his. They
were
like brothers, and that counted more.
He turned to see Garrett, who stood staring at him, face tight, waiting. Then he noticed he twisted the towel in his lap, knuckles white, face pale, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Things John never associated with the perpetually grinning, always cool and confident Garrett. Whatever the hell this was, Garrett was dead serious about it. John hoped
this
wasn't an interrogation and an ass kicking because he'd been found out.
"Fine. She's nice, she's funny, she's got a hell of a mouth on her, and she loves you like crazy. Yeah, I notice. Be hard not to, and yeah, it'd be nice to have someone like that, but not her. Satisfied?"
"Hell of a mouth? As in, sexy mouth?"
Fuck yeah, sexy mouth, god, yes. "As in, she says what the hell she thinks and swears like a sailor, mouth! Christ, Garrett, what the hell? You think I want to fuck your wife, that what you're asking me?"
Garrett was quiet a minute, staring at his hands. "Yeah, I want to know if you want to fuck her, John. That's exactly what I'm asking. Not by yourself. With me."
John's head shot around. Heat from the two bright spots of color flashed on his cheekbones.
Garrett gave a nervous laugh. "Uh huh, thought so."
"Fuck you; that was a cheap shot, and pretty damn disrespectful to your wife, if you ask me." Shit, shit, shit. He couldn't be exposed like this, oh hell no, what a tool.
God damn, did Garrett just say that?
"You like her, John, admit it. You named off three things most guys would never think of—you pay attention to her, or you wouldn't notice. Any other asshole would have laughed and said nice tits or something then walked."
He paid attention, all right; he noticed everything about her. All the time.
"Garrett, what the hell are you asking me?" He sat heavily on the bench.
"You know damn well what I'm asking you. I just invited you into bed with us."
A low sound rumbled in his throat, almost like a trapped animal. "Jesus, Garrett." Head low, jaw clenched, he sighed and fidgeted with his SCBA. "Look. I admire how much she loves you, and she's funny as hell. Kind of like the girl next door with a dark side, and it's hot. Christ, what am I saying?" He rubbed his face with his hand and turned to Garrett. "Why?"
"Why not? You're my best friend; I trust you. Can you imagine how incredible it would be, us both with her?"
The blood rushed out of his face. The three of them together—clear as day he saw the image in his head. Carrie, with her classic auburn haired beauty, was not a new vision. The two of them bracketing her, naked and exploring her beautiful, creamy skin together without reservation,
that
was new and burned into his head like a brand. He wanted it so much it made him shake.
"No way. I'm not even going to start on the fact you just offered me your wife like I'm some desperate lonely son of a bitch, but, have you really thought this through, Garrett? I mean really? What if I fucked her, and she liked it, and we run off and leave you behind? What the hell are you thinking?" His voice had risen to the point a couple of the guys on the other side of the room looked over.
Garrett shook his head. "You wouldn't, and Carrie would never leave me—not even for you. I'm not worried about that part of it at all. I don't know . . . the whole thing seemed to click in my head. I could see the two of you together, and I . . . it made me . . . ah, hell. The first time I thought about it, I fucked her so hard she was shocked. I'm not an idiot, John."
John shook his head slowly back and forth, dazed. "I don't know. I'm not a casual sex kind of guy."
"Exactly why I'm asking. I know you aren't, and you haven't had a girlfriend in months."
"Yeah, exactly. I can't really have a sex thing going on with you guys and have a life, you know?" John stood, his head swiveling hard now. "This is insane, Garrett."
"Okay, okay. I know I sound insane. I sound like a fucking idiot, and I feel like a total freak asshole even saying it, but I'm at the point if I don't get it out I'm going to fucking scream. I want to see you with her, what she's like with you."
"Your wife isn't a bitch in heat! You can't have a guy jump in to service her." His anger was rising to the surface, but for none of the reasons he voiced to Garrett. He balked because his deepest desire had been offered and there was no way he could reach out and take it. No way.
Garrett's face turned dark, and John flinched at the look of sheer regret and shame he saw. "No, dumb ass, that's not it, not at all. Fine, I'm a fucking idiot. I have no idea what I was thinking. I'm a total dickhead for suggesting it, and you should kick my ass." He stood to leave, his body tight and angry.
"Wait! Okay . . . shit, sit down."
He turned away and composed himself a little, guilt riddling him for making Garrett feel like shit when he was lying through his teeth. Plus, the temptation to hang on to the conversation, the idea, overpowered him. Spend a few more moments daydreaming about the possibility, maybe, no matter how farfetched. "Look, you gotta see how much of a shock this is."
"Is it because you can't look at her that way, or you don't want to be involved with us?"
His best friend and the love of his life? Was he fucking kidding?
"All right, truth. First off, hell yeah I could want her. She's about damn near perfect, but that's what scares me. I can see where you'd consider it, but man, you're looking at this from the point of view of a guy who's already got the world by the balls, you know? I don't have the same perspective."
"You've got nothing to lose, then."
"No, I've got everything to lose, because if I get attached and this is a disaster, when it's gone, I go back to nothing. You still have Carrie."
Garrett sighed. "True. Well, I guess I am an idiot. I figured you might at least think it over. Maybe I should ask her if she has anyone she might be interested in."
"You're going to asked her?"
"Well, hell yeah, John, she's my wife. Maybe I should have just asked her first. She might not even have picked you, but I was kind of thinking of giving her the whole idea already put together. I guess if you're not into this I can consider other options."
The Ferris wheel dropped him hard and fast; his belly jumped to his throat. "So, what, you're going to find someone else?"
Garrett stretched his legs out, cocked an eyebrow, and grinned. "You don't seem to like that idea."
He didn't like the idea at all. He could barely stand how much he wanted her; to know someone else might be touching her besides Garrett made his gut burn. "You going to keep asking until you find someone who's willing to fuck her, that it?"
"No, but I'm not giving up. I don't get why you don't see how amazing this could be. I've been thinking about this for a while. She's attracted to you. And don't lie—I know damn well you like my wife, John. You'd love to fuck her."
"You're an insufferable asshole, O'Neal. Know that?" John laughed, but with bitterness, not humor. He felt stuck between what he wanted most and the fear of losing the opportunity.
"Yeah. So I've heard. Look, one last stab. Would you think about it? Tell me you don't want her."
John sighed. Need he hadn't experienced in years raged in him at the same time the idea of some random guy touching her blazed through his resistance.
"I'll tell you what, since there is no way in hell your wife is ever going to go for this, I'll give you one. If she says something, all on her own without one damn word from you, no coaching, no pushing her into me . . . if she says she wants it, I'll think about it."
Garrett's face broke into a huge grin. "Damn. Didn't see that coming; now I don't feel like such an ass after all. I'm not the only one wondering if this would be the most incredible damn thing I've ever done, am I?"
John groaned. He tossed his towel in the locker, trying to fight the surge of adrenaline. "Fuck, I'm a guy, what do you think? How the hell can I sit here and not think about it, even if I think it's a train wreck waiting to happen. Somebody else buried in your wife is even worse than me doing it, so you're still an asshole. Besides, she has to come to me, Garrett, on her own. Straight out ask me. She'll never do it."
"I'm going to remind you of those words later. And I wouldn't have asked anybody else, just so you know. Damn, this was easier than I thought."
John felt a rush in his head, both of them. He had to adjust to accommodate the hard ridge in his jeans before he gave Garrett any more ammunition to use against him.
Garrett turned to leave, then stopped and looked him square in the eyes. "Trust me on this, okay?"
John shook his head. "I hope you know what the hell you're doing, man. I really do."