Free Her Firefighter SEAL by Anne Marsh

“Marshmallows are serious business.”
    “Bummer.” She didn’t look entirely convinced, so he braced his elbow, just in case she decided to make a run for his marshmallow. He wasn’t eating charcoal.
    He passed her the open slab of Hershey’s and she was silent for another moment as she assembled a ridiculously disproportionate s’more. Recipes were obviously guidelines as far as Abbie was concerned. Then she took her first bite and he lost all interest in dessert unless it involved Abbie and marshmallow cream. She moaned as she chewed, a delighted, husky sound that made him think about sex. With her. Again. Unfortunately, it seemed like everything Abbie said and did made him think about sex, which was a problem. He was supposed to be dragging her back to the land of the living—and not off to bed.
    “You are a god among men.”
    “I’m a useful guy,” he agreed.
    For example, he definitely wanted to pull her over onto his lap and kiss her again. Or let her kiss him again. Either way worked for him. In fact, they could do it both ways and then compare notes. See which approach was best, and if she still made that cute humming noise when she was really, really into a kiss.
    Okay. He just wanted to kiss her as many times as she’d let him.
    “Marshmallow,” he said, pointing to the corner of his own mouth.
    She blinked at him.
    “You have marshmallow on your mouth,” he clarified.
    She licked the corner of her mouth, her tongue sliding over her lips. Jesus. He should have made a cake. Brownies. Something, anything, that didn’t involve licking .
    She sighed and turned to him. “Can I use you?”

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    Chapter Six
    T wo cold water swims hadn’t been enough to take the edge off his attraction to Abbie. There were other emotions in the mix as well, but he focused on the desire. Sex was familiar ground.
    “You want to clarify that for me?”
    Please don’t let me have misunderstood . Because he almost thought she’d offered him sex, and that just didn’t go with the Abbie Donegan he knew. Sure, she’d climbed on top of him and kissed him in the boat, but he’d put that in the crazy temporary aberration column. Or possibly in the making my point in some incomprehensible female way column.
    “We’re friends now, right?”
    He wasn’t stupid. He knew a loaded question when he heard one. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, because he had to go with the truth. Plain and simple? He’d be whatever she needed.
    She took a deep breath and set her marshmallow stick down. “Can we be friends with benefits?”
    He’d lost his head in the lake or at least some critical brain cells because, kiss or no kiss, he definitely hadn’t seen this coming. “You want to define that for me?”
    She made a face, but her cheeks were pink. Yeah. He’d understood correctly. His heart—and other parts—gave a happy leap. “I want us to have sex.”
    “You broke up with me. You don’t even like me.” Way to go sabotaging his own sex life.
    “I do.” Was it wrong that the certainty in her voice made parts of him leap? Yeah, probably. “When you’re not pissing me off which, admit it, you do intentionally at least half the time.”
    He wasn’t admitting to that. “You want to have sex with me.”
    He was pretty sure her word choice meant something.
    She eyed the front of his pants pointedly. “I don’t think I’m the only one who feels that way.”
    He cleared his throat. Were they actually on the same page here? “So you’ve gone from being pissed off at me”—he raised a hand when she made a noise of protest—“most of the time, to wanting to strip naked and have your way with my body?”
    She blinked at him. “Are you protesting?”
    Not really. He just felt like he was missing something, and it wasn’t just a rocking sex life. “I’m all yours. Should I get naked right now?”
    She laughed, and the tension lightened. “We smell like lake water.”
    “And fish.” Not that he minded.