4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

" U nit 52, we have a 10-31. Female in distress, possible gastrointestinal rupture. She's hysterical and requesting fire assistance, as well as EMS. Be advised, she seems to be handcuffed and unsure if anyone else is in the home. Over."

I steal a glance at Stanley as my heart rate picks up to a dangerous speed. What the fuck? "Did she just say handcuffed?"

Stanley smirks, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "Welcome to the job, rookie. You're about to get your first taste of the weird and wild world of being a paramedic." He shakes his head. "Shit gets crazy after midnight. All the freaks come out to play."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap, my hands fisting on my lap. Handcuffed? That sounds bad. Who would handcuff a person besides a cop? A bad guy, obviously. "She's in danger. Hurt. Have some compassion, man."

Chuckling, he flicks on the ambulance lights. "Whatever."

We fly through the streets of my hometown so quickly; I have to grab the oh-shit bar to keep from slamming into the door multiple times. If I've learned anything today, it's that Stanley is a shitty driver who's more than likely going to kill us before we have a chance to save anyone.

I swallow hard, my mind racing with scenarios that might have put this poor woman in this situation. Was she kidnapped? Trafficked? Assaulted? My heart aches for her.

We pull up to the scene, a modest suburban house that looks shockingly ordinary for what's probably going on here. Police cars, fire trucks, and even SWAT are swarming the place.

So, I was right.

This is bad.

My stomach churns with anxiety, but I force it down, focusing on the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I jump from the vehicle and wipe my sweaty palms down my too-tight uniform. The thick pants cling to my massive thighs like ballet tights, and I momentarily worry I might rip through them, but the worry disappears as I hear SWAT call out.

"We're busting down the door in three, two, one!"

A terrifying bang fills the chaotic night air seconds before a desperate scream that I feel all the way down to my fucking toenails. Stanley and I quickly grab our equipment, strapping ourselves down with everything we might need, including a gurney.

Once we're given the all clear, we hustle inside, the cacophony of shouting voices leading us to the source of the chaos. In the bedroom, a stunning woman, naked and handcuffed to the bed, is sobbing uncontrollably.

The sight is… jarring, to say the least.

"Oh, my God!" she wails, repeating the phrase like a devastated mantra.

Her face is shrouded by a mess of peach-colored hair. She's twisting and turning as if she's trying to hide, but with both hands suspended above her head, the best she can do is tuck her face into the crook of her shoulder.

Fuck. This poor little bed bug.

Her thick thighs are pressed together and tilted to the side, covering her maidenhood. But her big, soft melons are on display, heaving with painful sounding breaths. My sword stirs at the sight, but I ignore the fucker, forcing myself to stay present for her. My dick's had enough attention today, yet it's somehow found the energy to awaken from its slumber.

I bite my cheek hard enough to draw blood, hoping it'll reset my body. This woman deserves my care right now. Not a one-eyed devil spitting baby-batter at her.

Help her, you asshole!

Swallowing hard, I tighten my fists around my bag and flick my gaze around the room. There are three cops, two firemen, Stanley and myself. All men. And not a single person is speaking or moving. Everyone is just…

Staring at her.

What the fuck?

Anger, fierce and feral, rips through me like a raging fire I've never felt before. Why the hell isn't anyone helping this poor baby? She's vulnerable and exposed. She's hurt, for tit's sake.

The woman chokes on a sob, and it's enough to yank me from my anger, forcing me to focus. I'm worried she might be close to, or already, having a panic attack. If she hyperventilates, this situation is going to become much worse.

A laugh slips free from my right and my head snaps toward the sound just as a wide-eyed Stanley tries to cover the sound with a cough. He fails. Just like he fails to be discrete when he adjusts his obvious hard-on.

Oh, hell nah.

"What happened, sweetheart? Got a little roughed up?" Stanley coos. A couple of the other men laugh, and she whimpers, breaking my heart.

He steps forward, or tries to, but barely makes it an inch before I'm on him.

"Do not fucking move," I whisper-hiss, surprised by the dominance in my voice.

I press a hand to his chest, shoving the taller man back. He barely stumbles, but I don't back down. Like a viscous peacock, I'm puffing myself up for a fight, ready to protect the perfect, sexy, breedable she-cock behind me.

Wait. No. What?

Fuck.

Stan's eyes widen before narrowing to a glare. "What the fuck are you doing, Bates?"

I don't wince under his scrutiny. "Stay away until you can get that shit under control. You hear me?" I shoot a disgusted glare at his kickstand. I may be regrettably turned on as well, but at least I'm not a creep. "You're a disgrace to medical professionals everywhere."

I spin before he can respond and slowly step into the room. I turn my death glare on the other men in the room. "Do you need to be in here?" I hiss, jutting my chin at the cops.

One of them, an older, tubby man wearing the worst toupee I've ever seen, bristles. "We're clearing the scene."

I scoff, shuffling closer to the woman. The desire to protect her, cover her, care for her, is overwhelming. "SWAT cleared the scene. Now you're just being a fucking creep."

"Fuck you!" He snaps, but his partner, a man wearing thick glasses, grabs his arm and shoots me an apologetic look. Glasses murmurs something, and whatever he says has Tubby's shoulders dropping with an indignant huff. "Fine. Let's go. Jefferson, Decunto, cut the chains so the paddy-wagon-pancakes can fix the chick."

The cops leave, but not before Tubby shoots the woman another longing glance. He shoulder-checks Stanley on his way out, but my partner is too busy watching the woman to care. My teeth grind together and I rub my hand across my bare head, fighting the urge to roar like a dragon protecting its hoard.

Get it together.

With a steadying breath, I turn to face my patient and edge my way closer to the bed. The firemen look suitably guilty, their gazes directed toward the ceiling as they wait for my assessment. Good.

Fuck. Guess I'm up.

Remember your training, Fred.

"Alright, ma'am, we're here to help. Can you tell us what happened?"

She sucks in a hard breath but doesn't respond. Another breath that shakes her body. Hell, she's going to pass out if she keeps that up.

I move closer, hoping I don't frighten the angel dove. Her face is tucked into her shoulder still, so I have no idea what she looks like. My eyes and body are begging me to take in her naked form, but I refuse to give in, to be like them. Instead, I scan the scene.

The lights in the room are oddly dim, lit by only a single lamp on the bed table. There are no bulbs in the ceiling, only an exposed fixture. In the center of the room is a king bed with minimal bedding, just a white sheet set that she's managed to tangle around her ankles. On the sheets, near her plump peach, is a smear of bright red blood.

Fuck.

Unsure what else to do, I set my bag down next to her, giving the firefighters a grateful look when they turn away, offering us her their backs.

"Ma'am," I murmur softly. She still jumps, shifting as if to put space between us. I choke back a growl. What happened to her? "Ma'am, my name's Fred. I'm an EMT. I'm here to help you." When she stops trying to get away from me, and her breathing evens out, I continue. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to untangle the top sheet from your legs and cover you with it so the firemen can come closer and remove the cuffs. Then I'll assess your injuries."

She whimpers again, but her muscles seem to slowly soften. Her breathing is still labored, but I'm not worried about her passing out anymore.

"Okay," she whispers. "J-just don't touch me." She swallows, tacking on the sweetest please I've ever heard in my life.

"Sure thing, bedbug," I find myself saying. My brows furrow, and I shake the random nickname away before quickly untangling the sheet and wrapping it over her body. The back of my knuckles accidentally graze her thigh and we both jump.

"I-I said don't touch m-me!" She snaps, her head jolting from its hiding place.

Thin peach hair parts, exposing a rounded face and the prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen in my life. I suck in a sharp breath at the same time she does. Holy ballsacks! She's stunning.

Her face is swollen from crying and there are dark smudges under her eyes, but it doesn't take away from how gorgeous she is. We stare at each other for a long moment before suddenly, her pretty face crumples all over again.

"It was supposed to be a fun night, but something went wrong," she cries, curling in on herself. The cuffs tug and I cringe, wanting to jump forward and freeze her movements. "Now I'm bleeding, and it hurts so much!"

I swallow hard, trying to keep my professional facade intact when all I want to do is rage. This is way beyond anything I imagined for my first night. My eyes flick between her face and her red, swollen wrists. They're my first priority. I don't want her to break anything.

"Let's get you out of those cuffs first," I say softly, trying to sound reassuring. "Hang tight."

Hang tight? Really, Fred? Could you be any more awkward?

"Is that okay…" I trail off, hoping she catches my unspoken question.

Her throat bobs. "Story. My name is Story."

Story? What a perfect name for the mother of my children.

Wait, what the fuck? You're losing it, Fred.

Or finding it.

"Is it okay if the firemen help you now, Story? Get your pretty hands out of those big, bad, meanie-weanie cuffs?" I don't know why, but my voice has taken on a tone I've never used outside of speaking to babies and cute puppies. It makes her lips twitch, though, so I'm counting it as a win.

"Y-yes," she stutters, licking her lush, red lips. Her chocolate eyes flick between mine as I step back. "Wait!"

I freeze.

"Where are you going?" There's a frantic note in her voice and it makes my heart race.

Without thinking, I reach out and run my hand over her head, the only body part I can touch without being sued.

"I'm not going anywhere, poopsie," I murmur, patting her gently. To my utter shock, she leans into my touch, nuzzling like a kitten. Cute. So damn cute. "I'm just giving them space so they can work."

"Then what?" she whispers, her eyes briefly sliding to our surroundings before coming right back to mine. It makes me feel ten feet tall.

"Well," I murmur, barely resisting the urge to run my fingers through her messy hair. "After these nice firemen cut off the cuffs, I'll assess your injuries, and if you need to be taken to a hospital, I'll take you to get fixed up, good as new."

"We both will," a nasally voice whines.

She sucks in a sharp breath and shakes her head wildly. "No. No hospitals. I don't want to go to the hospital."

I can tell she's starting to panic again, so I give into my previous urge and let my fingers slip through her hair, careful of the knots. "If it's bad…"

"It's not. It's no big deal. I'm fine. Swear."

I give her a questioning look, not trusting her anxious babble. Instead of pushing her on it, I give her a sharp nod. She instantly relaxes and smiles sweetly at me. Christ. That smile is enough to start and end a goddamned war.

"If you're as injured as you claimed to be when you called, we'll have to take you in," Stanley drawls, making her tense up all over again.

"What?" She cries. "I don't—"

"Miss?" One of the firefighters says softly, interrupting her spiral and forcing her to breathe. "Let's just start with the cuffs, hmm? One thing at a time."

When she slowly nods her consent, I step back. It's a colossal effort to put space between us, and it only gets worse as the men move in to help her.

Touch her.

Smell her.

Stanley makes a humming sound in the back of his throat and my vision goes spotty. I grit my teeth, wondering how quickly I can get away with slicing his cock off and shoving it down his throat before I get tackled by the cops in the other room.

"Stop looking at her," I mutter, my fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

He scoffs. "It's my job to look at her, dill weed." I feel him staring at me but refuse to look away from my patient. My Story.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

"It's your job, too, or have you forgotten why you're here?"

She's not just a job to me . I think the words but tuck my lips between my teeth before I can set them free. I have no idea why I feel this way about her. We've barely exchanged more than a few words. She's in a vulnerable, horrible situation. If anything, seeing her like this is inspiring a level of insane, feral protectiveness I've never felt before.

Stanley chuckles, clicking his tongue. Apparently, I'm not hiding my feelings as well as I thought. "You've lost the fucking plot, man."

He's not wrong, but something inside me is swirling like a cow-filled tornado on the farm, growing bigger and stronger with every whimper, tear, and pained sob. I can't just leave her here. Can't just walk away after we've assessed her injuries. If she really refuses to go to a hospital, this could be it. These next few moments could be the last time I ever see her.

Fuck. What am I supposed to do?

A loud clang fills the air, pulling me from my chaotic thoughts just as the firemen snap off the first cuff with a pair of bolt cutters. A minute later, the second arm is released. Story immediately curls into a ball. The movement shifts the thin sheet, exposing the side of her sweet, curvy body. My already hard knob pulses with desire.

Despite the gravity of the situation, it's difficult to ignore how absolutely breathtaking she is.

Focus, Fred, focus.

The firefighters clean up their tools and quickly exit, leaving Story alone with Stanley and me. I feel him shift next to me, preparing to step in, no doubt, but I get to her first.

"I'm going to check you over now, alright?" I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the mix of emotions welling within me. She sniffles, but doesn't respond."Is it okay if I check your injuries, Story?"

She wraps the sheets around her body tightly until only her head is poking out the top. Against my will, I smile. Cute little caterpillar, isn't she?

Her weary gaze collides with mine and as one, we suck in audible gasps. With her eyes on me, it's like I've been sucker-punched while simultaneously taking my first real breath in what feels like forever.

Is it possible she feels the same?

"Look, this is cute and all, but I've got shit to do," Stanley drawls, shoving me away.

I stumble backward. That's the only reason he gets to Story before I can intervene. Without care, he drops his big body onto the bed, making her cocooned-self roll into his side. She cries out when she collides with his knee, and rage like I've never known before swells within me. I try to breathe through it. Try to act like a normal human, a professional, instead of the monster I've suddenly become.

She needs help.

Stanley wraps his hand around the sheet and tugs, glaring at her when she refuses to release her death grip. "Let go, lady."

I tense, stepping forward. He may be my superior, but if he hurts her, I'll kill the fucker.

"No."

The single word reverberates around the too-quiet room like a gunshot. Pride fills me at the strength in Story's voice, the anger and fierceness in her gaze.

That's my muffin.

Stan shoots her an incredulous look. "No?" She shakes her head. "Let me get this straight…" He trails off, his brows crushing together. "You called for help. Now you're refusing it?"

She shakes her head again and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Her brown eyes move from him to me. The second she sees me, her shoulders drop. In relief? Or something else?

"No, I'm not refusing help," she says firmly. "I want help. I–I think I really need it." And then her eyes are leaving mine and the urge to chase her attention becomes almost too much to take. She looks at Stan, and if it weren't for the disgust written all over her pretty face, I might be jealous. "I'm refusing your help."

He jumps to his feet and gapes down at her. "What the fuck?"

Her lip twitches. "That's right, mister. You can't touch me." The smile she turns my way is enough to melt butter. "Only Fred can."

Well, skiddly rinky dinky doo, Story. I think I might just love you.