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When I first read the Call for Submissions for Delilah’s Smokin’ Hot Firemen anthology, I was stumped for ideas. Nothing I thought of seemed original or sexy enough, and I had almost resigned myself to skipping this CFS when inspiration struck on a quiet Sunday morning… in the form of a fire alarm in my apartment building!

I live in downtown Toronto, so we’re used to getting a lot of ‘false alarms’ in my building. The first thing I did was drag myself across the living room and look out over the balcony to see if any of the other tenants were evacuating. To my surprise, there were already a handful of people gathered across the road, staring up at the building. The crowd grew steadily as I watched.

Giving the alarm more serious consideration now, I grabbed the cat carrier from the closet, and ran into the living room where my 9 year old cat was dozing on the sofa. He took one look at my wide-eyed and panicked face, and fled under the couch. Sweet-talking and death threats did nothing to coax him out. He ignored me when I shook his favorite toy. He yawned when I stuck my head under the couch and cursed at him.

Finally, I had no choice but to crawl halfway under the sofa myself, reach out until I felt something warm, furry and outraged, and then physically drag my cat out from under the furniture. Getting him into the carrier was another nightmare, but by then I could hear fire truck sirens in the air, so I ignored his yowls and shoved him in. His furious howls continued all the way down 19 flights of stairs, but finally tapered off when I lugged him across the street to the safety of the parking lot across from our building.

As I sat down on the curb, dreading the inevitable (having to carry my wailing cat back up those steps again! lol), I bitterly thought to myself, “This is the worst!”

A second later though, my mood brightened considerably as I had a brilliant realization. Given a sexier ending with a chivalrous, cat-wranglin’ fireman or two, this could actually make a pretty fun story to send to Delilah! That evening, after somehow managing to heft my furry companion back up those endless stairs, I sat down at my desk, put pen to paper, and Fire Hazard was the result.

From “Fire Hazard” by M. Marie

I opened my mouth to speak –without having any idea what to say – but wasn’t given the chance. Instantly, a ring was formed around me and a volley of concerned questions filled the room.

“Are you alright, miss?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Do you need help?”

“What’s in the cage?” The last question drew my attention to a middle-aged man standing to my left. His head was tilted towards the carrier, and a hint of an amused smile was visible under the eyeshield of his mask.

I frowned and shifted the carrier to my other hand. “My cat.”

“Ahhh.” He was grinning openly now. “He doesn’t sound very happy. Did he give you all those cuts?”

Glancing down, I took notice of my appearance for the first time. It was Saturday morning and, despite it being past 11:00 a.m., I was still wearing my pyjamas. The striped cotton sleep shorts barely reached my upper thighs, and rode low on my hips. The matching pink camisole reached just past my navel, but left a good inch of skin exposed between the hem of my top and the waistband of my shorts. Plain white athletic socks covered my feet, the bottoms of which were a filthy grey from running down the stairs. No one’s attention seemed focused on my attire, though.

All eyes were on the blood.

Dried blood stained the front of my tank top. Above the neckline of the top, numerous scratch marks cut into my chest. They weren’t deep, but more than one was still bleeding sluggishly. Both forearms sported matching injuries, and the tops of my thighs were cut as well. No wonder my appearance had caused such a scene.

Feeling a warm flush spread over my face, I self-consciously tugged at the hem of my shirt and mumbled, “He was just upset by the noise and the carrier. I’m fine.”

“Well, the alarm shouldn’t be bothering him much longer,” the smiling firefighter offered. “We’ve already contained the fire in the garbage room, and we’ll be letting people re-enter the building shortly.”

I felt a relieved real smile spreading across my face. “That’s great! I’m not looking forward to carrying him back upstairs, though,” I admitted.

A larger man stepped forward from the back of the group and singled out the man beside me. “Jackson, why don’t you help her back up to her apartment? Make sure she’s alright. Sebastian is working on the alarm and we have everything else here under control.”

Jackson nodded. “No problem,” he agreed as he stepped beside me. He reached down to touch his fingers to handle of Brute’s carrier. “May I?”

Gratefully, I allowed him to take my burden, then fell into step behind him. He held the door open for me, then took the lead as we started up the steps.

“What floor are we headed to?” he asked as we began our ascent.

“20.”

Jackson grunted and tightened his grip on the carrier. After a few minutes of climbing, the alarm cut out at last. The sudden silence rang in my ears, but the peaceful quiet was short-lived; Brute quickly filled the silence with his own penetrating cries. Jackson paused on the next landing and tapped a gloved finger against the front bars of the carrier. “Calm down, buddy. We’re almost there,” he coaxed in a gentle, patient voice, before glancing back at me. “How about you? Holding up ok?”

His concerned expression made my face feel hot. Flustered, I nodded and hurried past him up the stairs.

We were both tired and breathing heavily when we finally reached the 20th floor. I unlocked my door and held it open for the firefighter, then followed him inside. He stopped just inside the entryway and lowered the carrier to the floor. Straightening back up, he reached up and removed his helmet.

He wasn’t quite as old as I had thought. His face was rugged, with dark, coarse stubble spread across his chin and jaw, but his blue eyes were bright and when he grinned, he reminded me of a teasing teenager.

He was grinning at me now. “Should I release the beast?” He gestured at Brute’s cage and I laughed.

“Give me a minute to get out of the way! He’s going to be mad.”

I backed into the washroom, then nodded. As soon as the man released the latch and opened the door, Brute shot out of the carrier with a fierce hiss and disappeared into the living room. Jackson chuckled as he joined me.

“Mission accomplished with no casualties,” he joked, before a more serious expression crossed his face. “How about I look after you now?”

 About the Author:

M. Marie lives in the heart of downtown Toronto and she is both an erotica writer and enthusiast. 🙂

She’s also a huge supporter of the arts – opera, the theatre, fine arts and textile arts, in particular – as well as a big fan of videogames, animation, comics, and writing of course!

As a freelance writer, who has very recently began writing erotica, she is finding the experience challenging, but exciting. It has made her discover new sides to herself, led her to strengthen her personal relationships, and is constantly pushing her to critically examine boundaries she didn’t even realize she had.

Her short stories have been included in a number of collections, including: Girl Fever: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex for Lesbians, Cowboy Lust: Erotic Romance for Women, Smokin’ Hot Firemen: Erotic Romance Stories for Women, Wild Girls Wild Nights: True Lesbian Sex Stories, Wild at Heart, Sugar Sugar (Girls Getting Off), Cream of the Crop – Disciplined Sex, and Under Cover of Darkness.

She is currently penning her first full-length novel.

M. Marie blogs at: www.mmarie.ca