The morning is chaotic.

Like always.

The baby is in her swing, crying. I’m attempting to get her and myself ready for my 12-hour hospital shift and make myself a to-go coffee on four hours of sleep.

“Babe! Can you help,” I holler to my husband, who’s enjoying his coffee on the lanai, watching the morning news. “ I have to leave early for a meeting!”

“You’re the one who wants to breastfeed at night, babe,” he yells back without getting up.

Fucker.

I grab my bag, the baby, and head out the door without my coffee or a goodbye.

In the car, I get the baby settled into her car seat, and I say that casually like it’s a simple thing. Like it doesn’t come with a hundred tiny battles no one sees. My husband doesn't see. But one day, I swear, something like this might be the thing that pushes me right over the fucking edge.

After I drop my sweet girl off at daycare, I have to stop at the fire station across the street to get the new one installed.

I’m pissed. I’m already late, have no coffee, and my husband was supposed to take care of this car seat weeks ago.

I pull into the fire station. The bay doors are open, and the trucks are pulled halfway out. Two firemen are doing their morning checks on the equipment.

I pull into a spot, watching them for a moment, not wanting to interrupt their work. Both are wearing navy T-shirts with the station’s emblem on the chest, sleeves hugging their biceps, and broad shoulders.

Heavy black work pants with reflective strips at the boot line, both leaving the thick red suspenders hanging loose at their sides.

They’re opening and closing compartments, and one climbs into the cab, flicking switches and checking lights.

I swear I’m hypnotized watching these gorgeous men work. My phone alerts startling me, it’s a text from my boss. “Yeah, sorry for the late notice, but we have to push the meeting a few hours. Come in at your regular time, sorry about that.”

Hell yes.

Now I can take my time.

Stop for a coffee.

The firefighters back the truck in and close the bay doors. I get out and walk into the front office. The younger fireman is behind a large, otherwise empty metal desk.

This guy is extremely good-looking. He’s young, maybe too young, but he’s sexy, and I can picture myself on top of him at any age.

His face is rugged in a way that felt almost unfair: strong jaw, dark scruff, steady mouth. His dark eyes are tired but alert and watchful, and his damp brown, tousled hair falls in loose curls, as if he hasn't bothered to tame it.

“Good morning.” I managed after a few moments, “I’m not sure if this is a good time, but I’m hoping someone can help me put a new car seat in,” I asked, my voice shaking, and I’m not sure why.

He grins. “Sure, are you in a hurry?” he asks.

“Actually, no, my meeting was just canceled,” I reply.

“Okay, cool. My Captain told me to make the coffee, and I don’t want to make him wait. He can be a bear when he doesn’t get his way,” he scoffed with a smile.

He starts to walk away and stops abruptly. “Yeah, do you think you could help me? I’m not sure I know what I’m doing.”

“Sure,” I agree, shrugging.

The firehouse lounge smells of smoke, stale coffee, and oil, worn chairs and scarred tables scattered around. A brass pole rose through the floor, polished by decades of use, while a kitchen in the corner holds the coffee pot, and I made my way over.

He sits down on a chair, and I furrow my brows. “Ah, no, I’m not doing it for you. I’m going to teach you how to do it. Get over here.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face, giving me instant goosebumps. “Yes, ma’am,” he exclaims.

He stands close, too close, hovering over my shoulder. He’s an imposing, large young man. His closeness makes me hyper-aware of my body.

His arm stretches over me for the coffee, brushing my chest in passing, and instantly, a warmth of milk releases. A soft, involuntary gasp slips out, and I know he caught it.

“Shit, I didn’t…I’m sorry,” he breathed, his gaze lingering where my warmth betrayed me.

“No, it’s okay. It’s just that any little thing makes my milk come in.” I look down and see two large wet spots on my shirt. I exhale hard.

“Damn…” he whispers, staring. “I’m sorry, but God that’s so fucking hot.” He’s nervously rubbing the back of his neck, gaze locked on my chest.

His cheeks red, he licks his lips, muttering, “Jesus… I didn’t mean to say that.” Stepping back did little to hide the heat still radiating toward me.

My lips move before I process his reaction, low and teasing. “You like that, baby? Do you wanna see more?” My pulse races at my own boldness.

“Fuck yeah!” His voice rough, eyes hungry.

I swear I’m outside my body. I’m not thinking; I’m only feeling. And what I’m feeling is pure desire. I unbutton my blouse and take his hands, placing them on my chest.

He takes full advantage of this invitation and slips his hands around my back, unfastening my bra. My breasts spilling free, heavy and warm, with an unspoken promise hanging in the air.

He cups them, staring as the milk leaks. He looks up, captivated. I place my hands over his and squeeze slightly, unleashing warm streams of milk from each breast.

The sensation was overwhelming. His lips immediately on my skin, his tongue warm, his hunger unapologetic, and my body melted into it. My husband can’t even touch my breast milk without recoiling, and the contrast made the pleasure almost unbearable.

He kisses me like he has already memorized my body, and my fingers push him lower to the place where I ached the most. His fingers make me shiver uncontrollably, moaning loudly.

Clothes disappear in frantic urgency, but his hands and mouth are magnetically drawn to my chest again and again.

Seeing him bare made my breath hitch. He senses my reaction and speaks in a deep but gentle voice. “Baby, we’ll go slow. I know it’s a lot.”

He picks me up like it’s nothing, my body fitting against his like it belongs there. On the couch, he pauses just long enough to make me ache before settling over me. “Ready, baby,” he murmurs into my ear, making my pulse race.

I nod.

He moves carefully, stretching me, inch by inch, then stills, pulling back just enough to look at me with wonder. “Damn,” he breathes, burying his face into my neck. “You feel incredible.” The way he said it made me feel seen, wanted.

In one quick, experienced move, he rolled on his back, positioning me on top. I roll my hips into him with ease. His initial attraction to my chest turned into something warmer, deeper, catching the streams with his mouth and groaning with pleasure.

A rough voice cuts through the air. “What the hell is this?” The sudden presence jolted us both. My arms instinctively cover what I can. My firefighter freezes, then glances between us, apologetic and flustered. The Captain’s gaze lingers on me.

He’s in his late thirties, forties maybe. Equally good-looking but much more intimidating. He looks at me smugly like he already knows my answer. “You deserve more than half-measures. Let a grown man help satisfy your desires,” he says calmly, the confidence in his voice stirring something reckless inside me.

I surprise myself by meeting his gaze, lowering my arms instead of hiding. “If you’re patient with me,” I say softly, “I might be curious enough to entertain you both.” The thrill of it made my breath shake.

He removes his shirt and lowers his pants. I didn’t take my eyes off him as I began grinding my hips again, bringing my first man back into my body’s rhythm.

Seeing him fully undone stole my confidence for a moment. Bigger than the first, heavier somehow, and suddenly my body felt too aware of itself.

He closes the distance, pushing his thumb into my mouth, pressing down until my jaw yields. Then he slides himself in, slow and unapologetic.

I struggle to take more than half before my body pushes back. His hand tangled in my hair, holding me steady as he pressed deeper. “That’s it, mama,” he growls. “Take it all.”

He lifts me effortlessly away. “My turn,” he says, directed to the rookie, seating himself and guiding me back against him, my spine pressed to his chest.

The first man slides between my legs, kneeling, his mouth tracing familiar paths on my chest, squeezing milk into his mouth, before moving lower. Feeling him there while the Captain fills me was almost too much, my body trembling under the contrast.

I know what my first firefighter wants, I feel it in the way he hovers, and the look he gives me with a half grin. I’m about to cross another line I never imagined I would. I say yes anyway, the Captain not relenting.

I coax the Captain onto his back and lower myself onto him again. I position myself carefully, then reach for the first man’s hand, guiding him exactly where I need him, committing fully to what was coming next.

He leans close, voice low. “You sure, baby?” The question grounds me even as my nerves spike.

“Yes,” I murmur, even though doubt floods me.

He pushes slowly and steadily, my body unwillingly giving up what is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Finally, when he makes entry even slightly, it sends sharp shockwaves through me, and I squeal loudly.

“That’s it, new boots,” the Captain says, voice edged with something dangerous. “Show her.” He pulls my face to his, kissing me deeply until my fear softens.

Once I relax, their rhythm takes over. My body stops fighting and starts responding. Pain replaced with intense pleasure. It isn't long until the intensity crests, and my body caves in. I shake uncontrollably with satisfaction.

My first firefighter releases himself inside me shortly after, filling me with his warmth. The Captain then pulls out and repositions me with practiced ease, drawing me down in front of him.

His hand holds my head firmly, pushing me until I gag, never easing. “That’s it, mama,” he groans, finishing with force as I struggle for air.

He was watching me closely as my eyes pleaded for mercy. “Swallow first,” he says quietly. When I did, he pulled away slowly, running his thumb over my lips. “That’s a good girl.”

I collapse back between them, dazed and overwhelmed by what had just occurred. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the space. Until the sharp tone from the ceiling snaps everything apart. Both men are up and dressing before the second alert, a few seconds later.

Then the dispatcher’s voice comes through. “Engine 3, Ladder 1, respond to a reported three-car accident, 842 Oak Street, cross of Willow. Time out 0600.”

The older firefighter vanishes without a word, but the younger firefighter leans down and kisses me quickly, still breathless and grinning. “Come back tomorrow,” he pleads. “I’ll even put the car seat in,” he winks as he disappears down the fire pole.

It hit me all at once. The car seat. Fuck… I forgot all about the car seat.