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I open my eyes in the back of an ambulance, an oxygen mask strapped to my face. What the hell happened? My head is still pounding, but it does feel better. That’s good. Why am I in an ambulance? As I look around, I recognize several of my neighbours. Some are walking around, some appear to be doing the same thing I am. Jesus, I hope everyone is okay!

A paramedic comes over and asks me how I’m feeling. I tell him I’m feeling better minute by minute, then ask what is going on. The oxygen making me feel better makes sense when I hear it was carbon monoxide poisoning. Jesus, that’s terrifying. No wonder so many of us looking like the walking dead – we feel like it.

It isn’t long before I feel well enough to stand on my own and leave the ambulance. I thank the paramedic, then wander over to my neighbours to see if anyone knows when we can get back inside. I’m only wearing my favourite tank dress jammies; it is threadbare in spots, and even brand new would not be keeping me warm outside for long. As it is, the chattering of my teeth is starting to draw other people’s attention. I have no underwear on, or shoes. It isn’t a cold night but wearing so little while standing on the pavement – the chill is getting worst by the moment.

I make my way to the center patio area and sit down on one of the picnic benches. I wrap my arms around my torso, but it doesn’t help. Fuck I’m cold. I bet my nipples could cut glass!

With that charming thought rolling around in my brain, God’s gift to women in a fireman’s outfit stops in front of me. Holy. Shit. Maybe I died, and this is Heaven. For some reason it’s cold, and he’s here to make me warm and all better. Oh yaaaa… as these amazing thoughts now take over, my nipples are hard for another reason. Seriously, this man is a beyond beautiful. Built like a Greek God; wild blonde hair, and it’s hard to tell in this light but I think green eyes. I can see part of a tattoo on the side of his neck, everything else is covered by his fireman’s suit. Good thing I’m already clenching my thighs close together because I can feel the moisture starting. He hasn’t even touched me or spoken – I’ll probably skyrocket onto the roof if he attempts to shake my hand. Smooth.

I wonder what his name is. Michael? No. Too serious. Carter? No. Too clean cut. Christian? Maybe…

“Hey. How you feeling? I’m Trey, one of the firemen who brought you out. It was me and my buddy Mitch.” Trey. Yeah, that works perfectly. Fucking sexy as hell. And his voice is perfect too, suits him exactly right. Low, very husky. To me it is the kind of voice that would keep outsiders away, while making those close to him feel safe and protected. Wow. That’s super hot. I think I have a female erection. Then I remember that I probably look like I’ve been run over by a dumptruck full of cowshit. Awesome.

“Thank you, Trey. That makes you both my hero,” I say with all sincerity. I’m sure he’s heard it a thousand times before, but I hope he knows I mean it. The longer I look into his eyes, the longer I want to look into his eyes. Maybe I should just spread my legs and let him fuck me here and now, since apparently that is where my mind is going. What the hell is wrong with me?!

Why does the very thought turn me on?

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