The Tinder Stories Read online

  The Tinder Stories – Oceanside Fire Series

  By Tory Temple

  Return to Oceanside Fire, where the sizzling passion between men scorches everything they touch—especially each other. For firefighter Chris Matthews and instructor Morgan Daniels, it’s dislike at first sight—but that doesn’t mean there’s any relief from the heat building between them, and it only takes a spark to set the tinder ablaze.

  Will Chris and Morgan go from enemies to lovers, or will they remain enemies with healthy libidos who stoke each other’s flames? Morgan is no fan of firefighters in general, and he finds Chris especially grating. But when they’re together, the sexual tension is thick enough to cut with a knife—and there’s only one way to work it off. A battle of wills is sure to follow. Add in an age difference, and finding common ground will be an uphill battle. Even if they succeed in building a relationship, secrets and suspicion could reduce everything to ash.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Tinder

  Embers

  Sparks

  More from Tory Temple

  Readers love Fireline – Oceanside Fire Series by Tory Temple

  About the Author

  By Tory Temple

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Tinder

  Tinder: (n) material for starting a fire; readily combustible material.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “AW, JEEZ. Not this guy again.” Chris Matthews slid down lower in his chair and glared at the instructor of his monthly class.

  The guy had a bad attitude; that was for damn sure. It wasn’t Chris’s fault—or the rest of his crew’s, for that matter—that they had to take a class a couple of times a month to fulfill state requirements for continuing education. Firefighting was constantly changing and shifting with the times, and all firemen were required to complete forty-five clock hours’ worth of training every year to keep their certification current.

  Most of the time, Chris liked his classes. They were taught at the station while he was on shift, usually by the nurse educators from the local hospital, and involved anything from burn wound care to what to do if they encountered a meth addict on one of their calls. Sometimes the classes were practical instead of medical and were taught by either a retired captain or academy instructor. Chris appreciated the refresher courses on stuff like swift-water rescue and fire behavior. He’d only been on the department for a little over two years and knew that he’d just scratched the surface on what he needed to learn.

  Until now, Chris had never gotten the impression that any of the instructors didn’t like their job. That was before his most recent class started. Last month, they had to start a sexual harassment course due to the influx of new female firefighters into the department. Not that any one of them had to worry about Chris coming onto them. He’d pretty much figured out he was gay by the time he’d graduated from college, despite a few failed attempts to convince himself he liked women.

  Now, at thirty, he’d had enough cock to know that women were the last thing on his mind as far as sex went.

  But the guy teaching this harassment class didn’t give a shit about that, Chris could tell. He’d started off last month by introducing himself as Morgan Daniels, and that was about the only personal information he’d offered before scrawling SEXUAL HARASSMENT: STATISTICS in capital letters across the board and diving right in. Chris had no idea if this guy even worked for Oceanside Fire.

  Chris studied him surreptitiously now under the guise of pretending to take notes. Daniels was pretty good-looking, if Chris was trying to be objective. About six feet tall, dark hair that was beginning to gray a touch at the temples. Age was hard to tell. Late thirties, probably? Chris had no idea. He also had no idea why he was checking the guy out, since his attitude had turned Chris off from the beginning.

  “Matthews!” Daniels suddenly barked. “Approximately how many sexual harassment cases are filed each year?”

  Fuck. “Uh. Five hundred?” He scanned his notes quickly, hoping he’d written it down.

  He got a wry look by way of answer, and Daniels turned to the rest of his crew. “How about the right answer from someone who was listening?”

  “Fifteen thousand,” Tucker McBride piped up, sending Chris an apologetic face.

  Chris barely refrained from rolling his eyes. It figured Tucker would know. Half of the cases were probably against him.

  He and Tucker had a little bit of history; nothing anyone would write home about, but enough that Tucker was as reserved as possible around Chris. If anything about Tucker could be considered “reserved,” that was. No wonder Chris had spent the first year at Station Nineteen panting after him. Until Tucker’s partner, Chancellor Shanahan, had made it clear in no uncertain terms that Tucker was off-limits. Shanahan was a captain for the department and although he worked on a different shift at a different station, Chris made sure to steer as far clear of Tucker as possible, despite the close quarters of their jobs.

  Chris slouched even lower, feeling his neck come into contact with the back of his chair and trying to sneak a look at his watch. This sucked. It was bad enough he had to work on the first sunny day that spring had given him, but to be stuck in a classroom was even worse. He’d much rather be out on the new motorcycle he’d bought himself two months ago.

  Shuffling of books and papers alerted him to the fact that the lecture had come to an end, and he quickly began to gather his supplies to make a hasty exit. Maybe he’d go out to the small basketball court for a while and shoot some balls in the sun.

  “Matthews” came the stony voice, “stay for a moment, please.”

  Great. Maybe not.

  Chris sighed and looked up to see Daniels perching on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest and an impenetrable expression on his face. The rest of his crew gave him sympathetic looks as they filed out of the small station classroom.

  He stayed where he was and waited. Daniels didn’t move from the edge of the desk as he said, “This class isn’t a joke, you know.”

  Chris blinked. “I know that, sir.”

  “You don’t act like it. How long’ve you been with the department?”

  Chris resisted the impulse to ask him the same question, knowing damn well the man wasn’t with the fire department at all. “Two years. Sir,” he added, despite the bitter taste it left in his mouth.

  “You have a full career ahead of you, Matthews. You want to screw that all up because some girl decides to call harassment on you? I suggest you listen well while you’re here.” He seemed to be finished after that, looking down to clear some paperwork off the desk.

  “Why are you such an asshole?” Chris blurted out before he could stop himself, and then cursed internally. All he needed was for Daniels to report him to Rich, Chris’s captain, and he’d get written up.

  But Daniels just arched a brow and said calmly, “I hate firemen. Any other questions?”

  Chris blinked. “No.”

  “Good. See you next week, and don’t forget your paper on sexual harassment statistics.” Daniels gathered his briefcase and stood.

  “Uh, I didn’t hear you assign that homework to us,” Chris said, still sitting in his chair.

  “I didn’t. Just to you. See you Monday.” And then he left, leaving the classroom door standing open behind him.

  HE LEFT it to the last minute, of course, but the overtime shift he’d worked on Friday hadn’t helped matters any. Chris scowled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror late Sunday night. He’d worked on the fucking paper all day, turning down an invitation from a friend to go for a motorcycle ride, and now it was finished.

  And it sucked.

  But he was so tired that he didn’
t care; he just wanted to crawl in bed and sleep for a week. His last two shifts had kept him up nights, and while Chris knew it was part of his job, it still didn’t make getting through the day any easier.

  He stripped off his shorts and T-shirt and crawled between crisp sheets, glad he shelled out the extra cash for a housekeeping service to keep his place looking decent. He worked a lot of twenty-four-hour shifts, enough so that his small house in Oceanside didn’t get really dirty, but cleaning was the last thing he wanted to do on the days he was home and not at the station.

  It was going to be one of those nights he was too tired to sleep, unfortunately, which Chris discovered as soon as he tried to relax. His eyes refused to close and he stared at his ceiling for a while, wondering if the tiny crack in the corner would prove to be a problem if there were an earthquake. When he realized his eyes were starting to water from not blinking, he heaved a disgusted sigh and turned to his side.

  His eyes lit on the bottle of lotion he kept by the bed. He usually didn’t leave lube lying around, not with the housekeepers in once a week, but the lotion was fairly inconspicuous. Chris reached out and pumped a handful before turning to his back again and lowering a palm to his cock. Might as well take the edge off.

  He hadn’t even known he was half-hard until he touched himself, and then he sprang to life almost immediately. The lotion was cool and slippery but not too greasy, a benefit of buying the more expensive stuff. Chris coated himself well and began to stroke, eyes closing.

  Random images flitted through his mind as he tried to pick one for good jerkoff material. He used the thought of his old boyfriend sometimes; Brian had had a great mouth on him. Sometimes Chris thought about the guy who made his coffee for him at his favorite coffee place. He was pretty cute, with longish shaggy hair and green eyes. And once in a great while, Chris thought about Tucker. Shit, who could blame him? The guy had dimples so deep you just wanted to stick your finger in one of them, plus the longest fucking eyelashes Chris had ever seen. Add in the thought of Tucker going down on his partner and it was a fantasy in the making.

  Chris wanted to pick one of those. They were familiar. They worked. All he wanted was to get off and then maybe relax enough to sleep. But the face that kept flashing into his mind wasn’t one he even liked. Dark hair, graying at the temples. Stony expression. Wire-rimmed glasses. Flat stomach, trim waist, nice ass….

  Fuck! He couldn’t believe he was hard over thoughts of Morgan Daniels, but somehow his hand moved faster over his prick and his breath came a little heavier as he pictured him. Nice, quick strokes, just the kind he liked, and the slippery precome at the head only adding to the perfect friction. Chris sucked in one last breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight. Almost, almost. He was close. He could feel it just behind his balls and in the pit of his stomach.

  And then there was the welcome bright flash of climax as he came, surprising himself with the intensity. Chris could only lock his muscles in place as he spilled over his fingers, trembling against his orgasm.

  He took a long time coming down, feeling his come dry stiffly on his belly and trying not to think about… well, what he’d just thought about. But it didn’t mean anything. It was just a stupid fantasy, only meant to help get him off as quick as he could. Christ, Chris couldn’t even stand the man in person. The fact that he was good-looking had no bearing on that.

  He was still telling himself that when he fell asleep.

  MONDAY DAWNED bright and clear and blue, a perfect southern California morning. Chris glared balefully at the sun streaming through his living-room window. It wasn’t right that spring was being so cheerful this year; Chris was used to the gray marine layer that covered everything until at least noon. All it made him want to do was ditch work for the day and go for a ride.

  Not that he didn’t love what he did for a living, he reminded himself as he pulled into Station Nineteen and the shining fire engines caught his attention. All he’d ever wanted to do was be a firefighter. And he was a pretty decent one, if he did say so himself. The last two years with Oceanside Fire Authority had taught him a lot. He wasn’t in a driving hurry to promote within the department, although he thought he’d like to try to take the engineer’s test in the next year or so. They had the cool jobs, getting to drive the fire engines.

  He managed to keep his bad mood at bay until the station’s morning chores were done, but when he saw Morgan Daniels striding in through the back door with his briefcase under one arm, Chris felt a snarl building in his chest. His crew began putting their coffee cups in the sink and strolling toward the small classroom in the back of the firehouse, and Chris headed toward his truck in the parking lot to get the damn paper Daniels had assigned him.

  Except it wasn’t there. Chris felt a small flash of panic start as he looked in his empty front seat for the paper he remembered printing out last night—

  —and then had left on his computer desk at home. Fuck.

  Chris swore violently and slammed the truck door closed, glancing toward the station and wondering what would happen if he just got back in his damn truck and went home. Just bailed on class and his shift and Morgan fucking Daniels.

  He jammed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere. He was too damn responsible for shit like that, except he couldn’t fucking remember to put one little paper in his gear bag for work. Nice job, Matthews, he berated himself.

  Chris set his jaw and went back inside, noting that the front room was completely empty and class had already started. Great, add being late to the list of shitty things for the day. He paused before the classroom door and wondered briefly again if he could get away with just taking off, then turned the handle and walked into the room.

  Of course the door had to be at the front, forcing him to walk right by Daniels as he made his way to his seat, keeping his head down. And of course Daniels couldn’t just let him pass without comment; that would be the less asshole-like behavior.

  “Mr. Matthews,” he said casually. “We started five minutes ago.”

  The wise choice would be to mumble an apology. Unfortunately, Chris didn’t usually go for the wise choice. “Sure hope I didn’t miss much in five minutes,” he answered, meeting Daniels’s gaze as he sat down.

  Daniels arched a brow and took a couple of steps down the aisle, putting a hip on the edge of Chris’s desk and staring down at him. “Well, Mr. Matthews, the next time your engine is five minutes late to a call where you’re responding to a heart attack patient? You can tell the grieving widow you hope you didn’t miss much in five minutes.”

  The room was quiet, save for the uncomfortable shifting of the guys in the seats around him. Chris felt his eyes narrow despite himself. “Now you’re telling me I’m a shitty fireman?”

  “I said no such thing. And you’re talking to a training officer. I suggest you watch your language.”

  Training officer? Well, that only served to raise more questions in Chris’s mind. Training officers for the department were former firefighters with at least fifteen years’ experience. Most of them didn’t teach in the classroom, however, preferring to teach field skills at the department’s training center.

  Chris opened his mouth to respond and then realized he didn’t really have anything else to say. Daniels was right; he was an officer, and Chris was bound by the ranks of their jobs to give him the respect he supposedly deserved. And if Chris kept mouthing off to him, Chris had no doubt that Daniels wouldn’t waste any time reporting him to Rich, and then he’d be fucked for promotion to engineer.

  “Sorry, sir,” he muttered, dragging his eyes down and focusing on the scratches on his desk.

  Chris half expected Daniels to continue to ride him, but after a moment, he got up from the desk and returned to his spot at the front of the room. “Let’s go over some of those statistics we discussed last time. Anybody check out the articles I recommended?”

  A couple of guys raised their hands, and the discussion stayed o
n the articles for a few minutes. Chris barely listened, instead scowling at his desk and thinking of the various medications in the paramedics’ drug box on the engine that he could use to knock Daniels out for a couple of hours.

  The mention of his name brought him back around and he looked up, startled. “Huh?”

  “I said,” Daniels repeated, “why don’t we see what Mr. Matthews has to say about harassment in the report I asked him to do?”

  Chris steeled himself. “I don’t have it. Sir,” he added as an afterthought.

  Daniels’s facial expression didn’t change. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I left it on my desk at home,” he said, knowing it sounded lame, but hell. It was the truth, wasn’t it?

  “And the flash drive you saved it to? That’s at home too?”

  He opened his mouth to say that he hadn’t bothered saving it to a memory stick, he just printed it out and left the file sitting on his hard drive, but what did it matter? He was fucked no matter what. “Yup,” he mumbled, staring down again at the top of his desk.

  There was an extended silence, during which Chris kept his eyes on his desk and told himself that getting up and walking out wasn’t worth the written reprimand. He finally felt Daniels turn his attention to the rest of his crew, but Chris knew he was far from being off the hook.

  And sure enough, an hour later, the other guys filed out of the classroom. Chris didn’t bother moving from his chair, since Daniels would just tell him to sit back down anyway. He studied his fingernails and waited.

  “So Matthews,” Daniels started, “it would have gone better for you if you’d just admitted to not doing the damn paper in the first place.”

  Chris blinked and raised his eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “I can’t stand liars.” Daniels shrugged. “Should’ve just told me you didn’t do it.”

  “I told you I did it,” Chris said, making sure to keep his voice even. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”