Playing with Fire by Mia Dymond Page A

with
his body at Maddie’s disposal. He lifted his hips to rub his dick
against the treasure between her legs, desperate to be inside.
    “Take off my boxers, Maddie,” he pleaded.
    She lifted an eyebrow. “You take them
off.”
    He cut his eyes at the handcuffs.
“Right.”
    His eager soldier saluted as she kneeled
between his legs and hooked her fingers under the elastic of his
waistband. Just when he was convinced relief was on the way, a
pager squealed.
    He sighed as she leaned across him. “Yours or
mine?”
    “Mine,” she said quickly. Bouncing off the
bed, she kicked off her heels and ran across the bedroom to grab
her clothing. “It’s a code blue. I’ve got to go.”
    In a matter of seconds, she threw on her
scrubs, hooked her stethoscope around her neck and ran for the
door.
    “Maddie!”
    “Oh!” She ran back into the bedroom and gave
him a wet kiss on the lips. “We’ll play tonight.”
    Before he could respond, Hurricane Maddie
flew out the front door. He lay in shock in the bedroom. Handcuffed
helplessly to the bed. His erection wilted.
    Snapping himself out of his stupor, he
glanced at the handcuff squeezing his left wrist and groaned.
Metal. Whatever happened to cheap plastic? He yanked the iron
bracelet against the bedpost. Fuzzy pink feathers floated in the
silence. Sonuvabitch . He stretched his arm as far as he
could in hope it would be far enough to slide the handcuff over the
top of the bedpost. His shoulder screamed in response. His anger
faded to desperation as he lay on his back and racked his brain for
a way out of this that didn’t involve humiliation. Impossible.
    He rolled to the side one more time. If he
gathered enough momentum, he could knock the phone off the hook. He
took a hopeful swipe with his left leg. The receiver toppled from
the cradle and fell to the table. He exhaled in relief at the sound
of a dial tone. Now all he had to do was punch speed dial before
the line went dead. Inching himself around on the bed, he managed
to reach the button with his big toe. Sweat coated his forehead as
he listened to the ringing tones.
    “Primrose Fire Department, Hartwell.”
    “Shane,” he hollered.
    “Where the hell are you? You left two hours
ago.”
    “Come to my house. Now.” He swallowed the
panic in his throat. “Alone.”
    “You sound like you’re in a tunnel. What’s
wrong?”
    “Just get over here, Hartwell! And use your
key.”
     
    Shane frowned and stared at the phone, not
really sure if Dylan had disconnected. What the hell was going on
over there? He hung up the phone and stood to dig his keys from his
picket. Suspicion invaded his mind as he left the station. This
better be important. The last time Carmichael called for help in
the middle of the afternoon, he ended up coaxing Mrs. Bradbury’s
fat, lazy cat out of her oak tree.
    Still somewhat perplexed, he parked in front
of the Carmichael home several minutes later. He unlocked the front
door, still not quite sure why he used a key if Dylan was
inside.
    “Dylan?”
    “Bedroom,” Dylan barked.
    Shane’s eyes widened in amazement as he
approached the bedroom and saw his best friend in his boxers and
held hostage by the four-post bed. He kicked a pair of red shoes to
the side before he braced himself against the doorframe and
smirked. “No way.”
    “Get me loose.”
    “Does your wife know about this?”
    “Maddie did this!” Dylan spat.
    “Why are you halfway dressed?”
    “We were interrupted. The hospital paged and
she flew out of here like a bat out of hell.”
    “And left you hanging.”
    “Hartwell,” Dylan growled. “Uncuff me.”
    “I told you I didn’t want to know anything
about you and Maddie playing with sex toys.”
    Dylan snarled. “I had to call somebody.”
    “What makes you think I can help?” Shane
pushed himself off the doorframe, picked up the phone from the
floor, and placed it back beside the bed.
    “Your girlfriend provided the toys,” Dylan
said smugly. “Get some