New High Ball - Heat by Tory Temple

[alexdraven]

Time for my monthly pimping session. Torquere Press has a new High Ball out today - Heat, by Tory Temple, which is firemen and hot guys in- and out of-  love. If this is your sort of thing, go! get!  Or ask for it for Christmas or something ;)  It was so much fun to edit with her, and I'm glad its out as a Christmas treat. 

The kitchen got noisier as more of B shift arrived and C shift got ready to leave, shoving back chairs and thunking coffee mugs into the dishwasher. There was good-natured ribbing for C shift about their crappy night, complete with calls of “hero!” when it was discovered that one of the medics had revived an old man having a heart attack.

Chance was leaning against the fridge, contemplating putting more chocolate syrup in his coffee, when the back door opened. He noticed the lull in conversation more than the actual arrival of the newcomer.

Glancing up at the sudden quiet, he was greeted with the sight of one of the prettiest men he’d ever seen. Oh, fuck, was his first thought, then Chance stopped thinking at all.

The new hire strolled into the greatroom next to the kitchen and stopped beside one of the twelve recliners in front of the television. Leaning against it insolently, he sized up each and every man in the room before saying, with a slight drawl, “Tucker McBride.”

Matt rose from his chair, coming forward with hand extended. Chance watched as the rookie shook it firmly, knowing he had already met Matt at his academy graduation, and the two men seemed to have an easy accord.

“Welcome to the Big House,” Matt said, and Tucker lifted his eyes to where the station’s nickname was carved in the wood beam above his head. The other firemen called greetings to him and Tucker made his way to the table, shaking hands with his right while holding onto his gear bag with his left. Chance kept a surreptitious eye on Tucker while he went around the table, noting details he wished he hadn’t seen.

Longish legs encased in regulation blue department pants. Strong muscles in his forearms that flexed every time he shook someone else’s hand, and his skin was like nothing Chance had ever seen. Almost copper, it was tanned differently than Chance’s own California glow. Smooth and burnished, it seemed to shimmer. Chance wanted to touch it, to see if it was as silky as it looked.

He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that, his body began to tell him, and Chance shifted uncomfortably.
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c. Tory Temple