Hot Pants Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  COPYRIGHT

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  Also by Teagan Kade:

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  EPILOGUE II

  HOT PANTS

  Teagan Kade

  * * * * *

  Published by Teagan Kade

  Edited by Sennah Tate

  Copyright © 2019 by Teagan Kade

  COPYRIGHT

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Also by Teagan Kade:

  SAVAGE

  VICE

  RECKLESS

  PUCK BUDDIES

  FERAL

  WINTER MIRACLE

  ADAGIO

  BRUTE

  BLAZE

  HUSTLE

  LAWLESS

  LONG GAME

  DIRTY DEBT

  LOADED

  AMPED

  DRILLED

  DIRTY BRAWLER

  WRECKED

  SLAMMED

  STROKER

  STRIKER

  THROTTLE

  ROYALLY WRONG

  HITCHED

  CHASING STORM

  DEDICATION

  To Mikey, the hottest pantster I know.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DEREK

  A nudge, a giggle, and the smell of Love’s Baby Soft is in the air.

  It’s morning, I think to myself.

  Rubbing my eyes, I clear the last bit of sleep from them and try to focus on the two blurry figures before me.

  Certainly, I can feel them, considering one is jerking on my cock, and the other is sucking on my nipples.

  I focus my eyes in time to see the blonde—long, poker-straight hair; tiny, wasp-like waist; fake tits for days—unlock her jaw and wrap her bloated DSLs around the entirety of my cock and balls.

  Impressive, I think, while scrambling through my mind to remember her name. Jenny? Janey?

  Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

  I look to my right and see the brunette—short, thick, curly hair, full hips, aquiline features—position her pussy on my fingers, and using them as a dildo, rub them on her clit until her warm release coats them completely.

  Most impressive, I think again, remembering—for some reason—that the brunette’s name is Claudia, and that I picked the two of them up at Brady’s Bar last night when they were having a 2-for-1 special.

  Apparently, the liquor wasn’t the only thing that was 2-for-1.

  Such is my life—a fucking Buzzfeed article come to life.

  But when you’re a firefighter, and have been for many years, it’s hard to get used to any other life, not that I’d want to.

  I come from a long line of them. My grandfather, father, two uncles, and most of my cousins are all on the job—I’m expected to follow in some pretty remarkable footsteps accordingly.

  Being on the job, helping people, playing the hero… That’s all well and good, but what I really love are all the added perks. Namely, the prime-cut tenderloin pussy I’m enjoying right now.

  Prepped and ready for round two with Sugar and Spice—spitting on my long, thick cock; flipping Claudia over and spreading her wide; tying back Janey’s hair so she can take my load on her face—the fire alarm blares, loudly, in my ears.

  Total clamoring and chaos are all around me as the boys run out of the station and onto the truck. Complementing the chaos is the booming sound of Chief McAllister’s voice as he hollers for the crew to get on the truck.

  “Let’s fucking go!” McAllister roars. “Up ’n’ at ’em! Get your panties on! We’ve got a real emergency here, girls!”

  I leap to my feet and start sliding my uniform on to the coos of disappointment from my two devils in disguise.

  “Are you coming back, Derek?” Claudia asks in that simpering, babyish tone only those bar broads seem to know.

  I hesitate, keep my back to the bed so neither she nor Jane can see my eyes rolling all the way to the back of my fucking head.

  Few things annoy me more than that voice, especially on these hose chasers.

  She repeats the question, this time with a more insistent tone, and I gruffly answer, “Yeah, eventually… if these people don’t burn to fucking death.”

  Jane sighs. “When can we expect you?”

  Jesus.

  I glare at her intently. “I don’t know. Just don’t be here when I get back,” I grumble as I grab my jacket and fly down the stairs, convinced I’m going to be the last one on the truck, and, thus, the butt of countless jokes from my brothers-in-arms.

  Sure enough, I am the last to get on the truck, the snorts of derision, and the Chief muttering, “How swell of you to show up today, Derek,” under his breath greet me as I take my seat.

  Mike decides he’s going to kick off the shit-talk. “Ya did it again, Ricky,” he says in his thick Brooklyn accent that’s one of a kind in the Los Angeles Fire Department. “How da fuck did ya get two broads in the house, man? And how did you convince them to smell ya ass and everyone else’s?”

  Tim, a Sacramento native, snorts in agreement. “You need to share your conquests, brother,” he says, “since you have so fuckin’ many.”

  I brush it off and focus on the task at hand. “Where’s the heat?” I ask.

  “I dunno. Somewhere in this town called Whittier,” says Mike.

  “We should really come up with a game plan,” adds Tim.

  I shrug, knowing no matter what the circumstance, I’ll be able to handle whatever comes my way. I always do.

  “Aye? Aye! Wassamatta, Ricky? You gone mute or something?” asks Mike, ready to goad me on. “Whaddaya think, you know everything? Mr. Legacy Kid got a promotion here that he still didn’t accept, and now he knows it all?”

  Tim looks at me incredulously. “You got a promotion, dude?”

  I shrug again. “It’s just an offer, man,” I say, correcting him. “I don’t know if I’m going to take it or not.”

  We pull up to the house—a small ranch amid other similarly styled ranches, so it doesn’t particularly stand out save for the fact a corner of it’s on fire.
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  One by one we jump out of the truck. I take a look at the fire, and I realize that while there’s a car in front—an equally-modest minivan–there’s no one standing outside or near the house.

  People are trapped inside, I think to myself, the familiar pull of panic tugging at my chest.

  A second later my head kicks into action. “Tim, get the hose off the truck and start tackling it from the front. Mikey, concentrate your efforts on that spot next to the windows. All right?”

  I barely have a chance to finish my sentence before I sprint to the back of the house to find a back door. I hear Mike caterwauling about how “fuckin’ nuts” I am, but hey, he’s from New York. He thinks everybody’s nuts.

  I get the back door open with a single flying kick, and dart full speed into the house, hoping to find someone, anyone, alive, because the alternative is far too shitty to consider.

  Smoke is billowing through the air, making it impossible to see more than a few inches in front of me. I stumble from room to room, squinting through the thick, graying air.

  “Fire Department, call out!” I shout, coughing and wheezing—and cursing myself for making the rookie mistake of leaving my breathing apparatus behind—soldiering on, peering into every nook and cranny.

  But each bed and chair turns up empty.

  I hear the loud whooshing sound of water hitting the side of the house and realize my men are hard at work outside, fighting to contain the flames. Mikey is whooping and hollering in his thick Brooklyn accent, Tim is calling out names like a quarterback, and McAllister is putting the men in position to fight the fire effectively and quickly, with as little damage as possible.

  I’m patting myself on the back for what a slick unit we’ve become.

  Then I see her.

  She’s curled up in the fetal position under a coffee table, her face ashen and fast turning blue. Her hair is mussed and sweaty, and sticking to her face, her eyes are closed, her pallid eyelids nearly translucent.

  “Fuck!” I scream and run to her, hurling her up in my arms, racing through the rest of the house, desperate to make sure nothing and no one is left behind in this smoky death trap.

  Satisfied she’s the first, and only, form of life in the house, I focus on getting us the fuck out of Dodge.

  She doesn’t stir until I get all the way out of the house, and even then, she’s delirious, nearly delusional.

  “What happened?” she murmurs, her eyes shifting below their lids.

  “Fire,” I shout to be heard over the commotion. “But it’s alright. You’re gonna be okay. I got you. What’s your name?”

  “Beth,” she murmurs drowsily.

  “Alright, Beth. I’m Derek. I’m a firefighter and I’m getting you out of here. We’re gonna get you some help,” I say, my voice raising by several octaves.

  Beth struggles, slightly, before speaking again. “No,” she says, “I don’t need a hospital. I’m fine. Please don’t send me to the hospital.”

  I look at her curiously, deducing this is just a side effect of the oxygen deprivation. “Okay, I won’t send you to the hospital,” I say, playing along, “but I’m going to hand you over to some of my friends, okay? They’re going to take a look at you, make sure you’re okay, alright? Simple.”

  I sprint to the front of the house, where the fire has largely been contained.

  Beth looks at her house and, without another word, begins to sob softly.

  “It’s okay,” I say gruffly. “You’re gonna be all right. You’re out, yeah? You can always get another house.”

  McAllister, finally coming to the realization I need of a bit of assistance, radios for help. “I need a bus. West Wilson Lane in Whittier. Put some grease on it.”

  Beth, sniffling and snorting from crying so hard, suddenly looks up at me. “Did you get the letter?” She reaches to a pocket on her blouse, but there’s nothing there.

  Sure, she’s still delirious, I decide to entertain her, if briefly. “What letter’s that?”

  I can hear sirens already.

  Beth, realizing what’s coming, begins wailing furiously. “What the fuck? I said I don’t need to go to the hospital. Where’s the letter? Get the letter!” She’s hysterical now, slapping away at her pants, her top

  I take her by the shoulders. “Calm down now, Beth. It’s going to be fine. You’re good.”

  “I am not fucking good!” she yells, eyes wide and panicked.

  I actually have to physically restrain her until the ambulance arrives, a menagerie of EMTs jumping out of the back and making their way over.

  She struggles even more. I’m impressed by how strong she is, given her meager frame.

  One of the EMTs slides up and takes her from me.

  She socks him square in the nose.

  As blood shoots out like a spigot from my colleague’s nose, I realize she’s serious about this letter—whatever it is, and whatever it means to her.

  “Okay, look,” I say gruffly, and realize—too late—I need to be a little more understanding given the circumstances. “Beth, I’m not going to get anything out of that house for you unless you agree to go with my friends here and get looked at in the hospital. You need to be safe and alive. That’s not going to happen if you continue to make a scene out here. So, you go to the hospital and I go get what you want. Deal?”

  Beth, tears in her eyes, nods furiously.

  “Terrific. See? I knew you were reasonable. Now, tell me, Beth, what letter are you talking about, and where is it?” I ask.

  “It’s a handwritten letter,” she says, allowing herself to be helped onto the gurney. “It must have fallen out of my pocket.”

  She’s fading, a result of the inevitable adrenaline dump that comes from being rushed out of a raging fire, and the knowledge she’s now safe.

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll go look for it. In the meantime, get yourself down to Cedars-Sinai and get completely checked out. I need to make sure you survive on me, alright, Beth?”

  It’s important to keep addressing them by name, to reinforce it.

  She nods and passes out before the ambulance doors close.

  “Nice job, Derek,” McAllister says, slapping me on the shoulder. “Anyone else in there?”

  Shit.

  Remembering my promise, I race back into the house without another word, desperate to find the handwritten letter Beth was so desperate to save.

  When I think about all the bullshit I put up with on a thankless job like this, only to get just a little pussy at the end of it, sometimes I amaze—and disgust—even myself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELISABETH

  The corners of the oxygen mask dig into my face as I turn my head towards the door. Any minute now the doctor’s going to poke his head in and say I’m cleared to leave.

  Any minute.

  I should never have agreed to come to the hospital in the first place. I’m fine. I don’t need to be in this stupid bed, wearing this stupid damn mask.

  A cough chooses this precise moment to scrape its way through my raw throat, contradicting me.

  Okay, maybe I’m not entirely fine, but even the doctor said it was only minor smoke inhalation, nothing to get up in arms about.

  I have better things to do than sit in this room doing literally nothing but suck air. I need to get home. I need to find my letter. The thought of that particular piece of correspondence going up in smoke has my mind reeling.

  I sit up quickly, feeling renewed determination sweep through me. I shouldn’t be here. I need to go find my letter.

  The moment my head leaves the pillow, though, the world tilts around me, and nausea pulls me back towards the firm comfort of the bed.

  I groan, kicking my feet in my best imitation of a tantrum—what I can muster anyway. My only hope now is that the fireman who pulled me out actually managed to find it. If not…

  I shudder at the thought.

  If not, then my only communication with my mother has just been burned to as
h along with my living room.

  Seven years. Seven years without a word and now, what little information I have might be gone.

  I close my eyes tightly, trying my best to bring images of the letter to mind, to remember the exact words she wrote. My head swims from the effort, the world swaying even as I lie still.

  It’s no use. The words, like the letter itself, are lost to me. All I can recall is the gist, the horrible and overwhelming message.

  My mother is sick.

  My mother is dying.

  She needs me.

  Tears sting my eyes at the thought. I put what little willpower I can muster into holding them back. I will not lie in this hospital bed crying helplessly.

  Several deep breaths later, I feel myself regaining control. I just need a little more rest and then I’ll get out of here. I’ll find that letter myself.

  A soft rapping pulls me from my thoughts, the person’s fingers drumming softly on the door.

  I turn towards the noise with a grimace, hoping beyond hope the doctor has come to release me from this white-walled hell.

  No such luck.

  “Ms. Montgomery?” A police officer stands in the doorway, hand still poised to knock.

  I manage a small nod, willing my face not to betray my disappointment.

  “Yes?” The word comes out slowly, my exhaustion only accented by the muffling effect of the oxygen mask.

  As if invited, the man enters the room, stopping a few feet from my bedside.

  “Officer Brady,” he says by way of introduction. “George.” This, he accentuates with a slight tap of his name tag.

  “Yes?” I repeat, voice still muffled by the thin layer of plastic.

  With a slight groan, I reach for the straps securing the mask to my face. It’s bad enough I have to lie in here alone with this thing on. There’s no way I’m going to have a conversation through it.

  The moment I remove it I feel a sense of relief, tension I wasn’t even aware of, draining slightly.

  “Sorry to bother you, miss, but I need to ask some questions about the fire.”

  I had expected as much, but truth be told, I was hoping I’d have more time before the inevitable inquisition.