Cocky Toy: Eve's First 2 Firemen

By Q. Zayne

Her Top-daddy has a surprise for her. He knows more about what she needs than he's telling.

Nineteen year-old Eve is reluctant to confess her secret desires to the fire chief. Because she's in love with him, and she's not going to tell him that, either. She wants all the firemen.

What happens in the hose room, stays in the hose room. Tonight, she has a chance with two firemen. Things become more romantic with her fire chief's right-hand man than she expected.

Tonight, her biggest question is whether she can handle two huge hoses. But she wonders if Ray feels what she does when they first touch.

The toughest part about a forbidden dream come true: If anyone finds out, their lives in the small town they love are over. Especially if her police chief sire discovers what his best friend did to her.

Welcome to a world of outsiders with heart. Q. Zayne writes from experience and a dirty imagination. Popular books include Eve's a saucy heroine with a pinch of gender-f*ck. Some of her fantasies may surprise you. Adventurous reader, you're up for this.

Note: Eve is one of the few recent Zayne heroines who isn't curvy. She has plenty of butt to spank, though. Because the author had a twisted desire to pit a petite, smart, go-get-him nineteen year-old heroine against a group of over-sized firefighters. The fascination with that huge size disparity was irresistible. Imagine it.

Buy Cocky Toy immediately and find out what Eve's going to get from Chief Blake and Ray, the fine Black firetruck driver.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Q. Zayne
• Release date: Oct 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463104316

Q. Zayne

Q. Zayne often appears on top 100 author lists. Q. minored in Classical Archaeology and has an MFA in Creative Writing from SFSU. After teaching at the university, working as an editor, and freelancing, the author embarked on a wild digital publishing adventure. Thanks to fabulous readers, super promoters, and unflagging supporters, Q. writes fiction for a living from the Yucatan, Central America, and the California coast.Check out the Quin Zayne books for dirty, high-heat romance, and Q. Zayne for Erotica and naughty fairy tales.

Book preview

THE COTTAGE

THE TRAIN WHISTLED down the valley, and I tingled. I slipped into fresh boy-shorts undies and a tank top. This was my first day in my new home, right here near the firehouse. I’d been working on the place since dawn, but the cleaning wasn’t enough of a distraction from what I needed.

I was sore and eager for more sex lessons. I padded to the cottage’s bedroom window. Baby pink roses fluttered on the arbor over the white wishing seat. Between the redwood groves on the hillside, the cemetery angels turned gold from the setting sun. My heart thundered with anticipation of Blake’s arrival.

The wait was going to be a long one. I felt certain he wouldn’t come until after dark.

The cottage had good privacy, situated behind the firehouse out of sight from the road. A high fence protected it further. We had to be careful, though, so he wouldn’t risk being seen.

I paced the room, admiring the sturdy old furniture and the roses I’d arranged in a vase on the dresser. Everything in the place looked like it came from my grandparent’s era. The bed, table, chairs and everything else was made of wood.

The curtains blew in the breeze, giving the place a much needed dose of fresh air. I’d polished everything with lemon oil and pulled back the bed covers to air the clean, but long-unused sheets.

The toughest part was keeping it all to myself. I’d been offended when Blake drilled me not to tell anyone. As if! but alone in the cottage, my fingers quivered to text Linda, to say anything, even to break the news about my sweet new job. I held off, though.

Blake said he’d break the news to Dad—about the job. I had to let him do that before I said anything. this town spread news and rumors as fast as rabbits had bunnies. No way I’d risk Dad hearing about my job before the chief had a chance to tell him.

Wondering how that was going, how Dad reacted, kept me pacing.

I stalked to the kitchen and grabbed a rag from under the sink. I wet it and applied dish soap, wiped down the counter and painted cabinets. The place was pretty clean, just needed a once over to remove fingerprints. I did the door jambs, light switches, all the things people handle.

With a bucket of fresh water, I set to washing the windows. The place felt cheerful with light coming through it.

Perspiration ran down my tank top between my breasts as I scrubbed the old, rippled glass. The place suited the antique firehouse. Maybe one of the chiefs lived here way back. With his wife—the place had a woman’s touch, and I’d bet it was built with a beloved woman in mind. The big kitchen, the bathroom with a mirror low enough for me, cabinets all through that I could reach, told me that. Lots of new places seemed designed for people who stand six feet and taller.

Glad of the breeze, I took the broom to porch and steps. The place felt like home already.

I swept the stepping stones to the front gate. Mine. My new home. Wow.

Would we be able to keep our relationship under wraps? We must. If anyone found out—it was unthinkable.

I propped the broom against the porch rail and walked through the rose garden. My cutoffs chafed me with every step, making me experience the chief bouncing me on his lap, opening me hard for my first time.

Damn, I wanted him. I couldn’t wait to get into that cozy bed with him and feel him on top of me. The man was so big all over. I wanted to wrap all of me around him and feel him ride.

The coils in the yellowed grass led me to the garden faucet. I turned on the water and gave all the plants a drink, working my way around the cottage, admiring everything.

I’d get hummingbird feeders to hang from the apple tree, and bathhouses. I’d put bird feeders in the huge magnolia. I loved the sent of the leaves when I stepped on them.

At the far back, surrounded by sheltering oaks with their jeweled moth cocoons, I found the grave.

The angel stood with his hands on the shoulders of a woman, his wings sheltering her. Her dress reminded me