Page 41 of Cloud Storm

Tell me what to do.

I’m lost and about to be shipwrecked.

I can’t make promises that I may never keep. But let me see you.

Have mercy on me.

A x

Chapter 11

I have been kissed before. Even Lancelot himself has done it. And yet, this kiss feels different, he kisses me with the strength of the storm around us. Colliding.

It feels like the living flame of desire that runs through my veins.

It feels like an electric wire that has the strength of lightning.

It feels overwhelming.

And it feels right.

As if this were meant to happen. Written with golden letters in the great book of destiny.

I lean in, my hands around his neck and my lips on his.

I’m about to explode, this is like peppering gunpowder over the fire of my desire. This kiss says nothing about tenderness, this kiss is raw. Angry and melancholy.

And honest.

My mouth is seeking more. I want it all. Of course, the Suit has his own agenda. Torturing me with his lips his mouth insistent on mine invites me to a duel, a duel in which we both go outside, ramming against each other, we don’t hurt ourselves, because passion bears the baton. Passion and something else, something that I’ve never felt and now it’s as big as the sun. Brilliant and undeniable.

Powerful.

The rain continues to fall around us, cold and heavy as our breaths. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t bother us. We’re living in our own bubble, one that’s very comfortable and warm.

I want to stay here forever and ever with his arms around me, pressing me against the wall. With his hips clenching mine, reminding me that he’s as needy as I am. If not more.

Because here and now there is nothing and no one else. Not even the man I’ve never seen, the one I may never get to know. The one that is my secret and lives in the air, like a ghost.

Nor is there a woman who calls him hers. He does not belong to her, here and now, Lancelot Hills is mine. Completely mine.

His body screams it.

His hands affirm it.

His passion decrees it.

No one has touched me this way.

Ever.

Just in the right place, with just the right pressure, with the perfect rhythm.

I hear a groan coming from his throat, happy for me to feed from him, the fuel for the fire of my own desire. It’s the air that fuels it.

We’re both soaked, looking so different.

We really are so different.

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