Page 16 of Whirlwind

“We’re alive,” I state.

“We’re alive,” he confirms.

“How are we alive?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

I stare at him for a long moment, shock still rattling my system, before I finally ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay—a little bruised up but fine. Are you?”

“I think so.”

He trails his wet fingers over my cheekbones, and I hiss when he brushes near the cut on my cheek.

He winces. “It’s shallow. I don’t think it’ll scar.”

I think of the day I first went to his office hours and saw the scratches on his cheek from a chase. I’d thought that scars on him would be so sexy.

A smile attempts to tug at my lips as I bring one of my hands up to push his wet hair—that appears almost black from the water—off his forehead. His hat is long gone, lost to the storm. A droplet of water lands on my cheek at my motion, and time once again seems to stand still. But now, it’s not because of ourbrush with death, it’s because Ryker West is pressed against me chest to chest with his hand on my cheek. And now mine is on his.

“Finley, I’m sor—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t.”

“But—”

I press my finger to his lips, and his gaze remains locked on mine. “We just lived through a tornado. If you say you’re sorry for the choices we both made, I’m going to knee you in the balls.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think about not saying them to my professor.

There’s a short pause, and then a belly laugh bursts from Ryker’s lips. He smiles, the smile I prayed to see again. It’s beautiful, even more so with the burnt-orange light of sunset popping out through the clouds—an often annoying quirk of tornadoes. If it weren’t for the devastation they left behind, I’d almost forget they were ever there when the sun emerges in their wake.

I pull my finger from his lips, but he snatches it. The breath in my lungs goes on vacation as my lips part. His gaze drifts to my mouth and then back to mine. The spark that was gone from them a minute ago is there again, and his wet chest rises and falls beneath the T-shirt plastered to his skin and ripped in some places. My hips automatically lift up, and when I feel the hard length of him pressing against my heat, I nearly gasp.

Ryker doesn’t apologize. Instead, he continues to gaze into my eyes as if he’s seeing into my soul. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, he just stares—like he’s searching for something in them.

“Ryker.” His name leaves me in a whisper.

He blinks but doesn’t stop staring, his hold on me only tightening as our heads dip closer together. “Tell me not to kiss you, Finley.”

My chest tightens at his words, words I’ve only heard in my dirtiest professor fantasies. I wet my lips in anticipation of hiskiss. They’re salty from sweat, earth, and probably tears, but I don’t care.

I shift my hips against his heat, and his forehead drops to mine as a breathless sound leaves his tight lips.

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Then tell me what I feel for you is wrong. That I need to get up and walk away.” His breath skitters over my lips, reminding me that he’s alive. I’m alive. We lived through a tornado and made it out with hardly a scratch on us. I think, if anything, we deserve this kiss, need this kiss more than we need anything else right now.

“I’m not going to tell you that, either,” I murmur.

Ryker abruptly shifts off me, and the evening’s cooling air against my wet clothes sends a shiver through me, making my nipples pebble. A brief wave of rejection hits, but it fades as Ryker pulls me from the ditch and onto the grassy bank with ease, pinning me to the ground. I don’t have time to question him, because his rough, warm lips descend on mine. I melt into him like ice cream in summer, allowing him to sweep me away.

Chapter seven

Ryker

I swallow the soundof surprise from Finley’s lips as I seek entrance inside her mouth. I’ve thought about what a kiss with her would be like, and none of my fantasy scenarios included mauling her after a near-death experience.

“Ryker,” she moans against my lips, her hands clawing down my sore back, but I revel in the pain. It only makes me feel more alive. She grinds against me, and my cock twitches against the zipper of my water-soaked jeans.

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