Page 85 of Braving the Storm
Layla, bless her sweet little cowboy boots, clears her throat and takes control of the conversation before he can continue. “We’re not here to talk about the Hayes boys.” She shoots a look my way with a wink and my pulse eases a littlethat she knows I’m not interested in any further dates with Wes. Not that she knows the real reasons why, but that’s neither here nor there.
To my left is the man I am doing everything within my power not to pay too much attention to, although I can’t help but stiffen in his presence as Westin Hayes’ name gets dragged into the conversation.
It turns out I didn’t have to worry about staring at him with moon eyes all night from across the table. No, in fact, I have a much more devious situation to contend with.
Storm seated himself beside me and insisted on pressing our bodies as close as possible. I can’t breathe without feeling his muscles and strong body sandwiched against my waist, my hips, and the entire length of my thigh. The heat coming off him simply radiates straight through the soft material of my dress.
I’m struggling to maintain my composure when I feel the vibration of my phone.
Uncle Storm:
No, we’re certainly not talking about other cowboys when you’re sitting at this table looking innocent as fuck, yet you’re wearing my cuff.
My eyes nearly fall out of my head. Firstly, oh my god, I haven’t altered his name in my phone since I first arrived and entered his contact when we exchanged details. Long before things progressed to the point of knowing my toes curl when he drags orgasm after shaking orgasm out of me. Secondly, he cannot be serious about playing this kind of game while we’re surrounded on all sides by people who will surely notice we’re texting each other.
While I’m still staring, dumbstruck at the screen, another message pops up.
Haven’t changed my contact name, I see.
The Uncle thing really does it for you,darlin’, doesn’t it?
Swallowingdown the choked noise that nearly bursts out of me, I quickly swipe out of the conversation and lock my phone.
“Everything ok, Briar?” Layla asks, and I wrestle a tight grin onto my face.
“Yep.” I drop my phone into my lap. There is no way in hell I’m going to reply to that. Not while we’re at dinner, and certainlynotwhile he’s seated right beside me.
The next second, I nearly climb the back of the booth like a monkey because this man might look as if he’s busy talking quietly with Colt, but his hand sneaks beneath the table, and a single fingertip grazes the bare skin just below the hem of my dress. My face must turn beetroot red instantly, and only keeps intensifying in color as he continues to steal a teasing touch, carefully hooking the fabric higher on my thigh.
Shitshitshit. I have to grab my soda and focus intently on the clink of ice and bubbles tickling my nose while resisting the temptation to pluck a cube out and run it all over my burning cheeks.
Reaching as slowly and discretely as I can beneath the table, I push at his hand, not wanting to draw attention to this upped level of depravity he seems intent on indulging in.
He doesn’t budge, and I try to shift slightly down the booth in order to put a fraction of distance between us. That only results in him wrapping his palm around the top of my leg, levering every ounce of commanding pressure I can only bite my inner cheek while attempting to ignore.
However, there is a situation between my thighs that I absolutely cannot overlook considering his hand isright there.
I prop my elbow on the table, cradling my chin, and do my damnedest to tune back into the conversation going on all around me.
Layla is smiling brightly, mid-celebration of her bestie. “Tonight is one hundred percent all about Sarge, just the way she likes it.”
The other woman in question raises her glass and shimmies her shoulders.
“Sarge?” I know I’ve been out of it for the past few minutes, but I didn’t think I missed that much of the conversation. Confusion knits my brows together as I look between Layla, Kayce, andSage,who are seated at the same end of the booth as I am. Surely I’m hearing wrong?
“My lovely bestie here christened me Sergeant when we were little.” Sage rolls her eyes, propping her chin on one hand, mirroring my position. “Apparently, my powers of persuasion were a little lacking in the tact department. I’ve been cruelly unappreciated in my time, I tell you.” She grins broadly, and Layla nearly spits out her soda.
“Oh my god… did you forget to pack your humility in that giant carry-on you brought with you?”
Another buzzing sensation coming from the phone balanced in my lap intensifies the pulsing thud between my ears.
Uncle Storm:
Don’t even think about denying me what’s mine.
I swallow hard.There’s no possible way he’s serious. As I let my eyes fall to one side, trying to discreetly look his way, all that brings me is a view of him talking leisurely. He’s got his phone on the table in front of him and looks every inch the most relaxed cowboy in this bar.
Probably because he’s got his hand up my dress, and is progressively inching his way higher and higher the longer I sit here bathed in shame for how aroused I’m feeling.
