Page 99 of Braving the Storm
“No. No, I'm not.” One hand returns to my hair, and the other slides over my chest until he collars my throat. Wrapping me in afirm hold with his name stamped in ink, settled over the column of my neck in the way I crave so much, a move that leaves me sucking in a ragged breath.
I love having his hand there.
I love the possessive weight of his cuff on my wrist.
I love him.
“Darlin’, I’m the man who is dreaming about you when I finally snatch a moment of sleep.” He licks a line of wetness across his bottom lip. “The rest of the time, I’m thinking about you every goddamn waking hour of my day.”
He squeezes and tenses his fingers ever so slightly, with corresponding unfurling petals of desire blooming within my core in response to his touch. Liquid heat pools and gathers to the point that I’m dangerously close to begging.
“I can’t tell you what this is, Briar, because I’ve never felt this way with anyone. What I can tell you is that I don’t want to let you slip through my fingers all because of some bullshit like worrying about what other fucking people might think. There’s been so much of my life already wasted because of that, but then again, maybe I was just waiting for you to come along and turn my entire world on its axis.”
His words hang in the air between us. My throat struggles to work down a swallow beneath his palm, and his pupils swell, feeling the movement under his fingers.
“That’s quite some speech you had tucked away there,” I whisper.
“We done talking?”
Biting down on my lip, I study him for a moment. Then nod.
“Thought so.”
His strong finger traces a line straight down my chest, between the valley of my breasts, down the softness of my stomach, until he reaches the high waistband of my leggings.
There’s so much dangerous heat behind the fixation he has on the path he’s just carved along my body, that I feel hollowed out and entirely at his mercy. He’s staring at the thin fabric as if itmight simply combust beneath the weight of his stare, until he roughly shoves his fingers beneath the top, and my stomach caves.
“That first night…” With the tip of his tongue pressed against the front of his teeth, he blows out a long breath. That deep voice is rough, thrilling me and enthralling me as he digs his hold further down, inserting his tattooed knuckles between my overheated skin and the stretched fabric. “You took these off and fucking ruined me.”
It’s coarse. Harsh. This man sounds like he’s bound up in some sort of torturous trance, and I’m responsible for the hell he’s been enduring.
The way those words hit me, it sends goosebumps flying in all directions and a wicked desire winds tighter low in my belly.
Storm chooses that moment to strike. His grip is demanding; the rapid-fire punishing movements are just as ragged and desperate as my breathing when he damn near rips the leggings off me. My body rocks from side to side, and I swear I hear stitching tear at the seams as he pulls and shoves and manhandles me like his only purpose is to have me naked within seconds.
To use me.
Holy shit, that feeling is liquid and drugging. Being at the mercy of this man is a position I hope to hell and back that I’m able to remain in, gladly so.
The moment I’m revealed to him, left flushed and naked and on display, he balls the material up and throws it somewhere.
“You want to learn something, darlin’?” As always, when those words I’m addicted to hearing descend to a lower octave, my stomach swoops.
My tongue runs over my lips, and I make a soft noise of agreement in the back of my throat.
“Go and get your phone.” Blue eyes flare as he looks my naked figure up and down, then reaches out to rub one thumb over my mouth. “Got something to paint these pretty lips with?”
Well, shit.
I practically whimper, as a bolt of desire hits my clit and myheartbeat pulses between my thighs. Somewhere amongst everything, my chin moves in a semblance of a nod, and I slip off the counter to go in search of my bag. Perhaps my sanity while I’m at it.
This is how much of a perfect, obedient plaything I want to be for my cowboy, I’m butt naked and fully prepared to roam through this ranch in nothing but his leather cuff as I go in search of my belongings.
Except, this man. This. Fucking. Man. He’s already one step ahead of any game I might have been playing because I emerge from the freshly remodeled bathroom and see not only is the attached bedroom perfectly made up with sheets and pillows and a fluffy comforter, my bag sits on the bench positioned at the foot of the bed.
A smile dances on my lips as I ransack through the contents, seeing exactly what he requested, and it couldn’t be more perfect for this moment.
Turns out the tube of bright crimson lipstick I’d purchased on a whim, on a random Tuesday months ago—lipstick I’ve never actually worn, instead leaving it to roll around the bottom of my handbag because I felt insecure as soon as I walked away from the cashier—is going to make her debut in the most deliciously wicked manner.
