Page 105 of Braving the Storm
Briar huffs, the way she does; it’s a cute little frustrated noise I love hearing her make whenever she’s inwardly rolling her eyes at me.
“Back in LA, everything was fake. The smiles, the flowers, the supposed antiques. Nothing was ever real.” She starts to carefully arrange a dozen lengths of what looks to be cut from a shrub she’s found outside.
“To me… it feels like home if there are fresh flowers. It means someone cares enough to make a place beautiful with something that isn’t practical.”
“You want this place to feel like home.” It’s not really a question, more of an observation, as I rest my chin on her shoulder and watch her fingers move everything around until she seems satisfied with the angles and positioning before adding a little more water.
“I want this place to feel special.”
I’ve been lost inside my thoughts for the entire drive back up the mountain. By the time I pull up outside the cabin, I see the light spilling from the interior, and to my relief, it’s just my girl there. When she hears my truck arrive, Briar’s already opening the door to greet me, with a smile brightening her features.
This right here is it.
This is how I want to feel every time I pull up and crank that handbrake, and it’s a sensation that settles in my chest, warm and secure.
Coming home to be with her is the fucking prize.
Knowing that Briar’s goodness and sweetness fill every inch of space inside that cabin, yeah, that shit swells inside my chest, like a firelight glowing, too.
Chapter 36
“Mmmfuck. Grab my hair, darlin’.”
That deep voice I’m addicted to, breaks through my dream. Half asleep, my body rides wave after wave of pleasure, before I find myself nudged away from slumber and dragged into a waking state.
Under the command of Storm’s tongue.
He hums against my clit, and of course, I do exactly as he instructs me to. My hands find a sleepy path to settle in his hair, threading my fingers, while my hips shift and lift beneath his mouth.
“Good girl.” He licks and sucks and speaks into me as my legs start shaking. Proving just how long this man has been between my thighs while I’ve been asleep.
My cowboy doesn’t let up on his assault, groaning and running a wet glide of his tongue up the inner swell of my thigh, before he climbs up the bed to spoon my languid figure from behind, hitches one leg, and slides into me.
I’m soaked and swollen, and my body is so ready to welcome him inside already.
It’s insanely hot.
“God, it’s too much.” My voice is raspy and absolutely doesn’tmean a word I’m saying. The fact this man has been eating my pussy while I’ve been sleeping is filthy, and I’m more than hopeful he’ll treat me to this special kind of depravity every morning.
“Too much? You didn't seem to think so when I had you riding my face at three a.m.”
The moans coming out of me are borderline pornographic.
“Mmmm. That’s exactly what you sounded like, too. Except much, much louder.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“That tight little pussy of yours disagrees. The way you keep clamping down harder says you don’t want me to stop.”
Storm keeps thrusting his hips against mine, stretching me, filling me, leaving me clutching the sheets, helplessly spun out of my mind with pleasure. The sounds of filthy, wet fucking are the soundtrack to this moment, along with skin slapping against skin, and the scent of sex wrapping around us.
I’m oh so close to losing it when a sharp noise, a jarring bang—oh god, a car door slamming—bursts in on our private moment.
“Briar?” Hardly a few seconds later, there’s an insistent rapping of knuckles against wood to accompany the muffled sound of my name, followed by the thud of the door swinging shut.
My sister’s voice carries through, louder this time, as I hear her dumping her coat and bag. Of course, she let herself in.
“You didn’t lock the door earlier?” I let out something between a whisper and a gasp.
