Page 55 of Braving the Storm
It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Is he angry? Pissed off? Fed up with my crap and ready to march my ass out the door and turf me onto the curb outside a motel in town?
“Give it back.” I hold out a hand expectantly.
He gives me a raised eyebrow in return. Silently casting his eyes over my figure.
I valiantly ignore his roguish, disheveled hair and sexy goddamn nose ring.
“That’s private.” Embarrassment crawls all over my skin like spiders with hot coals strapped to their legs. As much as my stomach swoops whenever I’m around him, I’m still pissed off at his taunting from barely a minute ago, infuriated with him more to the point. This man is older than me by a mile, but gives me whiplash with how fast his mood can change.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like sex andtemptation and wrongdoing… and the asshole has probably had some other woman—ugh, who knows, multiple women, even—rubbing over him all night.
The part I hate the most about that awful scenario, is that’s all I want to do to him myself.
“Fine. Whatever. Keep the phone, the bed is all yours, I’ll take the couch from now on.” Rolling my eyes and letting out a huff, I spin on my heel to put some much-needed distance between us as I attempt to rapidly vacate the room.
He strikes faster than his bulky frame suggests might be possible for a man his size.
Before I can take a step toward the door, a powerful arm bands around my waist, leaving heat pouring through my body from that point of contact. It’s a much stronger sensation than I’d ever imagined a simple act like that could be, and I’m tossed unceremoniously face-first onto the bed. The mattress dips and bounces beneath me as I land, sprawled on my stomach, with a yelp.
“What the fuck?” I splutter, trying to push myself up, but it’s impossible. There is a mountain of a man behind me, and he straddles the backs of my thighs, pinning me to the bed with his weight. With one hand, he snatches both my wrists, and secures them in front of my face, seemingly effortlessly, inside his giant paw.
His rings, his cuff, his goddamn tattooed name that makes my blood sing with desire, all of it fills my line of vision.
“Don’t play the brat with me, Briar.”
Holy shit, the deep warning in that voice in my ear sends my pulse racing. I’ve never been handled like this. This is rougher than anything I’ve experienced before, yet I don’t feel unsafe.
In fact…
My eyes slam shut as the familiar ache and warmth spread through my core, my pussy, my breasts. Why does this man barely have to say two words to me and toss me around and I’m ready to throw all caution to the wind, to gleefully shred the last remaining vestiges of all sanity, and spread my legs.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Turning my face to the side, I dare allow my eyes to open a crack, feeling and seeing just how close his bulk is, hovering over my spine.
To add to my humiliation, I’m panting.
Panting.
For my uncle.
“What do you want from me?” My voice comes out breathy, sounding just as desperate as I really, truly am. Even though it’s so wrong, last night unlocked something inside me. He cruelly opened that door, the one that was supposed to remain padlocked and bolted shut, and now I’ve had a glimpse of what lies on the other side.
Even though it’s a darkened precipice that I shouldn’t want to venture toward, I’m so unraveled that temptation has taken the driver’s seat, steering straight toward the cliff barrier that’s supposed to safeguard me against the sorts of untrustworthy, horny decision making currently rampaging through my veins.
“I could ask you the same question, darlin’.” With his free hand, he slides my phone around on the bed, directly into my line of sight, and props it up on the pillow so we can both see precisely what is on screen.
Exactlywhofills the screen.
“I asked first.” It comes out awfully close to sounding like a whimper. God his weight feels so good on top of me. I can already feel my eyes threatening to roll into the back of my head. My muscles feel as though they’ve melted into puddles. Bliss and a sense of freedom rushes through me like a warm breeze, because this is something I can give myself over to.
I’ll gladly give him this kind of power when it feels so good. So natural. So unbelievably right with him.
I hate our circumstances of what we are and the technicalities around that connection.
“Is that what you want, Briar?” He lowers down so that his mouth is at my ear, brushing heated and wet against me justas he did to me last night when he melted my brain. “Is thatwhoyou want?”
As he says the words, I feel it.
