Page 64 of Braving the Storm
Even though logically, rationally, I know the nearest person is miles away it still sends a shiver running through me at the illicit nature of this moment all the same.
My heartbeat thuds relentlessly between my legs.
“Feel how wet you are, I’ll bet you’re aching, aren’t you, darlin’?”
He’s absolutely right. At the sound of his voice, my pussy clenches, my blood floods with lust, and I’m so tightly wound it feels as if I’m ready to explode.
Storm rubs his fingers through my slickness, massaging and taking his time, driving me insane as he briefly circles over my clit, then moves away. Over and over. It’s like he’s got hours at his disposal. There’s no hurrying at this moment, not like last night when he dry-humped me into the mattress, with both of us seemingly out of our minds and swept up in some sort of frenzy.
This experience, right here, is like he’s savoring the most intimate part of me, and it alters my brain chemistry entirely with each firm stroke.
“You thinking about him right now?”
Holy shit. There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. If I didn’t know better it might sound a lot like jealousy, or something possessive, controlling at the very least. I don’t hate it. Infact, that makes a part of me melt even more rapidly. As he presses his mouth against my ear, hot and wet, his touch intensifies, unraveling me faster and faster.
I swallow thickly. “No.”
A rich, satisfied sound coats me from head to toe. “I need to know… If you did go with him, and he put his mouth on you—”
A moan bursts out of me when he circles my clit, hard. Jolting beneath his touch, my nails scrape the side of his truck. It’s all too much. He’s too much. I’m so hopelessly and woefully inexperienced at any of this. My sweep of desire cuts him off as I blurt out my confession before he can finish his question. “I don’t know—I don’t know what that’s like.” My outburst flies in the night air with a loud whimper.
He stills his fingers.
“No one has ever had their mouth on you?”
Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to tell him that, but my mind is scrambled, and my body is a mess of desire and wanting to come. I shake my head, suddenly feeling the scalding burn of shame hit my cheeks. Is he going to think less of me? How goddamn unwanted I’ve been that no man has ever desired me enough to reciprocate in that way.
“Fuck.” Storm’s mouth drags down the side of my neck, leaving a wet trail in his wake. “No one has taken care of you at all, have they, darlin’?”
He keeps toying with my body, gently edging me with clever circles and movements. Those strong fingers wedge lower, lower, lower inside my jeans until he finds my entrance and presses inside. Playing and teasing and stroking deftly at my center. All I seem to be capable of is a series of whimpering noises, panting, desperate breaths on the crisp night air. Simply dissolving for this man.
“You’re so fucking soft, so wet, so perfect. I shouldn’t be allowed anything more with you. There’s no way in hell I should be allowed to touch you like this, but I can’t fight it.” He nips my earlobe with his teeth and holy shit, that feels sogood.
“I know it does.” His words are wicked and low.
Oh my god, I’m pretty certain I moaned all that out loud, even though I didn’t intend to.
“You deserve to be taken care of… to have everything you want.”
Storm begins to place kisses along my neck, my jaw, all while he fingers me so slowly, and torturously. Playing my body so that I dangle on edge, leaving my hips chasing each motion—following after each glide through my drenched core—as he presses inside me, then drifts back up to my clit.
“Please.” I don’t really know what I’m begging for. To make me come? To fuck me? To let me go before I ruin everything?
With the hand not shoved down the front of my panties, he skates his palm up over the layers covering my body until he reaches my neck. Just like the first night in the bathroom, he wraps his hold, firmly cupping my jaw, except this time it’s entirely different. Storm demands that I turn for him, and of course I do.
Of course, I allow him to tilt my head, positioning my neck just how he wants me.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” his murmur is so close, so unbelievably seductive.
At first, my lust-hazed mind doesn’t understand why. Then I feel it. His lips, warm and tasting like the night air, the hint of spice and mint and masculinity that is him, all invade my awareness as he presses his mouth to mine.
He kisses me with the same determined, sinfully commanding strokes of his fingers.
I’m done. Disappeared high into the sky overlooking this mountain. My knees might buckle any second because this kiss, from a man who is so much older, who is so forbidden, who I’m not meant to feel the surge of intense heat and desire for… he takes something that is supposed to bewrongand transcends that into something heart-stopping.
Stôrmand Lane kisses me and it feels as if he just flipped my entire lifeon its head.
My whimpers flow into his mouth, and each drag of his lips against mine feels like we’re losing control. His stubble rasps against my skin, and the sensation is utterly consuming, leaving me drugged and unable to want anything buthim.
