Page 69 of Braving the Storm
“I’m all clear, and I’m on birth control.” I gulp. Please don’t ask me when the last time was that I had sex with anything non-battery-operated. I’ve already died in an inferno of embarrassment in front of this man enough for one lifetime.
Yet, for some reason, he's not disgusted by the mess I just made.
I just gushed all over him like a fountain, which had never happened to me before. I’ve heard of squirting, but didn’t think my body would ever…
He flexes his fingers, watching my mouth with open hunger, and I straight up whimper again. Each time he does, every sinful little point of added pressure makes my clit throb in response.
“I’m clear, too.” Storm’s voice is rough. So beyond sexy, I’m afraid my pussy is never going to recover after my time here ends. But I quickly thrust that niggle in my brain to one side. We’re not thinking about that right now.
We’re also trying really, really hard to believe this man—this living, breathing sexual fantasy—when he says he’sall clear.I want to believe and trust him so badly, I really do, but my mind drifts back to the bar…
His impossibly blue gaze tracks mine, flickering across my eyes. I see the moment he recognizes the hesitation in me. This man sees straight into my bruised and cheated-on heart and the instinctive distrust that lurks there like a parasite.
Before I know what’s happening, his strong arms hoist me up and he crosses the distance to the edge of the kitchen counter. My bare ass is deposited straight on the cool surface, and his expanse of muscled, bare chest, an ocean of tattoos, fills my vision when Storm braces his palms on either side of my hips. Leaning down, he makes sure we’re level. Eye to eye.
“What’s going on inside that head?”
I open my mouth to try and insist that it’s nothing, that I’m tooyoung, too insecure for a sex god like him, that he should by all rights just ignore me because I’m clearly an idiot… but his brows draw together, and a click of his tongue is all he needs to do to force me to come out with it.
My brain is still swimming in a sea of oxytocin and dopamine in the aftermath of how masterfully he just played my body, and I ineloquently blurt out words without thinking.
“What about the other women you’re with? You know, the ones losing their things inside your truck.”
Storm’s face softens, and god, if that doesn’t make my stupid little heart leap straight out of my chest. He lifts the hand tattooed with his name, the same one that has teased my pussy, collared my throat, and now allows those inked fingers to absently play with a loose curl framing my face.
The enormity of contrasts present in this man are so striking, so arresting, I feel like I can hardly get enough air in my lungs when he treats me to such a delicate little gesture.
“I know you don’t trust easily, but, here it is all the same, Briar. Over winter, the weather here can turn to shit real fast.” He rubs the strands of my hair between his fingertips. “A couple of months back, a snow front rolled in unexpectedly, and between myself, Sheriff Hayes, and a few others we offered transport home for anyone in Crimson Ridge who had gotten caught out by the conditions. I helped a group of the bar staff and patrons get home safely. That girl was nothing more than a moment in time when I helped a stranger amid a group of other strangers.”
The blue in his eyes holds me so firm. There’s only truth to his words, even though I’m so quick to leap to assuming he’s no different from the people I’ve been surrounded by my whole life.
Using the backs of his fingers he strokes my cheek, then drops that same hand down to slip beneath the hem of my sweater. “I’ve got a reputation I’m well aware of, Briar, as much as I might wish it were possible, I can’t change who I was in the past. Rumor is rumor, and I’ve learned the hard way there’s no stopping that, but I haven't been with anyone for a long time.”
As he speaks, so level, so sure, in a deep tone that leaves me a little breathless, those large palms roam up from my hips beneath my top, over my ribs, until he reaches my aching breasts. With the deft kind of touch a gruff, surly cowboy like him shouldn’t have, he begins thumbing the peaks of my nipples through my bra.
I nearly float off the kitchen counter. Forget this entire conversation, I need this man to play with my tits all day long. The throb in my clit has now spread, blooming into a pounding heartbeat between my thighs.
“Ok.” Do I sound like I’m ready to start moaning for this man again? With the way he’s managed to reignite my entire body, I’m about two seconds from grabbing hold of his belt.
“And just so we’re understanding each other perfectly, while we’re doing this, you so much as look at another man’s hat, I’ll stomp the fucker’s chest better than any bull.”
“His hat?” I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, mostly to stop the slutty noises threatening to escape with each passing motion of his thumbs stroking over my hardened nipples.
“You want a hat, you wear mine. All of this, you’re giving to me, and I don’t give a fuck if it’s in secret or not… no one else comes near what belongs to me.”
God, I want to climb this cowboy.
“Briar, this thing you want…” Storm tortures my nipples some more, because he seems really intent on having me entirely under his spell. “Even though you’ve given me control, it still has limits, you understand?”
“Limits?” I’m getting ready to pout when he shakes his head with a wry smile. Already guessing my immediate protest dangling on my tongue.
“Let’s call it boundaries. There will be moments, days, when you might not want it. There needs to be something in place so you can easily lay that line down, and it lets me respect that.”
“Oh. Have you… have you done this kind of thing before?” My heart is thrumming in my neck.
“Not as any kind of agreement like this. But I’m familiar with the concept.”
My head is trying to reconcile what he’s saying, but as I watch on he does something entirely unexpected. His hands slip from beneath my top. With practiced movements, he removes his leather cuff and takes my wrist in his hold. Lifting my hand, he then proceeds to wrap the leather around my wrist. It feels warm and supple and sits loosely over the protruding bone, even though he’s fastened it as tight as it will go. The deep brown hues and textures have a swirling pattern embossed into the surface, but it’s been worn and faded with so much life lived.
