Page 75 of Braving the Storm
“Go back to sleep if you want, darlin’.” Storm’s lips follow the slope of my neck, sending a flurry of goosebumps and shivers across my arms. “Let me teach you this. What I want right now is to enjoy playing with you, while you lie nice and still for me, squeezing me so goddamn tight.”
He makes a groaning noise as I do exactly that.
“Mmmfffuck. I don’t need you to stay awake for what I want, but if it means I get to have you gripping me that hard, then go right ahead and lie there while I have my fun using your sweet little hole.”
This man.
This fucking man.
I know for certain, right then and there, as he strokes his rough touch over every part of my belly, my breasts, my thighs—dipping down into my pussy with each pass over my form, even while still filling me—that I’m in serious trouble.
How am I going to survive being treated like this?
How am I ever going to find someone else to compare?
I’mthe definition of ill-equipped to handle Stôrmand Lane.
Having to spend all day around him today while he finishes up the last of the horses on Devil’s Peak Ranch is going to kill me, of that, I’m certain.
The man is so smooth, it would be unbearable if it didn’t turn me into a panting, wanton mess at every turn.
Every single glance, with a secretive twitch playing on the corner of his mouth—a mouth that I know exactly how and what is capable of when he uses it as a damn weapon on my body—combined with the effortless way he’s strolling around these stables using his deep, sexy voice to talk to the horses is enough to do me in.
Wearing his goddamn chaps that make me want to drop to my knees and stick out my tongue.
Has he turned me into a sex addict after just one night?
Because I sure as hell cannot stop thinking about his dick.
All I seem to be capable of is running replays in my mind’s eye. Flashes and glimpses and erotic snippets of us together. Seeing myself, a version of me that I didn’t even recognize, reflected in that mirror after Storm had fucked every last brain cell out of my head.
What I saw as he prowled over me like a conqueror, all tattoos and muscles, was myself splayed out beneath him. Limp and flushed and fucked out of my damn mind.
In a state of pure, unadulterated bliss.
As I shift my weight, holding the horse’s head while he works on their shoe fitting, I feel the band of leather on my wrist dig in slightly beneath the sleeve of my jacket.
I’m hyper-aware of its smooth feel against my skin. How it warms to match my body temperature. How it belongs to him, or more accurately, denotes that I belong to him.
At least for the duration of time while we play this game.
For however long I choose to stay here, I guess.
My eyes roam all over his shoulders, recalling exactly how that same broad expanse filled the reflection in the mirror last night when he commanded me to watch.
How he loomed behind me. Tattooed and muscled and so imposing, braced over my spine.
The look on his face… it’s something imprinted in my damn DNA, I’m sure of it.
He looked ravenous.For me.
I’m giddy for more of his gritty orders, his calloused palms roaming across my skin. I want him to tell me what to do, exactlywhen to watch, to see how incredible we look, to see how much I enjoy being full of his cock and leaking his cum.
That possessive behavior unlocked something in me, something compelling. I didn’t expect to find it comforting, but being told I’m nothing more than his toy and slut to use… holy shit.
I’ve never been more turned on or felt more secure in my life.
“You’re one talented man, Storm.” The familiar voice of Layla interrupts my silent reverie of drooling.
