Page 124 of Storm
"Want to help?" he offers, noticing my stare.
I step closer, and he positions me in front of the rolling pin, his chest warm against my back as he guides my hands. "Like this," he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear. "Gentle but firm."
The double meaning isn't lost on me, and I lean back against him slightly, enjoying the way his breath catches when I do. "I think I've got it," I tell him, even though I'm in no hurry for him to step away.
When the dough is finally thin enough, Frankie reluctantly steps back, reaching for flour to dust the pie plate. A playful impulse strikes me as I watch him concentrate. I dip my fingers in the flour and flick some at him, catching him square in the chest.
He looks up, shock written across his face before it transforms into mischievous determination. "Oh, it's like that, is it?"
Before I can react, he's reached into the flour bag and tossed a handful my way, the white powder dusting my hair and face. What follows is nothing short of chaos—flour flying back and forth, both of us laughing too hard to aim properly. The kitchen quickly resembles a winter wonderland.
"Truce!" Frankie finally calls, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm waving the white flag—literally!" He wiggles his flour-covered fingers to demonstrate.
"What are your terms of surrender?"
"Unconditional," he says, trying and failing to look serious with flour dusting his eyelashes. "I am at your mercy, mighty Storm."
"Well then," I declare, stepping closer. "As my first act of mercy, I'll help clean you up."
I reach up, seemingly to brush flour from his cheek, but instead smear more across his face. His mouth drops open in shock before he bursts into laughter.
"You're terrible!" he exclaims, grabbing for me.
I dance away, giggling, but he's quicker than I expect. His arms wrap around my waist, lifting me off my feet in one smooth motion. I squeal in surprise as he spins me around, both of us laughing until he sets me down on the counter, his body positioned between my knees.
Our laughter fades as we realize the position we're in. His hands still on my waist, my legs framing his hips. Flour dust floats in the air around us, catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows. In this moment, he doesn't look like the shy, hesitant beta from the Omega House. He looks confident, playful—the Frankie who exists beneath the careful exterior he shows the world.
"I've missed this," he says quietly, his brown eyes warm as they meet mine. "You, laughing. Being carefree."
I reach up to brush real flour from his cheek this time, my touch gentle. "You bring it out in me," I admit. "You always have. Even in that place, you found ways to make me smile."
His hands tighten slightly on my waist. "That's all I ever wanted. To see you happy. Even when it seemed impossible."
The simple confession touches something deep inside me. Frankie has been my constant, my one true friend through the darkest period of my life. When others in that Omega house saw me as a problem, a designation, a burden to be managed, he sawme—the real Storm beneath the defiance and attitude.
"Kiss me," I whisper, my hands moving to frame his flour-dusted face.
He doesn't hesitate, leaning forward to capture my lips with his. Unlike our previous kisses, always conscious of the others nearby, this one deepens instantly. The kiss is sweet and gentle at first, but when I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, something shifts. His kiss grows more confident, more passionate as his hands slide up my back to tangle in my unruly curls.
He tastes like apples and cinnamon. His scent surrounds me in a cloud of warm comfort. I melt against him, my body responding.
"Frankie," I breathe when we finally break apart, both panting slightly. "I want?—"
A sharp cramp cuts off my words, making me wince and curl forward slightly. Pre-heat. The symptoms have been coming and going in waves, manageable one moment and overwhelming the next.
"Storm?" Concern fills Frankie's voice, his hands gentle as they support me. "What's wrong? Is it pre-heat?"
I nod, unable to speak as another cramp ripples through me. At the same time, I feel the now-familiar rush of slick between my thighs. My dark chocolate scent explodes around us, filling the kitchen with the rich, sweet notes of omega arousal. Frankie's pupils dilate visibly, his own cinnamon and toasted marshmallow scent deepening in response.
"I should get Reed or Alexander," he says, already starting to pull away. "They'll know how to help with the cramps."
"No," I catch his wrist, keeping him close. "Stay. Please. I want you, Frankie."
Uncertainty flickers across his face. "But your heat?—"
"Isn't here yet," I finish for him. "Just pre-heat." I lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "And I want you. I've wanted you for so long, even before I knew it."
"I've wanted you too," he confesses, resting his forehead against mine. "Since that first day when you sat down across from me and demanded I play cards with you."
