Page 126 of Storm
"We're not done," I tell him, my hands moving to the button of his jeans. "Not even close."
Frankie swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "We don't have to?—"
"I want to," I assure him, already working his zipper down. "I want all of you, Frankie. Every part."
His breath catches as my fingers brush against the hard outline of him through his boxers. I can feel his heart pounding, see the flush spreading down his neck to his chest. His cinnamon scent has deepened, taking on spicier notes that make my mouth water.
"Storm," he groans as I slip my hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping my fingers around him.
I slide forward on the counter, bringing our bodies flush against each other, my legs wrap around his waist. Frankie's hands move to my thighs, his touch reverent as he strokes my skin.
"Will you taste me?" I ask, suddenly desperate to feel his mouth on me. "Please, Frankie. I need your mouth."
His eyes darken further, desire flaring hot in their depths. Slowly, and maintaining eye contact, he sinks to his knees before me, his hands gently spreading my thighs wider. His breath washes warm against my core, making me shiver with anticipation.
"I've dreamed about this," he confesses, his gaze locked with mine. "About tasting you, making you come with my mouth."
The raw honesty of his admission sends a fresh wave of arousal through me. "Show me," I encourage, my fingers tangling in his hair. "Show me your dreams, Frankie."
He leans forward, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh. His eyes never leave mine as he closes the final distance, his tongue tracing a deliberate path through my heat.
Chapter35
Frankie
She tastes like dark chocolate and honey on my tongue as I trace a deliberate path through her heat, my eyes never leaving hers. The moment my mouth makes contact, pleasure floods my senses—the sweet richness of her slick, the way her thighs tremble slightly on either side of my head, the soft gasp that escapes her lips.
My heart thunders in my chest as I kneel before Storm on the kitchen floor, flour dusting both our bodies. Four years I've dreamed of this intimacy with her—four years of stolen glances and careful distance. Of wanting but never having. The few kisses we've shared in recent days have only intensified my feelings, leaving me aching for more.
Now she's here, perched on the kitchen counter with her legs parted for me, her storm-gray eyes dark with desire and fixed on mine, her fingers threading through my hair, encouraging me.
A thread of insecurity winds through me despite her obvious pleasure. How can I compare to the alphas? What if I disappoint her? Yet when Storm looks at me like I'm the only one who matters in this moment, those doubts recede.
I lose myself in her taste, letting instinct guide me as I learn what makes her gasp, what makes her thighs tremble around my head. Her fingers tighten in my hair when I circle her clit with my tongue, so I do it again, drawing another breathless sound from her lips.
"Right there," she pants, her hips rolling against my mouth. "God, Frankie, yes."
Her pleasure encourages me. I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her steady as I devote myself to her pleasure, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention where she needs it most. Above me, Storm is a vision.
Her head thrown back, skin flushed and dusted with flour like some goddess.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
When I feel her thighs begin to shake, I double my efforts, focusing on the patterns that draw the loudest responses from her. Her breathing grows erratic, her scent spiking with that sweetness of her climax. I can feel the way her cramps ease with each wave of pleasure.
"Frankie," she gasps, her voice breaking on my name. "I'm going to… don't stop.”
I have no intention of stopping, not when she's so close, not when I can give her this release. I hold her steady as she crests the wave, her body arching, a cry tearing from her throat as pleasure takes her. I work her through it gently, easing off when she becomes too sensitive, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs as she comes down.
When I finally look up, Storm is watching me with wonder in her eyes, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. She reaches for me, tugging me up to stand between her legs, and kisses me deeply, apparently unbothered by tasting herself on my lips.
"That was amazing," she breathes against my mouth, her hands roam over my chest, my shoulders, every touch leaves trails of fire on my skin. "You're amazing."
I feel a flush of pride at her words. "I just wanted to make you feel good," I admit, my voice rough with desire.
Her hand slides down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans, which are still open from earlier. "Now it's your turn," she says, a mischievous light entering her eyes.
Before I can respond, she's sliding off the counter and gently maneuvering us, turning so my back is against the cabinets. Her hands work quickly, pushing my jeans and boxers down my hips until I'm exposed.
