Page 127 of Storm
My breath catches. No one has ever seen me like this before. In all my twenty years, my experiences have been limited to my own hand, alone in my room, Storm's name a silent prayer on my lips.
I'm painfully hard, and the appreciative look in her eyes as she takes me in makes me throb with anticipation. Still, a thread of nervousness weaves through my desire. Unlike the alphas, I have no knot to offer her, nothing to help her through the heat that's rapidly approaching. I can smell the sweet, rich scent of her slick intensifying as her pre-heat symptoms worsen, her body calling out for relief that I desperately want to provide.
"Storm, you don't have to?—"
"I want to," she cuts me off, already sinking to her knees before me, looking up with those storm-gray eyes that have haunted my dreams for years. "I want this, Frankie. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."
When she leans forward and takes me into her mouth, I nearly lose my grip on the counter. The wet heat of her mouth is indescribable. Pleasure shoots up my spine as she takes me deeper.
"Storm," I gasp, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of her. "That feels—I can't?—"
She hums in acknowledgment, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. Her hand works what her mouth can't reach, establishing a rhythm that has me panting, my knees threatening to buckle. I've imagined this countless times, dreamed of Storm like this, but reality puts every fantasy to shame.
I know I won't last long. Not with the build-up of years of wanting, not with the visual of Storm on her knees before me, her wild curls tickling my thighs as she moves. When I feel the familiar tightening, the heat pooling at my core, I try to warn her.
"Storm—I'm close?—"
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her lips swollen and slick. "I want to taste you," she says, her voice husky with desire. "I want all of you, Frankie."
Her words push me to the edge. When she takes me into her mouth again, deeper this time, I feel myself hit the back of her throat. I'm completely lost, crying out her name as pleasure crashes through me in waves. She doesn't pull away—instead, she holds my gaze, those gray eyes fierce and determined as she swallows every drop, her throat working around me.
The sight alone nearly makes me black out, this beautiful woman on her knees, taking all of me so completely. When she finally releases me, I'm utterly spent, my legs barely supporting me, my body trembling with aftershocks that seem to go on forever.
When I can focus again, she's looking up at me with a satisfied smile. I reach down to help her up, pulling her against my chest in a tight embrace.
"I love you," I whisper into her hair, the words escaping before I can stop them—words I've held back for four long years, through quiet card games and whispered conversations in the Omega House, through watching her with the alphas, through everything.
Storm goes still in my arms, then pulls back to look at me, her eyes wide. "What did you say?"
I swallow hard, knowing I can't take it back, not wanting to even if I could. "I love you, Storm," I repeat, my voice steadier now. "I've loved you since that first day you sat down across from me at the Omega House and demanded I play cards with you."
Her expression softens, something warm and full of wonder in her eyes. "Frankie," she breathes, her hands coming up to frame my face. "I love you too. I always have, even when I was too stubborn to admit it."
The simple declaration makes my chest feel too small to contain the happiness expanding within it. I kiss her, pouring everything I feel into the contact, all the longing, the waiting, the quiet devotion that's defined my feelings for her from the beginning.
When we finally part, both breathless, I can't stop the smile spreading across my face. "Say it again," I request, needing to hear the words once more to believe they're real.
Storm laughs, the sound bright and free. "I love you, Frankie Calloway," she says, enunciating each word clearly. "Even covered in flour, I love you."
I glance down at us both, suddenly registering our state—naked, dusted white with flour, the abandoned pie ingredients scattered across the counter. We must look ridiculous, like we've been caught in some bizarre baking explosion.
"We're a mess," I chuckle, brushing a streak of flour from her cheek.
"A beautiful mess," she agrees, her smile turning mischievous. "Though I think we might be permanently banned from kitchen duties after this."
I lean in to kiss her again, unable to resist the temptation of her lips. "Worth it," I murmur against her mouth.
We stand there wrapped in each other, trading soft kisses and softer words, lost in the bubble of newfound honesty between us. I never want this moment to end. This perfect, flour-covered, kitchen counter confession of love.
"Perhaps you should finish the pie before attempting any more... creative baking techniques," a dry voice interrupts from the doorway.
My heart nearly stops. I instinctively reach for my jeans, yanking them up while trying to position myself to shield Storm from view. Heat floods my face as I turn to find Jonathan leaning against the doorframe, his expression a mixture of amusement and something harder to read. Despite Jonathan's previous assertions that Storm was free to pursue connections with all pack members, I've never actually touched her in front of him. Our few kisses had all been stolen in private moments.
"Jonathan," I stammer, mortification washing over me. "We were just?—"
"Clearly," he interrupts, his lips quirking slightly at the corners. "Though I believe traditional pie-making involves less nakedness and more actual baking."
To my shock, Storm makes no attempt to cover herself. She merely stretches languidly against the counter, completely at ease in her nudity, and gives Jonathan a challenging look.
