Page 67 of Storm
The first taste of her after so long apart nearly undoes me. She cries out, her back arching off the bed, her hands flying to my hair. I hold her hips steady as I lose myself in her, every gasp and moan like music. The way she says my name, breathless and desperate, is better than any dream I've had during our years apart.
"Right there," she pants, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Don't stop."
As if I could. I double my efforts, sliding my hands beneath her to lift her closer, driven by the building intensity of her reactions. Her thighs tense against my shoulders, her breathing growing more erratic. I look up the length of her body, needing to see her face as she comes undone.
She's a vision—head thrown back, lips parted, a flush spreading across her chest and neck. Our eyes meet as she reaches the edge, and the connection is so intense it feels like a physical force between us.
"Rook," she cries, her body tensing, then shuddering as pleasure crashes through her. I stay with her through every wave, every aftershock, until she tugs my hair, too sensitive to continue.
I press a gentle kiss to her inner thigh, but I'm not nearly done. Four years of separation demands more than one release. I move up slightly, tracing patterns on her hip with my tongue while she catches her breath.
"I need a minute," she gasps, but I can already feel the tension building in her again as my fingers replace my mouth, exploring gently.
"We have all the time in the world," I tell her, though we both know it's a beautiful lie. We have today, at least, and I intend to make the most of it.
She laughs, the sound turning into a moan as I find a particularly sensitive spot. "Not if you keep doing that."
I smile against her skin, feeling her body respond to my touch. "Tell me what you want," I say, looking up at her. "Tell me how to make you feel good."
Her eyes darken at my words. "I want your mouth on me again," she admits, her voice husky with desire. "Please."
I'm more than happy to oblige, my own arousal a persistent ache as I focus entirely on her pleasure. This time I add my fingers, and the combination makes her writhe beneath me, her hands alternating between gripping the sheets and tangling in my hair.
"Oh my god," she gasps, her hips moving in rhythm with my touch. "Rook, I'm going to?—"
This time when she comes, it's with a scream she muffles against a pillow, her entire body shaking. Her scent explodes around us, dark chocolate so rich and sweet it makes me dizzy. I ease her through it, gentling my touch, but not stopping until she's completely spent.
When I finally move up to lie beside her, she's breathing hard, her skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, her eyes closed in bliss. She looks so beautiful, so perfect, that my chest aches with the force of how much I love her.
"You okay?" I ask, brushing a wild curl from her forehead.
She laughs, the sound lazy and satisfied. "I'm better than okay." She opens her eyes, reaching for me. "But you're still?—"
I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips instead. "Later," I say, though it takes every ounce of willpower I possess. "When we're not in the Kingsley penthouse with three alphas who could barge in at any moment."
She sighs dramatically, but nods. "Fine. Be responsible."
I laugh, leaning down to kiss her once more. "I love you," I say against her lips. "Always have, always will."
Her expression softens. "I love you too. Now go take a cold shower before I change my mind about letting you leave this bed."
As I head for the bathroom, I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. Against all odds, against the entire system, I have her again. And now that I have, I'm never letting her go again.
No matter what it costs me. No matter what I have to do.
Storm is mine, and I am hers, and nothing. Not Jonathan or Alexander Kingsley, not Reed Howard, not the entire fucked-up world, is going to change that.
Chapter20
Storm
The sound of the shower running provides a soothing backdrop as I stretch languidly across the bed, my body still humming with pleasure. I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face.
Rook is here. He found me, and for the first time in four years, I feel like myself again.
But the realities of our situation quickly intrude on my moment of bliss. My scent is everywhere, dark chocolate notes heavy with arousal and my release, broadcasting exactly what we've been doing to anyone with a nose. I need my blockers and suppressants, which I left somewhere in the kitchen last night.
I roll out of bed, wincing slightly at the pleasant ache in muscles I haven't used in years. I pull on a pair of sleep shorts and Rook's t-shirt, which he must have tossed on the floor last night. It smells like him—strawberries and cream—and I bury my nose in the fabric for a moment before heading for the door.
